Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Happiness Narrative Poems | Narrative Poems About Happiness

These Happiness Narrative poems are examples of Narrative poems about Happiness. These are the best examples of Happiness Narrative poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

12345
Details | Narrative |

Indelible

I was seventeen, had one year left of high school and a boyfriend I didn't even love.
It was the end of summer, and I was on the verge of a night indelible
because it was incredible for me.

If "tall, dark, and handsome" had a face, it belonged to one who walked
into the store I worked at nightly all alone. He brought with him a smile just for me -
beautiful, magical, seducing. Were he music, he'd have been the warmest song
to ever touch my soul. Perhaps it was the moon, lunacy-inducing, that made me crave
his visits more and more, for he'd come each night into the store, 
his ritual to tease me with his glances; then stand in line with just one purchase,
engaging me with words deliciously belying that he spoke my native tongue. 
Did he know I fairly worshiped him? 
And where was Aphrodite to let her dear Adonis wander free?

I learned eventually he was staying with a brother and soon would be returning to Quebec. 
I do not know, but I can now infer the moon waxed full by the time he asked me out, 
for I had waxed complete in my audacity. Knowing it was his last night in town, 
I closed the store up early and fled with my Prince Charming.
The stuff of poetry that night transpired. . .
fodder for the several poems of romance I've since penned.
Sitting in his car in front of my own house, late at night, into the early morning. . .
The way he gazed into my eyes, teaching me of butterfly kisses 
and his breathing his sweet breath along my ear lobes,
the way our fingers interlaced, the way he caressed the small of my back. . . 
He taught me how small things
can be just as sensuous as that act of love that virgins do not know,
and he branded me with a yearning for a sweet romantic love I'd never felt so strongly,
nor would I ever know again as wonderfully as I was shown that night,
 for others in my life I've kissed, yet barely missed.

My dream love wrote me postcards from Quebec. Then it all died out.
I married. A few years passed; then I got a call from him, completely unexpected!
Somehow he'd tracked me down to my new home. I took the call, 
 as I held my firstborn baby daughter in one arm.
Heart in my throat, I told him it was nice to hear from him, but I was married now.
So though I'll never know what "may have been," I'm still left with the memory
I chose to make with him  that one day of my life, my very best,
because for just one night, I was Cinderella. A prince still holds my slipper,
and infinite romance lives on inside my poems.



Details | Narrative |

Birth, in a Quiet Room

“Well,” She asked; her eyes wide. Beads of hot sweat glistening on her brow like miniature 
crystal suns. Her angst was palpable. “What is it!”
     The air was still. There were no words. Just the sound of bodies breathing in – and 
holding.
     “Congratulations.” He held out his arms, handing the mother, her baby, “You have a son.”
     The moment shone like glass in the center of the heavens – pure and eternal.
     It was redemption from every wrong thing she’d ever done. 
     It was the shining eyes of God smiling onto her exhausted face; lighting it with hope.    
     It was the only place there was – the only time, the only space. 
     It was the only feeling that existed. 
     They were the only two incarnate souls in the room; on the planet, and in the universe.
     This was her child –
     her son.
     And she was his mother.

     (there are no words for such things. suddenly, I feel like an intruder. there are too many 
eyes, words and moments here. so it is here, I take my leave; leaving this mother and the 
only soul in her universe to their perfect moment. they will have many more moments in this 
lifetime; but none as sacred, as human, or as eternal as the first look from life to life; 
mother to child; heaven to earth, as the very first. None.)
     
“It’s a boy.” she whispered. Her throat a crumbling tunnel; stunned, but not really. Like 
she’d known it all along. “My baby boy…” She smiled into his ancient, brand-new face; 
tracing his delicate cheek with the back of her finger. “He’s perfect.” 
     She ran her palm along the bottom of his soft, miraculous foot, and laughed. “Look at 
your feet – they’re huge!”
     And as she wiped the tears with the heel of her shaking hand – smearing what was left of 
her mascara - she looked in to his, as close to heaven as one can get, eyes, and said, “Hi.
I’m your mama.” He smiled at her. He knew. He’d known it all along. “And I’ll love you 
forever…”
     The world closed its shades then. Leaving the sacred to its history; the moment to 
eternity; and their universe to its quiet, little room.
     


*Inspired by Deborah's, You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby, contest; and every mother 
who has graced this sacred room.


Details | Narrative |

Raspberry Wine

Musty antiquity 
within.
Spice inside
a cauldron 
of ripe reason. 
Five months 
unshelved 
brewing boiling 
now the suave coolness,
animals don’t know
how to simmer their lovebroth
like this.

Only the Titan breath, what they desired remained. 

The world was dark, centralised 
spherical
the centre imposed
upon her perfect
cheekbones
his horned chest 
woolen jumper swollen with clues
breasts rising like meringues in a brick oven 
on her lips hung her whole life 
he extracted from her lips 
what he knew she was 
dying to give.

Ambience, randomosity, the
haze of a lantern
stage-lit movement in dust
eyes swivelled, bottles made
their pleas to be known
wise ancestral spirits

The gallery browsed.

Time stuck
between the molars. 

Abandoned corner;
hazelnut liquer, pomegranate
blood and something else.
They sat on the ground 

with this raspberry wine 
and sipped each other 
profoundly, irrevocably. 
She, mineral rich
rivulets of stone-clean water, 
soft aquamarine. He, present
like limestone
crumbling to a silent past,
frictitious, only lovers perch
on the cracked mantle 
of reality like this,
only they hear the moment's plea 
for recognition.

Copyright. 2009.


Details | Narrative |

And The Road Begins?

Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully 
a not married one  husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.

Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve 
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.

Im a southern man once means several things  non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread  mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying 
to myself as i watched him  running naked across the dessert  being chased 
by the flying monkeys  he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance 

There goes a fine american.

I would have ran after him  but  but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me 
I herd they had a thing for southern  actscents.
And theres nothing  worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me 
Ive delt with this problem  befor.

and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand 
in all his naked glory.
Besides  I left him some sneakers  and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.

Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle 
money.

So as i sit  behind  the wheel  ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
  the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person  run to and feel at home.

I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there  in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.

And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.

My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels  today.
And hey she had went to church more than once  so who was I to argue.

With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races  Untill next time kiddies. 
Adios and im off to find my amigo.


Details | Narrative |

My Cousin's Wedding

My cousin shared her wishes and dreams, On our star gazing night, she whispered them so sweet As a shooting star glided down from the sky, She said, I wish ….. I wish…. all I wish are these tonight Someday, I will marry a smart, rich and handsome guy And have a grandiose banquet on my nuptial rite We’ll be dancing like a lovely prince and princess , With all my wedding sponsors on their best suits and dresses All in pink ,that’s the motif I will surely request. She kept into her dreams as several years passed by, Still searching for her prince charming who’s hard to find Unconsciously going beyond the age to give birth to a child, In a hurry at age of seventy, she took a rich ninety years old guy. The wedding was held after a day or two, The guy seated on his wheelchair with rheumatism on his toe She headed slowly at the alter to accept his shaking hands, Two nurses followed, so with sponsors dressed up in printed brown. The highlight of the wedding rite started at once, They held tightly with a nebulizers on the other hands, But the words of oath, they took time to pronounce False teeth were both misplaced and nowhere to be found. Reception followed grandiosely in the guy’s mansion, I saw many old men and women still eager to dance on the floor, With hunched back, shaking knees, they twisted rock and roll Then, sweet music played and my cousin danced with her groom. But, we all wondered how did he stand alone? He’s so heavy , I knew my cousin couldn’t help him at all, With our great surprise, his nurse was at his side like his crutch Everyone thought , he’s really a smart guy! Was he not? Then, everyone followed them so happily on the spacious hall, And in trio, they held each other so tight and moved like a fool.
Written: Sept. 15, 2012 First Place Contest: My Cousin's Wedding (funny poem) Contest Judged: 9/30/2012 Poet Sponsor: Joann Grisetti


Details | Narrative |

Mountain Solitude

*


In solitude of the edge of day, there is a crimson blush along the hills

And a world switches direction, ......as if to tumble into eternity

Where shadows of the mountains, high, hover silently, over asphalt roads,.....
     bend and curl, and morph their shapes... to follow curves of earth

When the shadow of a lonely pine becomes longer,.......
                                        than ever the tree was tall

When my own silhouette, so dark and stretched, and long,......
                                        seems to walk between earth and sky

In utter harmony at end of day,  my arms seem longer,...
               long enough,... to reach the evening star
                     






Details | Narrative |

One Simple Twilight

Do we ever really notice them? Those rare and perfect moments? Do we pay enough attention? Do we care enough to keep them safely tucked away? It was summertime I'm not sure of the year We were sitting on our front porch steps Our children were playing in the yard The air was warm, the grass was green and fragrant The sun had disappeared over the trees, and the nearest hill The sky shone with hues of purple, pink and orange You pointed as a first star appeared Then reached for my hand, carressing it with the roughness of your thumb We never thought to get a camera Or to write about this particular moment in a journal We never mentioned it the next day....or the day after that.... Perhaps something we should have done Just so that we would never forget such a perfect twilight....
~ For Frank's Contest: "Stand Out Day" By Carrie Richards


Details | Narrative |

Tea is Served

In a lovely corner of her garden, 
 a trellis was curled with rose climbing vines,
  and something enchanting, had been designed, 
     from an ordinary day on a warm afternoon.

Tea would be served, with her large knuckled hands, 
to a bouquet of her friends, and some neighbors of mine,
by the most gentile’ lady, I have ever known…

She made it seem like days of old, when decorum was in fashion, 
      before composure, and poise,.. had become scorned and cold
          where propriety still mattered, as precious as gold.
                                                      ~
Lilting voices would chatter like the birds on the wing.
Ringing with laughter,  across fragrant grass, 
Flower frocked ladies, around a few scattered tables. 
Linens and laces, under ashes and maples.
Silver coifed hairdos, with apple cheeked faces, 

                    And me?   There I'd sip.... quite out of my place... 
                      watching it all, from the cool dappled shade.
                                                      ~
There were delightful surprises to meet the eye…
Delicate confections, cucumber sandwiches,
made by her hand, just for the occasion.
Fragrant branches, covering the veranda.…
Rose petal blossoms, painted on china.  
The most beautiful tea set, oh, how divine it was! 
Envious eyes, covetously pined for it!

She wore a floppy garden hat, a dress of mauve, and there she sat.
Her weathered skin, her cheeks of rouge... a smile to love,...you would have too,...
She had lived a war, and more than one.....iron strong, a generous heart
Knowing eyes, and sparkling wit, 
She would hold your hand in hers and smile,... listen well, of that I'm sure
  and then would sip and chat awhile, of this and that…
                                                         and you would learn of love somehow
                                                      ~

I sipped my tea, and watched it all, and never thought of future things. ~

For now I sit here all alone…the chatter gone, the birds have flown.
Where once her charm, her love of life
the grand old ways, have slipped away…gone are those days, she loved so well.

Soon after, in the autumn chill…when word soon spread that she was ill 
      I was away, and never knew.….I hope, oh Lord, she was not alone ….

And looking back …I think of that….. and how strange the fact….. how odd it is…..
that something owned by someone grand, a china cup, so delicate, 
                                                                                 so fragile in the hand,
can last beyond the grave...intact,….
                    although a dear, enchanting friend, her life would have to end…..

                                                     ~ ~


_______________________________________________________
For Contest Sponsored by Just Archaic Poet:  Song choice- "Tea For Two"


Details | Narrative |

The Captain and I

With the palms of well-worn leathery hands that in younger days guided a Tall Ship round 
the globe many times with the help of stars that still twinkled in his eyes, the old man made 
a porthole in the frosty forest of swirling ferns that had been painted on the kitchen window 
pane by Jack-Frost during the night.

As I sat on his lap, he told me the creaking sound made by the rockers from the rocking 
chair we sat in on the hardwood floor - if he closed his eyes, could make him believe he was 
back with the wind in his sails, rising and dipping and swaying with the whims of the 
waves ‘ore the sea.

Back- and- forth, back-and-forth, we rocked as the porthole on the window pane grew larger, 
exposing the winter wonder land outside where trees and roads and roof-tops lie frozen 
beneath a layer of fluffy snow that looked like icing on a birthday cake, as the house 
softened and swelled in the warmth of the burning kindling wood that snapped and crackled 
in the stove. 

Rocking  back-and-forth, back-and-forth, I asked him, looking into those eyes of green, with 
that far away look. “Grandpa, won’t you tell me please, what lies beyond the sea?”  He 
paused for a moment, blowing silver halos that rose from his pipe in an aroma of sweet 
smelling ‘Old Sail’ tobacco, and with the magic of his words, he took me on a journey, 
rocking across the sea where he showed me all the places and wondrous things he’d ever 
seen.

That was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, where an old man, taught a 
little girl, that life is but a dream.

                                                                ~~~~~

                          In memory of: Captain James George the Third - My Grandfather

                                                                   ~~~~~
 2nd place in  'Anything Goes #2 Contest - sponsered by Constance La France 

                                                
Author's note:  

This is one entry of many that will appear in my next book ' A Journey of Roses and Thorns'. 
They are true events that have happened in my life - some where roses, some were 
thorns.  I have learned valuable lessons from both.


Details | Narrative |

I Welcome My Nights

I  Welcome My Nights

I knew and you knew that if I listen to Unchained Melody
I would have given up on yesterday
Without the praises, the disappointments
Those long, long sighs
During moments of passion
Our Love was superficial in comparison, until

I saw his face in my dreams
Suddenly, the sweet Gheorghe Zamfir
Unchained Melody called me back, I became
The Greek Goddess you never heard of
I am free.

My last sigh, our last embrace
Has curled into dust bunnies
With One only reminder
Your brown Jar of honey, untouched
Sticky and outdated like
Your attempt to seduce me

Those negligees you once loved
The color fades like yesterday tears
Everything in this world that we once shared
Seems so unreal, I am free, free to love
With each breath, with each melody, the intimidation
We were everything, I welcome those nights

However, I am now the Brave heart of my soul
My fear has subsided, my smiles long overdue
A new secret reveals. Close all doors.


12345