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Son Narrative Poems | Narrative Poems About Son

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

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The Game, Playing the Game

'I want you to use all your powers and your skills
I don’t want his mother to see him like this
Look, look how they massacred my boy'...
Don Corleone (Marlon Brando) in “The Godfather”
-------------------------------------------------------
Playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?

I drove home by that road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you drove
that road where our lives crashed, exploded and shattered
shattered in jagged shards of Silver-Saturn pieces

(This is where you must have seen the swerving headlights
What were your thoughts? Were you worried? Were you alarmed?
This is the spot, oh God this is where, where it all hap...
What were your LAST thoughts? What were your last words
when that pick-up jumped, jumped and flew out of that ditch?
You always said "WHAT THE!"... Yeah, you must have said that)

Driving myself to madness playing the 'what if' game
What if you had driven just a little faster?
A little slower? Stopped to pick up something?
DIDN'T stop to pick up something? (Did-didn't-did...)
Stayed at work a minute longer, or left a minute early?
(What-if-what-if what-if-why-where-what-when)

Just what are the odds? Just what are the chances?
2:AM? Maybe one car, one car every 2 hours or so?
It was 'perfect' timing, a 'perfect' flash in time
(Perfect-imperfect-perfect-why-where-what-when)

I drove home by that same road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you drove
that same short-cut road, that road you were driving
driving and trying, trying to get back home...

Yes, playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?


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Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning
I try not to wake him, though he stirs slightly
As I crawl out from the warmth of the covers.
I'm tempted to change my mind, and stay awhile longer,
But a glint of sunlight peeks through the blind and calls to me.
If I burrow down again, and drowse too long, 
This glorious time of day will be gone...until it comes again tomorrow.

I tiptoe quietly and begin the morning ritual.
The splashing of water on my face, of letting the dog out,
Of brewing the dark, hot liquid that will help to
Open my eyes and recharge my reluctant brain.

The inviting aroma finally wakes my senses, and after
The first sip, I begin to feel the desire to join the world again.
I go outside, step onto the weathered porch, down the steps,
Onto the wet grass to retrieve today's bundled news.
Within it comes a page-by-page account of disasters, obituaries and comics...
I decide to forego all that gloom, and lay the paper beside the front door.

Instead, I drink in the morning air.
The new day is slowly coming alive.  There's a slight chill.
This coolness will be baked away later, when the sun is high.
I pull my robe around me tightly, and sit down on the stoop.
Birds are chirping, and soon, I see that neighbors are beginning to embrace the 
day.
House by house, there is evidence that awakening has occurred.

A car is cruising by our  house.  The occupants, wearing their
Sunday best, and on their way to an early service to praise the Lord.
While some are sitting in pews, singing Alleluia,
A man down the street is starting his lawnmower.
Not mindful that the Sabbath is a day of rest,
Or that he may wake a late sleeper.

Inside my house, I hear the sounds of water running and dishes rattling.
Then someone calling my name.  In a moment he appears
Carrying two steaming mugs of black coffee, one for him, and another for me.
He's come to see what this new day has offered, and sits down beside me.

We sit together quietly, and soak up the morning sun.
It wraps its warmth around us, like the bedcovers we had abandoned.
No words are needed to enjoy this moment.
However, toast and jam, and bacon await us.  So we turn and go inside.


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Equus

Let me explain how it all began; retrace with me
the sordid steps back to childhood pain.
Imagine an endless war: fanaticism shackled to atheism,
ongoing castigation, brutal flagellation,
guilt's spike rammed and jammed deep inside me.
A mocking crucified rictus leered above my bed,
peered at me, probed the shadow-dark corners in my head.
One night I tore it from the wall, lovingly replaced it
with the head of a haunting horse.
Its soul-sad eye-pools shone with empathy,
radiated liquid love in my loneliness, kept me company.
I loathed the trembling, timorous wretch I was,
fear-filthy and saddled with sin.
My only outlet and release was equine.
To escape, to feel freedom's blaze, I followed
enticing hoofprints across searing amber sand,
pressed my face into imprints
on the gold burnished strand.

Equus, son of Flequus, son of Nequus,
we galloped out together on tumultuous darkness,
his brawny neck jutting from between my vice-tight thighs,
the bit biting into tender, froth-flecked mouth corners,
his flying mane a white whip slashing my skin, spurring us on.
Rubbing my sweat-soaked self against the ripple of muscle
under silk-sleek flanks; the power plunge of thunder-hooves,
the lunge of sturdy shanks; his bludgeoning body
a white gash in the blackness. Aching-wet and wild
to be inside him, at one with him - a pounding union.

Nefandous nightmare stampeded at the stable door. Love became bestial.
I stroked them in strange, strangled dreams;
hauled them, mounted them, whipped them round
the blood-sticky straw of the stable floor.
Twelve coal-ebon eyes stared into a sinuous, skewed psyche,
accusing my urges, pillorying my perversions;
soul-stark, snaffling the bitter apple of blighted youth.
Those eyes - I had to put them out like snuffing stars.
Sorrowfully I sluiced sticky scarlet warmth from fevered fingers,
wretched with regret. But it had to be done.

I still see them: the six silky-flanked, softly snuffling ones;
spike-blinded, eye sockets oozing quiet crimson,
blood-roses blooming on their harrowed haunches.
You still batter me with questions, trampling
the dark dream-dust of my fantasies, seeking answers.
But I have learned how to sidestep neatly,
how to bury guilt and horror silently and discreetly.



*based on the stage play 'Equus'


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Coming of Age

My eldest brother, nine years old,
Thought he could break a horse.
Our mother strictly forbade him.
A mother’s right of course.
Her young son mustered all his wiles,
Hoping he could sway her.
Unwilling to be defeated,
He vowed to disobey her.

He gathered a rope and bridle,
Went to the big corral.
He was there to break a wild colt,
Three brothers there to yell.
Our youngest brother, four years old
Yelled, “I’ll tell Ma on you
Unless you take me up there
And give me a ride too.”

In his eagerness to hush him,
His big brother agreed
And lifted him to the bare back
Of that big, trembling steed.
Our father came in nick of time
To salvage little brother,
Then watched as his son rode that colt.
No one told our mother.


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Longer Shadows of the Moon

He is caught between one life and another
while my pain lengthens like a shadow of the moon
We are like leaves, played with by the wind

O lengthening dark vision
reaching across our lives
It came, at last, without a sound...
his leave taking came without a word,
but we both heard it in the silence....

His world is in the palm of his hand
and my world is this moment that does not move

O furtuna, sternit fortem
O furtuna, rota tu volubillis

Never was he mine, never was he not mine
The child, no longer, child that bends and sways
My eyes reflect the clouds upon the sky
for he reaches out a hand upon my crown 
and I feel the gentle warmth upon my head

A knowing hand of man, not boy, that once I vowed to keep
must leave and know that I will weep
as if I am the child, ....not he,...instead 

O fortuna, velut luna 
Statu variabillis, semper crescis, aut decrescis;

I force a smile, and watch him fly away
Quod per sortem .... Sternit fortem,
never was he mine, never was he not mine






-----------------------------------
For Deb's Contest: Bi-Lingual
Latin translated
         ----
O Fortuna (O Fortune)
Velut luna (like the moon)
Statu variabilis (you are changeable)
Semper crescis (ever waxing)
Aut decrescis; (and waning;)                                
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)                     
 Rota tu volubilis, (you whirling wheel)
Corde pulsum tangite; (pluck the vibrating strings;)
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)


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Jess and Mike

"Each experience is locked within my heart and only I hold the key..."



There was a time when Jess was young, that we thought we were going to lose him.
It all started with recurring headaches he would have.  These headaches became more frequent and intense over a few months.  Next, tremors on one side joined the headaches.
Countless trips to the Doctor and days of having to leave work to go to his side at school to help him through the episodes.  I blew a gasket.  I demanded a CAT scan.  I think that the only reason that the Doctor agreed, was to shut me up.  But I knew in my gut, that these were not migraines as diagnosed.
The day of the CAT scan came.  I sat in an area that allowed me to see my son and hear the technicians.  At first, the techs were very chatty among themselves.  Then, stark silence.  As if a tomb door had been shut.  Then the words that still haunt me were said..."Oh shit"  on of the technicians whispered.   I closed my eyes and felt my heart cry out in its pain.

I sat in the Doctors office, waiting for him to come and tell me my son was fine.  That there was an error in the reading of the scan.  
He entered with his nurse, who was carrying a box of tissues and cup of water.
"Your son has an arachnoid cyst.  The left temporal lobe of his brain is not there.  In its place is a fluid filled sack.  The pressure of the filling fluid is causing all the symptoms.  He will need to undergo brain surgery."
I sat there....numb.  All I recall hearing are the words...Brain surgery.
The day of the surgery came.  His younger brother was with me in the waiting room. Too young to understand the gravity of the situation.  All he knew was that his brother was very sick.
Now, I want to take you to our sons Hospital room, post surgery.  
There he was, lying in the big bed.  White as the sheet that covered his small body up to his chest.  His head wrapped in bandages.  Tubes and wires everywhere.
As our son was waking up, his first words were  "Where is my brother?"
Mike flew to the side of his bed and grabbed his hand.  "I'm right here!"  he said.  
Very weakly, Jess was able to say  "I love you Mike."
Mike in turn said, "I love you Jess."
My tears that had never flowed through the whole ordeal finally came.   Not out of fear, but for the love that our sons had for one another.


Paula Swanson
8/20/2011
For the A Fragment Of Life contest
sponsored by Constance La France
Placement:3rd


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William Kite, Sergeant Peppers Lonely Heartclub

 
~~~Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite~~~ An all round performer was Mr William Kite He trained and rode horses, but also walked the rope tight He worked for Pablo Fanqué the Wells Circus owner in 1842 But his work gave inspiration for John Lennon to do. Mr William Kite would never have dreamed. That his skills as a performer would inspire a song theme As he performed on his head, while balancing on a rope A trumpet in his mouth, and he played a damn fine note. When he was with John Sanger, who was equestrian minded William appeared for a spectacular night, the poster has reminded The celebrated horse called Zanthus was even there With Mr William Kite to perform - boy what a pair This poster impressed John Lennon so... It inspired him to write about William and the show Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite, the poster does show Inspired quite a few lyrics as all Beatles fans will know. What they may not know - but I am impressed There is a man called David with whom I am blessed He is the great great grandson of William by whom Lennon was inspired But better than that David is my half brother it has so transpired.
The Beatles Album Cover is "Sergeant Peppers Lonely Heartclub" which potrays the poster of Mr Kite


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A Christmas Conversation

Daddy, were you alive when Jesus was born?

No honey, he was born a long time ago, over 2000 years ago.

Where was he born Daddy?

In Bethlehem, a small town in the desert in a manger,

Whats a manger Daddy?

It's a place where they kept animals to feed them.

You see when Jesus was born the Inn was full, so 
they had to get Mary to a warm place to give birth to Jesus.
that was the only place they could go.

Daddy who is Jesus' Daddy?

God is his Father honey?

But who is Joseph?

The Chosen Father, who God chose to raise him, Mary's Husband

I don't understand Daddy!

God wanted a son, he could not have a son without Mary and Joseph's
help. God asked them both if they would help him, without even thinking
they said yes. God gave to them a great gift, God gave them Jesus.

At that moment God gave us all a great gift, He gave us the Son of Man.

The Son of Man Daddy?

Yes honey, you see God is not Man, not one you can touch, Jesus
was, he healed people who were sick, He showed people how to love God 
and how God loves them. There is one more important thing
I want to tell you honey.

What's that Daddy? Jesus did a coupla more things I think are 
important, there are many of course but two I like.

Go on Daddy!

Jesus taught us how to love without conditions, like the way I love you 
and you love me and your Mom and Brother. But how to love everybody
like that.  The most important thing is, is that he died because we humans
broke God's laws, which means we sinned. He died so God would
forgive us.


Wow Jesus really did love us didn't he Daddy...?

Yes he did baby, and the really good thing is he still does and always will.

Come on it's time for bed!

Not until I say my prayers Daddy!

How bout we Pray together tonight?

I'd like that Daddy!

So would I baby, so would I .

Jump up on my back and I'll give you piggy back ride!

I love you Daddy!

I love you too baby, I love you too.........





My Christmas wish is you all have Conversations like this with your 
kids. Trust me they bring tears of joy!

May God Bless you all this Christmas Season as he has Blessed me.

    From Mary, Josh, Shay and myself  MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY NEW YEAR


                             With Love.....Taz


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My man

"Am I a man
 Pops"

"You are
 son

 My 
 Spider man
 My 
 Iron man,
 And when 
 I am old and frail son;

 I pray,

 My
 Superman"

His smiles and hugs
could not be bought


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Your golden hug

In each others arm’s
tightly embraced
with the warmth I receive from
no other…

these words from the depths of
his little heart,
past his precious lips:

“ I’ve been waiting for this Pops”

“What’s that son”,
while still wrapped in his warm grip
was mine query…

“Your golden hug Pops…
your golden hug”

Sigh,
as off to school he did trot


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Potawatomi's Beginning...

The story I have to tell- was told long ago to me, 
About the creation of the Potawatomi Nation; 
In the beginning the Creator made Anishabe, 
And the Creator told Anishabe to name all of his creations,
 Anishabe set out with a wolf, his companion, 
And he went around naming everything; 
From the mountains and the canyons, 
To the Summer and the Spring; 
He became lonely realizing, he alone had no mate,
 And as he traveled everywhere searching, 
He traveled towards the Great Lakes;
 And there he heard a woman singing, 
Her song was a thing of beauty, 
About the home she was making for them;
 Anishabe crossed the lake to meet her, finally, 
The daughter of the Firekeeper-And quite a gem 
Their’s was the first unity bond, It is where life came from; 
Of each other they were inordinately fond;
 Their union gave life to four sons,
 Each of their sons went a different way, 
The First son traveled North, it’s color is White, henceforth;  
Given the first gift of the Creator-sweet grass-braided in a bouquet, 
He married the daughter of the Spirit of the North; 
The second sun traveled East, into the rising sun, 
He learned that fire is the essence of life; 
He was given the second gift-herbs to speak with the One,
East is the color Yellow, East’s daughter became his wife; 
The third son traveled South, known as “The Way of The Woman”, 
The way of seeds and all that give life, the color of South is Red; 
He was given the gift of cedar-to purify and prepare food for his clan 
And to the daughter of the Spirit of the South he was wed.
 The last son traveled west, towards the mountain highlands, 
He learned that the setting sun represents the circle of life; 
Black is the color of West-Sage was the gift for his hands,
 Married to the Spirit of the West’s daughter, Black stands for strife. 
This is the story of the Creator, That my Grandmother told to me,
 How my culture was started, And what our banner means.

~I've been holding on to this a while-Hope you enjoy the beginning of my culture~

~3rd Place in the "Broad Horizons" Contest by Deborah Guzzi~


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Always My Baby

As I think back to yesterday, 
my vivid recall of your days of play.

I can still see you laughing as you ride your bike,
and all those expressions for the things you liked.

Now you are a man, and you stand so proud,
as you salute your commanders among the crowd.

Soon you will leave me for a far a way land,
filled with violence, and miles of sand.

Your dream has always been, to serve, and protect,
my son so proud of his country, with no regrets.

I pray for your safety, while wiping my tears,
your only nineteen, I can't hide my fears.

So tomorrow you will leave me, and your dreams fulfilled,
but you will always be my baby, and my life you thrilled.


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He Loved You

He loved you, you know
Loved you like his very own
In away you were
You came into his life as my friend
Through the years you grew to be my brother in arms 
Along the way you became the son he never had

He loved you as a friend
He loved you even more as a son
A son he never had
When things began to spiral out of control
You stayed when so many others ran away
You helped when I couldn’t

You meant a great deal to him
You never looked at him differently 
Nor did you treat him differently
You stood by his side
When he fell, you stood by his side and mine
You were willing to help me fight his battle for him 
You were there from the beginning 
You were there until the bitter end
Always remember my friend, my brother
He loved you more than you’ll ever know


____________________________________________________________
Dedicated to close Family friend Rodney Howard. He loved my Daddy just as much as I did/do.


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The Best day of My Life

I always thought that I knew love
How intense that feeling could be
But, you were my gift from above
Just exactly what I'd need

I never thought I'd be a mother
I thought that time had past
It was a shock to believe another
For I was pregnant at last

I was 39 at the time 
I felt kind of tired and old 
My doctor said that I was fine
And a child is precious like gold

It wasnt always very easy 
Being pregnant, working each day
Some times I'd get kind of queasy
But, eventually it went away

Tests, ultrasounds, bloodwork , all were fine 
An amnio to see if you were okay
Monthly appointments, filled much of my time
Everything was progressing each day

I worked until the day before
Your grandparents flew out to see
I was very ready, couldn't take no more
Wanted my child for just for me

Finally the day had come,when I was to see my son
I got up early, got everything ready, even checked your room.
Slowly I drove to the hospital ,awaiting for the fun
For this was it what I had waited for, i'd see you before noon. 

At the hospital they readied me
A Doctor put a catheter in my back
My Mom and Dad rushed up to see
Their grandchild in a wrap

I told them of my nervousness 
How I forgot the words to say
So together we as a family
We were able to pray

I had to wait for a long time 
Emergency twins were on the way
They said I was next in line 
In the holding room was where I stay

So at 930 they brought me in to the room
They draped a sheet in front of my face
I hoped my head wouldn't  zoom 
I wanted to start this race
 
At 9:54 you came into my life
Your Dad ran to the end to see
The child that was bore by his wife
We became a family of three

My eyes filled with tears and I felt joy
It was all so new, I never had felt it before
Here's your child, perfect, handsome, and its a boy
For on that day my love for you grew even more

The bond between a mother and son
Is a story that can't be told
To look into your little eyes, I was overcome
My memories of that first time will never get old

So on this day when you had came 
Was the best day I could have ever thought
Never mind fortune and fame
To have a child is a lesson in life that can never ever be taught. 


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Scars Left Behind

Story of a boy.....

I was to go to bed at 8 that night
When there was firing at the door,
Heard mom gasp,"God save my son."
I had no idea of what was in store.
We ran to the basement and shut it tight,
Mom pointed to the passage where dad hauls in wood
Sternly commanded me to go
While still as stone there she stood.
The sinners banged the door hard,
Through the passage there was just room for me to fit
So I sat down and shook my head,
There was no way that on my mother I'd quit.
She looked at me in the eye and gave me a kiss
And said,"Darling please listen to me,
I love you so very much
As fast as you can, do get to daddy."
'I'll get Dad' I thought and started to crawl,
I had to hurry,the door had almost gave way too
Noticed a sharp thing in the way and stopped,
But mom, in haste pushed me through.
I yelped in pain as iron cut my arm,
But what hurt me more was the door falling with a 'thud'.
Scars on my soul left me nightmares for years to come
Mom's cries and final scream echoing as I ran in the mud.
Fifteen years later, in the same but better town,
I show my arm to my wife and say
"If not for these scars I was left with
I would be with mom today."

-Sadaf Syed


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We Are There With You

You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit

We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you

You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love

If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
 


______________________________________________________________________
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.


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Proud As A Peacock



My son Scottie and me Are like two peas in a pod The word “clone” certainly comes to mind His humour is the same His carefree look at life matches mine There is no mistaking Scottie boy is my son He's also inherited my creative genes Following in his Daddy's footsteps A techie version of his old man Did I mention I'm proud of my Scottie Does a bear poop in the woods Of course I'm proud as a peacock I love this boy! He's now in his late forties But he will always be my boy! © Jack Ellison 2014


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MAMA CAT AND HER GANG

My son and his family drove down from the big city,
out to the countryside with open fields and steams.
They brought their standard golden poodle along, 
a curly-haired fellow, name of Timmy.
Timmy had never seen a cat;
not even a mole or a furry rat.
Visiting country kin, he was checking things out.

Everything went fine that very first day.
Cats went about paying him no mind.
He walked about just passing time.
On that second day there was a big mistake.
Being a city dog with more worldy ways,
to add pleasure to his hum-drum days,
he thought it time to befriend these country kin.
 
The cats had never seen a dog this small,
only those on stilts, big, long and tall, 
like Pyrenees, big wide mouths and teeth to match.
With barking big dogs on the scene,
up a tree they squirreled, never to be seen.
But this golden-haired fellow, with city clout--
they’d give him benefit of instinctive doubt.

Mama cat was even so bold 
to sniff this city slicker right on the nose.
Sizing him up all the while, a friendly rat, she surmised,
a might bigger than some she had seen,
playing cat and mouse, yet acting so coy;  
that is, until that overgrown golden-haired rat  
walked up to Mama’s black baby boy.

Mama’s two other sons, another black and a blue,
began to gather nearer this city dweller, too.
Timmy politely extended his nose.
black son cat extended his razor-sharp claws,
with a bristled tail and fierce hissing jaws. 
Timmy let out with a painful yelp,
as Mama cat called all boys in for help.

Cats surrounded and gave chase to the dog,
life-fearing circles around the cedar tree he’d log;
four hissing cats hot on his tail,
poor Timmy yelping in a desperate wail.
The master of Timmy gave rescue,  
but Mama cat and her three grown sons,
strutting in pride, putting a dog on the run. 



Written by:  Carolyn Henderson
For Constance LaFrance's Cat Poem Contest
Won 9th Place


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GOODBYE MAMMA

Although you never knew it,my LOVE was always there;there were many who did tell you,I 
was a son who didn't care.But lifes a funny journey,some parts are good and bad;your 
passing without warning,has truly left me sad.I'll pray to God to give you,all the LOVE you 
hadn't here,lets hope we meet in HEAVEN......so I'll see you MOTHER Dear. ~ Princefreakasso

Your broken hearted son PRINCE!

Mother decided to die without saying goodbye,didn't give me the opportunity;to shed a single 
tear or cry. 

My mother passed away a short while back and I was too late for her funeral.Just got to put 
some flowers and light some candles at her grave.Let's hope the good Lord blesses and 
keeps her until we meet again.


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Hostile Times II

Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears
	

Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
Standing still 
I lower my head and pray 
Confessing to God 
All I have to give

A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Anything different
Would have a given me a chance
at living

Walls of barriers bearing on us 
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday 
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.

Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew 
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day, 
A today, 
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.


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The Woman In White

It was a cold and rainy night.
The stars were shining bright.
It seemed as if the world was at a pause and not a person was in sight.
I sat quietly in my car, 
the sound of music I heard blasting from a far.
I opened my door,
stepped out slowly and looked around.
Now suddenly the music stopped,
not a word is heard, not even a sound.
I turned my head, looked over my shoulder,
I saw a woman running.
She was wearing a white gown.
I couldn't help but wonder why this woman running
flaunted such a frown.
I followed her footsteps,
I listened for the sound.
Running through the darkness,
one question came to mind,
Who would leave this woman?
Who would be so heartless?
How can someone leave her when she is so obviously distraught?
Abruptly a sound was heard.
I came to a stop.
I listened closely.
It was a gunshot.
Now fearful I stood.
I began to run as fast as I could.
I ran so fast, I could hear my heart beating.
I came upon my car and noticed a woman bleeding.
She was gasping for air.
Someone had shot her and left her to die there.
It was as if they didn't even care.
She reached for my hand,
whispered softly to me
"never trust a man"
At that moment her hand dropped.
I knew her heart had stopped.
I looked at her white gown now dripping red.
I I cried to myself and pondered what she had said.
This could be me.
I could be lying here dead.
I will remember her words always.
They will haunt me for the rest of my days.
This moment I will never forget.
No man should ever be such a threat.

This was the day my life would change.
From this day on I would never be the same.
The lesson I learned here,
never have such fear.
Fear that will keep me from being free.
I learned that I can be happy just being me.


Details | Narrative | |

Family

A decade in to
a new millennium,
a woman, nearing
a century on Earth,
braces herself in
a doorway of
the house,
she has lived in since birth.

Her oldest son unfastens his belt, and takes a seat at the end of her table,
where her middle son just fixed the legs of the chair; to make sure it was stable.
Her youngest son brushes the webs off the wall, and scrubs the stains from the floor.
Her only daughter packs up her pictures, and helps her through the door.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a life, almost
a century long,
comes flooding back
to the thoughts of a woman
who feels removed 
from where she belongs.

Her daughter tries to lift her spirits, (from the room in which, she slept as a child)
but no one could easily witness their memories, all being sorted, and filed.
Her house is dissected, and put in a truck that waits - like a thief - in the drive.
-The cumbersome stance; the delicate dance; together, they help one another survive.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a woman approaches
a century - passed.
A man in the attic
waves from the window -
Assuring her: 
This home will not be her last.


Details | Narrative | |

Look Memaw

Look Memaw!

I went outside when my grandson called me.
Down the wheelchair ramp I walked while looking.
I glanced all around, left and right, searching.
Then, I heard it, his wee small voice saying,
“Look, Memaw, I am up here in the tree!”
To my surprise, I had to look way up.
Not ten feet, not twenty feet, thirty feet –
Yes, tiny as he is, he climbed that high.
Afraid to show alarm, that he might fall.
I laughed and said, “What are you, my primate?”
“What’s a primate?” he asked curiously.
“A monkey, a primate is a monkey.”
After I responded, he replied, “No.”
With great pride, adding, “I am a tree frog.”

© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen



© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Narratives Free Poetry 
Sponsor	Catie Lindsey


Details | Narrative | |

Soul of a Son, Life of an Addict '

There in a small town in Mississippi, a very poor family of (7) seven are yes struggeling but are yes abound. Jimmy the youngest of them at now 17 tell his father that he wants to be a Preacher The desire to teach is a privilledge that he inherited from his Uncle, and nowat that prunitive age he goes to his uncle (home) town. The soul of a son is one thing, but the life of a addict is another. My Brother, my brother he sit's down one day and listen in on one of his uncle's lectures as this friend of Jimmy is being lestured too.  You don't need to be weak at the knee's in this stage of dealing with certain issue's and as he comes to the end of his lectures he himself (jimmy) is in need of some "tissue". Jimmy is a member of the debate team(at school) one of the student is this friend, who is dealing with crack-cocaine habit that he just began doing for about a month now.  So this-this-ss partic-ular day jimmy takes him to see the preacher (his uncle) after this young friend said to him, "help-me". {I believe you can be of some help}. "Don't be afraid to seek God as your first step".
So after the two of them have elaborated over the matter for and hour, Jimmy feel's a
need of concern, so they leave together.  My Brother-my brother. "Life of an Addict",
will carry you places you never thought you'll be and keep you in situation's and you
will never be free.  Free to enjoy (life) and freedom from the depentacy of drugs
and living on the streets!!....
 These phrases becomes a part of the mindset in one's attempt to go forward with the
"Power of Prayer", and the belife of knowing you're not a "Coward".  "Soul of a Son",
is to surrender your all onto the source of everything(Faith).  And "Life of an Addict",
is knowing that God places people in your life to possitivily restore your faith in your-
self.  So when life throws you a "Nippy", (storms) that is when you're not to give up,
because the enemy wants you to think that you are always running on empty!!.
"For he is everywhere (Jesus) even there in this small town of Mississippi".


Details | Narrative | |

The Saturday After

My first concern was to contact family, friends and employees that might be in the 
immediate vicinity of the event.  We are one of those lucky stories where my wife 
had a doctor’s appointment and did not go to work that morning, otherwise - well, 
I’d rather not think about otherwise.

Given what I do and where I was living at the time, I spent the rest of the week  
trying to find corporate real estate immediately available for occupancy and doing 
interviews.  If you do a web search on my name and “eagle rock” you can still find 
some of those articles.

Early Saturday morning, I took my one son who still lived at home onto the city to 
volunteer our assistance.  We took the Jersey City ferry into midtown.  At first, we 
made our way to the Javits Center where volunteers were to gather.  Even at 6:30 
in the morning this place was pure chaos with hundreds of people wandering 
around with no organization.  

We decided this was a lost cause and started walking down towards the World 
Trade Center.  What a surreal experience this was.  For 30 blocks we walked down 
the middle of NYC streets without any traffic in site.  No taxis; no cars; no buses; no 
pedestrians.  It felt like a scene out of a science fiction movie with NYC totally barren 
of life, save for the two figures making their way downtown.

A few blocks from downtown, we were met by roadblocks.  We walked up and down 
a few streets to see if there was any place we could be of service.  We came upon a 
street with a man on the other side of the blockade handing out water bottles to 
rescue workers returning from the WTC.  We asked the police officer if we could 
assist the man and he let us inside the barrier.

The supply of water bottles was getting low so I gave the man $200 and he went 
off to purchase more.  Meanwhile, my son and I handed bottles of water to rescuers 
covered in sweat and soot.  Over time, a crowd started building up behind the 
barriers and people started cheering and clapping for each rescue worker as they 
came up to get some water.

Somehow, whenever the water bottle supply got low, a new supply arrived.  My son 
and I spent hours handing out water to tired and thirsty rescue workers as the 
crowd grew and the cheering increased.  It was just our way of providing what little 
help we could and it helped us, personally, come to terms with what had taken place 
in our own backyard.

This year marks the 10th anniversary of that tragic day on September 11.  I hope we 
never forget.