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Best Narrative Poems

Below are the all-time best Narrative poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of narrative poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Evolution of Paradigmatic Consciousness by Dillenbeck, Gerald
Wild Fire Management by Dillenbeck, Gerald
Chaotic City by bhattacharjya, anjanjyoti
IF WE DO NOT END WAR - WAR WILL END US by Gruhn, Robert William
Beautiful Now by Pham, Tiffany
Satan is Winning the War by Kilmer, Stephen
Some Where In Africa by chizoba vincent, john
My California by chizoba vincent, john
HERE IN NIGERIA by chizoba vincent, john
IN OUR LITTLE VILLAGE by chizoba vincent, john

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The Best Narrative Poems

Details | Narrative Poem | |


On your last breath.. I told you there was nothing to forgive Stubbornness and bitterness - sure are a hard pill to swallow Four years and not a word from you How sad - your last words were full of rage No chance to rectify them - you left without saying a word In reality, you walked out a long time ago Tell me father - who was to teach me how to be a man? Tell me father - who was to teach me how to be a dad? Guess you didn't know yourself - for a father you never proved to be Lost with your demons - intoxicated by the evils of society The fear you caused to so many - did you ever ask yourself why? Leaving those who loved you behind - to chase decadence Seduced by sinful deeds - your forgot you had a son Isn't a father supposed to be a child's hero? Even from a distance - I still loved you for being my dad You made me strong - told me never to cry Forgive me father - the tears didn't stop when I saw you dying It was too much to hold them for so long - guess I'm only human But, I promise you - I have not shed another tear since that day You told me - son live to be feared - no need to be loved But, I don't want to be like you - I have too much love to give I guess you were right - after all I am my mother's son You had your favourites and I guess I wasn't one of them In reality - it is because of you I am so strong because, I never wanted to be anything like what you had become I know that you're looking down at me from up above Tell me father - are you proud? Of all that I have become? For at the end of the day it's your name I have Cancer took you away - does it make you happy I survived? You can't really miss something that you never had Guess, I will always wonder what it is like to have a dad You took away my childhood - but I hold nothing against you Life was dysfunctional, but I didn't succumb to your manipulation All is forgiven - I hold no grudges - life is full of challenges Sometimes your thoughts cross mind - but then they just go away I know you were misunderstood But I hope you found your peace today.. The Silent One 13 October 2015

Copyright © Silent One

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Details | Narrative Poem | |


A mother was born and dreamed of a beautiful life
A new journey had begun - but a hard path lay ahead
Demons seduced her beloved - leaving her alone
The land was foreign and dark clouds appeared above
Child in hand the mother reached an ambiguous cross road
Before setting foot upon the long way - her conscience enquired
"Are you sure this is the right path? It will be difficult, full of pain"
The mother smiled as she saw hope in her infant's eyes
A real mother would sacrifice her own happiness for a child
Storms came on dark days with thunder and lightning
but, she kept her child dry and secure
Winters came with cold days and masonic winds
but, she kept her child warm and protected
Sometimes she would not eat - but kept her child nourished
In secrecy, tears would fall - her son would only see a happy mask
There were days when life was burdensome and full of worry
and she shook in fear - defeating hazards and obstacles,
as she guided her son along the terrain of the highest mountain
When they reached the top her son reassured his mother
"Thank you mother - I would not have got here without you,
you can let go now. I think I will be OK from here"
His mother smiled with pride - her boy was now a man
When her son was at a loss - his mother would remind him
"Son you only learn from losing"
When her son lay dying - his mother gave him hope and taught him faith
"Son, you can't control what happens to you in life,
but you can control how you react to it"
With the love and prayers of his mother and the grace of God
he defeated the most evil disease and is even stronger
Life is full of trials and tests - being optimistic will help defeat hardship
Loving others will give them belief and a reason to live. 

Never underestimate the love of a mother who sacrifices so much,
but sometimes we do not realise how much.  My mother has taught me so much and is my hero.  I am thankful to my mother for always being there even on the darkest days.  For helping me through my battle with cancer and always inspiring me to be the best that I can be.  It is a true honour to be her son.

15 October 2015

Copyright © Silent One

Details | Narrative Poem | |

I'm just a man

You sat there crying with tears rolling down you face
Asked me why I didn't show you any compassion
All I could say was that 'I'm just a man'
I should have wiped away your tears and held you tight
Told you I loved you and everything will be all right
Yet, I showed no emotion, because 'I'm just a man'
All the answers to your questions, I couldn't find
I was impatient, because 'I'm just a man'
All those times you would scream and shout went unnoticed
I thought you would calm down after the silence
I never meant to hurt you, but 'I'm just a man'
I can still remember the day you said goodbye
I was so confident you would come running back
I wish I wasn't so arrogant, but 'I'm just a man'
I saw you walking the other day with another guy
I can't help but be jealous, because 'I'm just a man'
I saw you smile and you seemed so happy
Finally, you met someone who understood you
Who will show you compassion and hold you tight
You deserve a real man, not someone still a boy
But how could I understand, when I don't understand myself
I was an unloved child who lost his childhood
Nobody taught me how to become a man
Nobody told me the difference between right and wrong
Nobody taught me how to love and care for another
School didn't teach me anything about life
Now here I am again all alone dealing with the ghost of the past
Even though you don't think so, I did love you deeply
Guess I didn't say it enough, because 'I'm just a boy
I hope you have forgiven me for the times I hurt you
Because 'I'm not a man', 'I'm just a boy' Fictional The Silent One 9 September 2015

Copyright © Silent One

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Love in the Silence of the Soul

As a young boy
Sitting in a pew
The winter darkness pressing down
Candlelight waves from hidden drafts
Shadows danced on the walls

I heard the words destined to me
“Be still . . . know that I am God”
So I listen  . . . eyes open
“The Passion of Christ”
I was gone . . . 

I saw eyes . . . 
Judas under the olive trees - Gethsemane
His eyes  . . . cold, darting  . . . filled with manic evil
Torchlights hissing  . . . turning eyes yellow
Then a kiss and chaos erupts
I closed my eyes  . . . suddenly afraid

Now I see a set of eyes  . . . filled with burning hate
A High Priest screaming . . .    B-L-A-S-S-P-H-E-M-Y ! ! ! ! !
All around ugly eyes staring with dripping contempt
Old men spitting with bared rotting teeth
Then I noticed . . . and . . . 
And my heart ached . . . 
Jesus . . . standing quietly with closed eyes

Then we were off to Roman authority -- Pontius Pilate
I saw his slanted eyes . . . squinting as if too much sunlight
Loud voices yelling outside . . .  “Crucify him!”
In my heart, I cursed these people – but his eyes
His eyes were dark, soft – forgiving
A hand washing and we are walking . . . 

To a hillside, a place called Golgotha – the skull
Empty eye sockets . . . a place of death
The eyes of soldiers hard, focused  . . . 
Spikes, woods – his sad eyes burning my heart
Closing my eyes, I heard a sharp gasp . . . soldiers yelling

As I opened my eyes – I was looking out with his eyes
We were seeing the same things
Angry faces with eyes of burning ashes
Taunting and jeering – a wave of hysteria hitting us
I heard and felt a deep groan 
Fear gripping me – I knew instantly we needed to go

Men, women, soldiers, slaves, leaders, teachers 
Eyes filled with blood lust
Evil, hatred . . . . I can’t breath
Death coming with the darkness
Jesus!        Can’t you see . . . 
Then I heard him whisper
 “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.”

My heart sank realizing with horror
Jesus is staying . . . dying
I felt his purposeful breathing
Muscles, bones, joints aching with a searing pain
My eyes filled with tears

I saw another set of bloodshot eyes
A voice next to me yelling
“If you’re the Christ, get down from the cross
And take me too!  Let’s go!”
NO, NO!!!  . . . What is he saying
Those are my words – I am sick
My stomach seizes  . . . guilt fills me
I close my eyes

Another voice – on our right speaks
“Lord, remember me . . . “
Jesus painfully turns, twisting his body . . . looking . . . 
He sees blue eyes – my eyes
I am hanging next to Jesus
“Today you will be with me in Paradise”

We were one – together . . . one body
Now separate crosses . . . I feel crushed by loneliness
But his words . . . “Paradise” . . . “today”
He loves me – I see him looking at me
His eyes illuminating my soul . . . it hurts
I tried crying out – I love you . . . 
But only a sob squeaks out

Gravity pulling down pulling down
Eyes straining against the pain
Joints and ribs stretching . . .  popping
Chest heaving for each breath
Body convulsing against wood
Head back . . . eyes wide open . . . he screams
“My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?”

No one answers . . . surprised eyes
In my tears I felt the agony of the cross
The bleakness . . .  hell
Dead eyes

Back in the pew
I heard the preacher 
“He died for you”
What . . . why . . . no . . . 
No, I don’t want you dead


Hey, wait for me – slow down
Running hard, breathing deeply
I stuck my head in empty tomb – hum??? . . . . 
I sat quietly next to Mary Magdalene . . . wondering
The gardener spoke – “Mary”
But he was looking at me – bright eyes
He said . . . “David”
“David, I love you”

Yes!!  Woo Hoo . . . 
Look at me . . . I am dancing
With shinning eyes 
“I love you too”
“I love you”
“Lord Jesus”
“I do”

David Meade

Love Generously

Copyright © David Meade

Details | Narrative Poem | |

John Lennon

On the day  that John Lennon died,  people were just going  about their business  as they did every day.  Mark David Chapman  was reading  Catcher In The Rye  void of his holy self.  He would have had to  Imagine there’s no heaven.  John took the elevator  down from his room  at peace with his belief  that there was  no hell below us.  He stepped out  on that fateful day  over him,  over everyone,  above us only sky. On the day that  John Lennon died,  people where just going  about their business  as they did every day.  Imagine, all the people  living for today.  Chapman talked to Lennon. Just before he killed him. He was singing "imagine  there’s no countries  because it isn’t hard to do." Chapman shot his  hollow point bullets,  without cause,  there was nothing  to kill or die for  and no religion too.  What a senseless killing,  how senseless killing is.  I imagine all the people  living life in peace. John fell to the ground,  a pool of blood beneath him.  A preacher on a soap box  unaware of the horrific act  that had taken place  was spewing words   that never belonged  to his soul but filled  the tin cup he was holding.  He yelled loudly,  ‘you may say that I'm a dreamer  but I'm not the only one’   a woman in the crowd hummed  ‘I hope someday you'll join us.’  A teenage couple under  their breath followed with  ‘and the world will be as one.’  Amen! They say when the police arrived  Chapman was reading his book.  Imagine no possessions,  I wonder if you can. The Detectives did not wait  for an ambulance. They rushed John Lennon  to the hospital. They weren't looking for credit;  they had no need for greed.  The preacher had left  with his tin cup full,  no need for more or hunger. At the hospital the air was  like most emergency departments,  people comforting people  who themselves needed comforting.  A brotherhood of man. In a hospital with its tragedies  life is more than real  you don’t need to imagine  all the people sharing all the world.  It just is. You can hear  their hearts  beating in tune,  singing  ‘You may say that I'm a dreamer  But I'm not the only one  I hope someday you'll join us  And the world will live as one.’ 07~11~2014 Maurice Yvonne Sponsor: Kelly Deschler Contest Name: I Love Rock n Roll

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne

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The Clouds


God, can I hold your hand and follow you?

"Gods voice"
My child, it is I who will walk with you! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across earth. Your love and devotion are what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You ran to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles and tribulations. We could not speak, it was my light that kept you from going weak.

God, are you a dream of beauty? The holy book.
My preacher spoke of the afterlife, calling it paradise. 
I remember now, I felt this company once before, this light.
Many times, I forsake the light and still you never left my door.
I felt it on the day I was born, 
the day I became baptized in your holy name. 
I felt this light before, can you explain it once more? 
Lord pleases clarify the day I fell down to my knees, accepted Jesus as my savior? 
On that day, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my  failures’.  
Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"

"Gods voice" 
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road.  This light never left you. 
My sweet child did you not listen, 
Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible. 
My child, you were not searching for the right answers.

My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray enough?

"Gods voice"
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself,  
I always answered even when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your soul's disguises.

Lord, I have other questions to ask. 
What should I expect out of my personal sins? 
My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand
My mind and my heart's inner core have been wicked since my adolescence-- 
How is it that I am in your promise land?

"Gods voice"
Getting right with me has brought you here!

One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see My Daughter, Mothers, Sisters, family, and friends?


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Past-Life Nightmare

A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.

Night after night she feared going to bed.
What caused these nightmares that raged in her head?
Even when grown, the torment persisted,
so a therapist’s aid she enlisted.

“Hypnosis,” said he, “might offer some clues.
Why not try it?  You’ve just bad dreams to lose.”
Once under, he guided her to a room --
here people’s lifetimes in books were entombed.

“Find one that is yours,” her counselor said.
Quickly she did, but before it was read,
she felt an ache, saw just a faint title.
The words, she thought, said “Alister Bridle.”

The hypnotic trance now suddenly broke;  
puzzling questions “Mr. Bridle” evoked.
For many years she thought that was her name;
perhaps a past life had been filled with pain.

Who was this man?  She simply had to know!
Seasons passed, summer suns made way for snow.
In Florida now, 1998,
she thought all the nightmares she had escaped.

But strange dreams always catch us by surprise --
when the lights grow dim, our minds fantasize.
Cloaked in velvet, she left her parents’ farm,
stealing away on a late autumn morn’.

To meet her love, she climbed on the carriage,
knowing her folks would forbid their marriage.
Warm-hued leaves carpeted the hillside road,
and her pulse beat fast; she’d soon join her beau.

She thought only of him; joy cast its smile,
but that’s when he called, “Alice, the bridle!”
The leather band broke and wrapped ‘round her knee.
To the ground she was pulled; her horse ran free.

She met death, but past-life dreams recycle,
and she’d never been “Alister Bridle.”

*Based on real events I experienced.

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Memoirs of a cancer survivor

In life, I have faced many trial and tribulations,
but I knew this would be the hardest one.
I can still remember that fateful day,
after scans, biopsies and tests, it was finally confirmed.

I didn't smoke, drink or suffer from stress, so how could this be,
even my doctors were totally bemused, you see.
At the peak of my health, strong fit and able,
yet a lump on my throat was the only telling sign.

I still remember when it was confirmed, stage 4 aggressive cancer,
on the base of my tongue, spread to my neck, throat and voice box.
The doctor looked at me, waiting for me to break down,
I showed little emotion, my mind told me, don't worry be strong.

My voice is my talent and I might lose it forever,
as I sat in the car, a little numb, everything was still.
I looked up to the sky and wondered why me?
I thought to myself, God, you sure have a funny sense of humour.

A 50/50 chance of life, for a moment or two, I did feel sorry for myself,
but just for a moment, as I knew I needed to be strong.
Cancer can be such a confusing thing, a horrid disease,
but they say 50% is in the head and you have to defeat your demons.

I kept it a secret for so long, its not easy telling someone,
all those around me broke down with its discovery.
I didn't want to show them I am weak, so I remained strong,
being strong was what I had been all my life and this would be no different.

I had so much to live for and I constantly told myself, your not going to die,
I had so much support from family and friends, it pulled me through.
however, no one really understood, I guess its difficult if you've not had it,
but it made me feel so lonely, so I just didn't discuss it and suffered alone.

The chemotherapy poisoned my whole body and left me weak,
I felt so vulnerable, stricken to a bed with no appetite or thirst.
I just lay there motionless, no energy to get up or walk,
wasting away slowly, thinking how is this a cure?

Then came the radiotherapy, wow, now that's something!
Burning away at my neck and mouth, slowly becoming more painful.
You can see your whole face and body changing, unrecognisable,
I was the pieces of the man I used to be, but I was not broken.

I constantly reminded myself, it will all be over soon,
that all pain is temporary and I will be fine.
Others never had so much faith, I could see in their faces,
when they looked at me they saw death.

Even when admitted into hospital, as I couldn't eat anything now,
one whole month, a peg in my stomach, and both arms on drips.
Everyday seemed to get harder and harder, but my mind remained strong,
not once did my mind think I had cancer, just a temporary illness.

Through all this time, not once did I breakdown or cry, not me, no, not I,
there were times when I felt so miserable and low, I forgot how to smile.
Sometimes I felt like I was falling into depression, into a dark twisted world,
but my mind kept me sane and kept me strong and slowly I began to smile.

So here I am, still alive and almost 100% today,
I know cancer will return again one day, i've won the battle, but not the war.
Its hard and its difficult, especially when your whole world is falling apart,
but remember worry ends when faith begins and everything will be all right.

1 Aug 2015

Copyright © Silent One

Details | Narrative Poem | |

C'est La Vie

They had fought. He left without a word... ...while she was sleeping. She threw on the gown she had worn for him the night before, pushed off the china vase and blooms he had given her. She watched them fall in...s l o w...m o t i o n, listened to them crash to the floor... ...sat on the window sill, where the bouquet and container had been. She proclaimed to the world "c'est la vie!". She was alone but at least... ...she was the only flower.
22~10~2014 Sponsor: Judy Konos Contest Name: c'est la vie

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne

Details | Narrative Poem | |

The L In Da Name Linda Stands For Love

"Shhh,  look there they are. 
No one believed me. 
Now you see them too.
 A blessing of Unicorns. 

 If anyone knew where they were
it would be the end of the Unicorns.

 The one with the wings is the Queen. 
See how sad she looks. 

She has separated herself from the blessing. 

She loves the other Unicorns 
but she is dealing with her own issues.
They love her, she knows that.

This is different.

She has to deal with this herself. 

She knows she is loved.
She knows they all care for her.


She is their Queen after all. 

A song? 
I don't know. 

I brought poetry.
I brought soup. 
I have to try. 

I hope she believes me. 
She is going to be fine. 

I dreamt about her. 
In the dream her wings were spread.
You should of seen them spread 
they must of spanned farther than the horizon 
higher than the milky way. 

In my dream her magic horn was a beacon,
 it was leading her through the dark
but she was also a beacon for everyone else. 
Everyone who was trapped in the  darkness. 
She led them too! 
She always has. 
She is our Queen after all.

 I stood there amazed 
she was magnificent.

 She waited patiently and the light filled her. 
She knew it would happen and she was right.

That hand from up above 
the one she always trusted
filled her with light. 
She is the Queen and in my dream 
she had returned in her full glory."

Linda was back. 
It starts with an L 
L stands for love.

Maybe It's not a dream.

 'Fairy tales can come true - 
It can happen to you...
life gets more exciting with each 
passing day...!' 

I believe dreams are 
just a window to reality. 

I believe in Fairies.
 I believe in Unicorns. 
And I believe in Linda!

Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Fighting Depression(poems for PD) 

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne

Details | Narrative Poem | |

PINKTOBER you will always be beautiful to me

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she feels broken
Wondering why this evil disease has taken her womanhood
Feeling like a shadow of the woman she used to be
It is not about vanity, but dealing with emotional vulnerability
In a society obsessed by the fascination of breasts,
she feels her beauty has been stolen, as has her class as a lady
The physical scars are nothing compared to the psychological,
which have destroyed her confidence and self esteem.
Just before sadness can fully overcome her, resulting in tears
She hears a whisper in her ear telling her how beautiful she is
Her beloved warps his arms around her, reminding her of his love
As he holds her tight and reassures her of her many beautiful traits,
he tells her he will kiss her, soothe her and wants to heal her.
How wonderful she is and how lucky he is to have her
A smile appears, as she thinks to herself, how lucky she is to be alive.

Dedicated to a very special friend who had a double mastectomy

The Silent One
6 September 2015
PD's PINKTOBER contest


Copyright © Silent One

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Love Has Its Costs


Love is a streetwalker at the corner of Hooker Lane and Prostitute Crescent.

You wanted to pay. Do it and leave. That's the way it's suppose to happen. But it doesn't quite go like that. She is looking at your eyes and she sees something and it feels like love to her. She cries and her tears are real. She touches your face with her pretty little hand and goosebumps run up your spine and you lose your breath.

You kiss her and stroke her hair and you are staring into her eyes as her pain grabs you by the biceps and touches your heart. So you just hold her you hold her and you love her as if she is a beam sent for you to project sent for you to protect.

She opens up and says words you heard in her tears. You listen you hold her and you just listen as she peers into your subconscious to sit with the frightened child inside of you. You take each others hands and you roll in the softness of the innocence of your childhood. Your silly hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams that back then were anything but silly. 

She is beautiful. She is barely twenty. And you? Well you are going on thirty or is it forty.

You pray God will save her. Not pray you mumble it. Her smile tells you she knows. She feels like your responsibility and you don’t want her to die on the street working her corner. You don’t want to feel but you do. You are a weaved outer core of veins and you do. You feel everything. You are her. 

She looks in the White Knight eyes she pinned on your face and you know the pins are there and you see her with your Gladiator brights.

You make love to her and she loves you back and holds you in her dream of what might have been. She is your Queen and you have stripped your armor, stripped your flesh and your organs. You are naked in her shine. You are raw in her light.

Sex? Sex costs one hundred and fifty bucks! Sex? Sex is two dogs humping in the park. Sex is not love, it is empty. Empty because the person is a stranger and there is no emotional connection. 

At least that is what you thought.

But one day you are 53 years old and you think of your one hour bought woman. Did I say woman? She was a girl a vulnerable lost girl.

It is more than ten years later and you still remember her. That single hour in your life and it is engraved on your skull. Tattooed to your mind. Just one word. FOREVER. You can barely remember six year long relationships but you can still remember the touch of a woman, yes a woman you were with for just one hour in your life. You can still feel her skin. Her tears still burn like molten lava. 

She is still on your palette; you still feel every word that penetrated your hide and struck the part of you that was her. You remember it. Not as a single moment but as every tick of the clock, and the multitudes of emotions, of thoughts, of realizations, of questions that existed in each and every second and you wonder...

Maybe you can buy love. Or at least find it on the other end of a financial transaction, maybe once you did..

Maybe love doesn't last three hundred and sixty five pages like in a novel. Maybe love isn't roses from the first frame to the closing credits, with a beginning a middle and an end 

Maybe love is the memory of a 60 minute love affair with a working girl you met all those years ago. A memory safe and sound, written and produced, neatly tucked in the black vinyl grooves on the highway between your heart and your brain.

Maurice Yvonne

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne

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When Yesterday Was Today

On cold evenings
Surrounded by friends
Warm and
I could stay up forever
Taking strength
From the blackness 
Feeling that I could float upward
And walk with the stars
On their lonely journey 
Through heaven.

There was a girl 
I was with then
And beautiful
When I first saw her
I wanted to feel her softness
Her breathe on my cheek
Her hand  
Brushing against my thigh
When I held her close
And even closer
I wanted her 
To say she loved me.

Our love
Had a perfect balance
Teasing and challenge
And seduction.

A subtle change
That I never understood
Came about
The closer we became
The more anger
And resentment followed
When she smiled I was envious
When I laughed she was angry
We broke up
We were young
It was my fault
Her fault
Our fault
Or blame it on the times we lived in.

Outside my room
Footsteps echo
In a long and empty hallway
And like an undeliverable letter 
A message scrawled 
To no one in particular
Haunting visions are 
Returned to me
The slenderness of her waist
The way she arched her back
The touch of her hand
The way she kissed
I feel her presence
Yes, I relive all that.

Copyright © Edmund Siejka

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Thirsty Love

As a young boy
    I watch with interest the small man
   Wolf Hunter - a wise father of the hunt

He begins an old ritual
   coating his knife blade 
   rich animal blood and tallow fat

Wolf Hunter adds another blood-tallow layer
   and another – freeze

A frozen tallow-blood knife

Wolf Hunter knowing the wolf
    fixes his knife in ground
    blade up  
    prays and leaves . . .

Grey wolf sniffs air and begins to run
    blood is on the wind  
    he licks, tasting the delicious blood-tallow

He howls into the night and licks faster
   a blood lust building 
   lapping the blade until the sharp edge bites 

Feverishly now, faster and harder 
   Grey wolf licks the blade in the arctic night
   great is his craving for blood

The insatiable blood-thirst 
    now being satisfied by his own warm blood 
    the naked blade biting his tongue
    his carnivorous appetite devouring 

In the pale morning light
    Wolf Hunter finds Grey Wolf
    dead in the snow
    stooping down he picks up his knife

 I stand . . . frozen  – sicken by the sight
    Wolf Hunter looking at me says
    . . .  to be consumed by your own desire
                    is a dangerous and deadly foe 

Years later
    staring at the bottle
    hands shaking -- eyes filled with lust
    a vison: a grey wolf consumed . . . dead
    the howl of the wolf-wind beseeching 

To be consumed by your own desire is a dangerous and deadly foe

                          /\      /\

David Meade

Live Generously

Copyright © David Meade

Details | Narrative Poem | |

''and that comes from within''


if I had all the money that I ever wanted,
                  I suppose that I could travel the world;

       live in a better home, buy designer clothes and stuff,

  if money was no object in my life . . . 

                     but you see money cannot help me,
each day my health is more delicate, slipping further away;

       and all the money in the universe will not change a thing,
                               this is my struggle and my daily reality . . . 

                                         the things I give myself are simple,

relaxing music to soothe this weary soul;
peace, tranquility and love to ease my pain,
and I ask the Lord for acceptance . . . 

             in meditation I try to fathom the why,
                      of course, with money I could go to a fancy retreat;
but a corner in my bedroom is set aside for meditation and relaxing,
and it is there I have placed peaceful things that cost very little . . . .

     perhaps with money I could get better drugs,
                but no drug is going to change this girl's destiny;

                                                this I know deep in my heart and soul, 
                       I have for a long, long time . . . 

I think a lot about my past and life so far,

                              the paths I took or did not take;
                              the things I said or did not say,
        could money have changed my journey in any way . . . 

                                     a warm bath, a cozy bed, a sweet purring cat,
                                                    paper and pen so I can write;
               my laptop within reach, a walk in nature listening to the birds,
      a loved one to hold my hand  . . . .

      these are my indulgences and they may not seem like much to you,

                              but I feel like the wealthiest person in this world;
              for money cannot buy happiness nor can it buy life,
                                      all I need is the indulgence of tranquility . . . 

                            ''and that comes from within''

January 28 , 2015


For the contest, Indulgence, sponsor Shadow Hamilton

First Place

Copyright © Broken Wings

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Obsession (by Calvin Klein)

undeniable as dawn and dusk upon the still horizon
as tulips reincarnate in bright hues on blue grass gardens
so is the scent that lingered in the folds of your leather coat
as it catches wind on someone else’s skin….so wrong….

familiar…just  like my breathing….obsession in the air
aching like a thorn in my heart it bleeds a refrain of pain
remembrance should be buried in the earth where you lay
yet it haunts me still and taunts my soul in turmoil (indelible)

like midnight slaw mangled in a bowl of noose and weeping
somewhere you slumber (buried asleep) as my throat chokes
I still miss your laughter when that cologne hit’s a June breeze
if I close my eyes I still see your crooked grin in mid day sun

as tangible as wisps of smoke my fingers reach your smile
I toss the solemn words “I miss you” on the lakeside silence
I will see you again….this I know….and the scent assails
always like footprints dried in concrete….forever with me

*R.I.P my friend…..

Inspired by Sir Brian’s contest “Indelible Impressions”

Copyright © Christie Moses

Details | Narrative Poem | |

In the Middle of the Universe, I stand

In the middle of the universe, I stand 
My mind seeking comprehension 
The mysteries of life tantalize my tenacious grip on wisdom
I stand
Observing omnipotent organization
The universe expands as I stand in wonder
What does it all mean?
Infinite answers press against my finite mind
Clamoring for recognition
I stand: dazed, amazed, crazed
By all I don’t know and can never fathom
Until there is light
And the light dawns
And the meaning of the universe unravels 

Your celestial body orbits mine
Time after time
Your gravitational force defies logic
Refusing to stay in the paths ordained
The laws of nature are flaunted
and...we collide
My head is crowned with your constellation kisses
I travel in the nebula of your dreams and fantasies 
As you dip into my body the Milky whiteness of your WAY
The universe explodes in the starry heavens of your eyes
Meteorite words of ecstasy
Streak across my sky of consciousness

Time becomes a non-entity
The mystery of love overshadows the mystery of life
And now I see…
The beginning and end of all creation
The sum total of my existence
Of life
Of the universe
Is here
It’s eternal

In the middle of the universe, I stand
I understand
The universe is LOVE

In the Middle of the Universe I Stand Contest
Sponsor: Vernela S Walker
February 5, 2015

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Lottery Winner helps Homeless

 As I walked into the banquet hall of the 
 Goodman’s Inn, the first thing that stood
 out to me were the eyes of the people. I
 felt as though I could actually see hope. Eyes 
 seemed to sparkle and everyone in the hall
 sat talking to the others sitting around them
 as they waited for the main course of the evening. 
 To understand this report we need to go back just 
 over a year ago when Lindsey Long won the 50 
 million dollar lottery. Apparently the multimillionaire 
 booked the Goodman’s Inn for December 24th through 
 to January 2nd of this year solely to house the homeless 
 over the Christmas holidays. Miss Long walked through 
 the streets herself over the last week inviting the 
 unfortunate homeless to come to the motel for these      
 festivities. Lindsey Long has not only provided the rooms 
 for this week, she also has clothed them with new 
 wardrobes and warm winter clothing and accessories.
 Now as the people sat around the table they were
 told Miss Long had an announcement. We all waited 
 to hear what this amazing lady had to say
 and excitement filled the room. When this 
 beautiful young woman began to talk there
 wasn’t one dry eye in the building. She told them 
 how she was not going to just send them back
 on the street next week but how she had
 built a new centre that would have sleeping
 facilities and showers to accommodate all
 of them. This new facility will be serving 
 three meals a day which will be prepared solely 
 from themselves on a voluntary bases. 
 The feeling in the Inn that night was pure joy
 and as the people realized the impact of this
 wonderful news, they all broke out singing
 It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. This is 
 Rhonda Reeds reporting for 
 The Good Newspaper.
 Merry Christmas everyone.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
Sponsor Mystic Rose
The Good Newspaper 

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Depression (True Story)

My depression grows everyday, It started as a come and go, It decided to stay and create a black cloud, All I can do, Is sit and hope, Wish and dream, Cry and smile, I fake these looks for my family, They feel responsible, Like they caused my pain, Truth is, No one caused it, It just came, because a boy, I loved, Died, All alone, All my fault, Not being there, I was so stupid, So young, I yelled at him, Told him i hated him, Told him to leave me and never come back, His friends came and got him, They drove him home, He decided to come back to see me, My fault, My fight caused, His death, He tried to get to me, A car smashed his, Head trama, Lungs smashed, Face scared, Last words said, I hate you, I rushed to his side, Last thing i hear, I love you, Never forget me, He passed away, In my arms, Me in tears, Unable to tell him, I love you too, Never could I forget you, Your my heart, My soul, You'll always be with me<3

Copyright © Emily Rakis

Details | Narrative Poem | |


Well guys I’m going to tell you a secret
You don’t really know me
I have not been honest 
I am not who I say I am
Yesterday I discovered the real me…
I’m a ninja – yes honestly I’m a ninja
I have proof from
Ninja Salol …………………….…..Jan Allison

So I thought I’d have fun with a few names here
Hope no one is offended.. but they are quite amusing!

Casual Pull …………………...... …… Paul Callus 
Diarrhetic Ande ….…………….Andrea Dietrich
Archaean Cans …………… …….Casarah Nance 
Ard Man ………………………….......……. Armand 
Hmm is Tit  ……………………....…….Tim Smith 
Savour Hart ……………………...…. Arthur Vaso 
ill can Jokes ……………………....….Jack Ellison 
Hencoop Arse ………….….….…..Shane Cooper
Horny Rash Ram ……….………Harry Horsman
Lycra Nim ………………….…......……. Lyric Man
Go Mercurial Ire …………….….Maurice Rigoler
Peer over………………………......….….Eve Roper
Ramshackle Cure……………. Earl Schumacker
Salutes Sir…………………………....….Lei Strauss
Mercy Tis So ………….……....………Mystic Rose
Can Hear Microchip………Charmaine Chircop
Upgrade Gent…………………….….Peter Duggan
Warrants Done……………..….. Darren Watson
Sit Leprechaun................... Paul Schneiter

9th February 2015

Copyright © JAN ALLISON

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Chopped III - Humor

i narrate me own story in a fake english accent. the bloody typewriter is 
broken, it can't capitalize. i'm out of coins for the heater. i can see me own 
breath. it must be really bad . it's summer here in london. i'm a tough guy who 
carries a gun. don't mean i don't want to look good. i freshen up my lipstick,
light up a cigarette and offer one to my secretary. she is hot really hot.
like i said it's summer. she don't wear lipstick it wouldn't help. in the 
encyclopedia under the word butch is her picture. 

i put out my cig in an ashtray overflowin. i'd tell her to empty it but she scares me. 
she only wears one gold earring. who does that? i'm workin on a case, already 
drank half the beers. by the way i'm a dick a private dick. the name is rock,
rock hard. there's a knock at the door. this could be bad she has two fourty fives, 
she's also got a gun. 

she's holding an airline ticket. no reason. she says she just likes it. 
whatever! maybe it has to do with some kind of contest. 
she says we're going for a ride. we are driving when she gets a flat.

i pump she pumps then we get out  of the car and fix the flat. never liked 
cars, horses are more convenient. less breakdowns. she takes us to a 
party everyone is jumpin for joy, so joy gets up and leaves. bet you wish 
this was going somewhere. it's not. like i said i'm a dick.

Contest: Chopped III
Sponsor: craig cornish

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Thief of the sea

Being low class and living in poverty can sure be tough When life offers you little, the life of a pirate is an attraction Learning to deal with sea sickness was just the beginning There was no glamour living life as a thief of the sea Villainous activities are nothing like what you see in the movies The smell of death became a drug as did the greed for money But, there was never much treasure to share between us Rubbish food and poor health saw many a comrade die young Oh, it was no fun living life as a thief of the sea Most of the days were spent with menial sailing duties Life sailing upon the magnificent oceans was never easy Battling against the rage of the sea, an everyday battle I would be a liar if I said I took any joy in the killing, the savages amongst me took great pleasure in the rape of women The only think that really mattered to me was the promise of treasure Silver, gold, diamonds and pearls were all that mattered to me So, this life of a pirate was just me being a thief of the sea Now I sit here, too old and fragile for the sea, thinking about all those years living upon the ocean What has become of me? What have I achieved? I leave behind no legacy, no wife, no child, simply nothing All the treasure is gone, oh how I regret the day I became a thief of the sea A Pirate's Life For Me contest by Kelly Deschler 28 September 2015

Copyright © Silent One

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

You were beautiful, 
my tiny child, 
wrapped tightly in my arms, 
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.

Will you hear me
when I cry out? 
Will you hold me close
as I held you then? 

I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway, 
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run? 
no longer work? 
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too? 

I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.

I am proud too, 
of my writing
and my drawing, 
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you? 
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth? 
Will you be proud of me too? 

I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however, 
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.

I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left, 
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am? 

You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love, 
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.

I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.

You welcomed her home today- 
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.

You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately, 

"Will she tie my
when I get old? "

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs

Details | Narrative Poem | |

- Dear Dad -

I have learned to say thanks
... It's free
I can not remember that I sat on your lap when I was little
How delightful it is to have a child on my lap
I can not remember no one hugs
Today I hug you often
You feel discomfort
I have learned to be helpful
... It's free
I learned to tie my shoelaces
.... Where were you
I have learned to be kind
.... It's free
I learned to ride a bike
... Where were you
A sister and a brother
moved many miles from their childhood home
I went to school - I became an adult
.... Where were you
I got my own family
A home created along with my dear husband
... A beautiful child and grandchildren
... Where were you
I taught them to say thank you and share many warm hugs .... love
You need me now, to master your life
.... It's free
I am here for you
I say: "I love you, dear dad"
You say: "Its only fair .... it is your duty"
I give you a hug
... You give me no one back

A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved 

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen

Details | Narrative Poem | |

Sweetest Love Note

One night a guy & a girl were
driving home from the movies. The
boy sensed there was
something wrong because of the painful
silence they shared between them
that night. The girl then asked the boy to pull over
because she wanted to talk. She told him that her
feelings had changed & that it was time to move on.
A silent tear slid down his cheek as he
slowly reached into his pocket & passed her a folded note.
At that moment, a drunk driver was speeding down
that very same street. He swerved
right into the drivers seat, killing the boy.
Miraculously, the girl survived. Remembering the note, she
pulled it out & read it.
"Without your love, I would die."

Copyright © Le'Rita Clark