Narrative April Poems

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

The poem(s) are below...

Details | Narrative |
I'm no good at setting clocks,
don't enjoy sending faxes
but if you'll bring your info,
I'll calculate your taxes.

I scream at my computer,
could take a hammer to it
but give me a tax problem,
I'll work my way through it.

Can't program my cell phone,
don't even want to bother.
I'm busy doing tax returns
for everyone's big brother.

Kids’ve joined the work force,
brought me their W-2's
wanting all their money back,
"Mom, see what you can do."

Now they own businesses
I'm preparing Schedule C's.
I want out of this trap,
I'm dying by degrees.

Grandkids’re growing fast,
beginning to earn dough,
and Grandma's growing old,
lazy, decrepit, and slow.

cfa ? 3/14/2010

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Fear feasts on our insides
And wrecks decision-making
Evil jumps in with glee
And another one loses trust

And another one down
And another one down
And another one loses trust

Evil grins
At what might have been
As another one loses trust

Housing fails
Markets, too
And countries follow suit

“Be afraid
Be very afraid”
Used to be a joke
But now it’s the match
That lights the glint
In Evil’s eye

Every day we’re fed
Too much detailed
- Perhaps true;
Perhaps not -
With stated directives
To be

As Evil laughs
And Fear cavorts
Through our souls

With another one down
And another one down 
And another one loses trust

I will myself to turn off the media
Not to ignore the warnings;
But to avoid overexposure
To the cancer-causing
Smoking gun
Of fear

According to Article 37, Section 202 of the Code of Federal Regulation, the Congress states that “words and short phrases such as names, titles, and slogans; familiar symbols or designs; mere variations of typographic ornamentation, lettering or coloring; mere listing of ingredients or contents” are not copyrightable.
So thanks to John Deacon of Queen…

Copyright © KJ Hooten | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
Chaka Zulu 

Dlungwana son of Ndaba!
the greatest warrior of all times
conceived out of wedlock by his mother Nandi and his father
voracious one of Senzangakhona
son of Nandi kaBebe, the daughter of a Langeni chief
born in Langeni territory at the Nguga homestead 
bayete inkosi

The scorpion of Phunga 
boy from  esiKlebeni homestead
who was cooked in the deep pot of Ntombazi
overcame Msikazi among the Ndimoshes
son of the Mhlathuze Valley and Langeni people
bayete inkosi

Mandla kaNgome
who moved to the Mthethwa people
grew up in the court of Dingiswayo
founded the Ntontela regiment
the impi in the iziCwe regiment
bayete inkosi

Axe of Senzangakhona
the warrior of Mhlathuze River
designer of the aniklwa
the king of KwaBulawayo, at the banks of the Mhodi,
in the Mhlathuze valley,
bayete inkosi

Young raging one of Nbaba!
the cause of Mfecane, Difaqane, Lifaqane
king of the centralized monarchy
builder of the Dukuza
undisputed, almighty ruler
bayete inkosi

Copyright © Yuhi Musinga | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Jindagi wahi thi mein hi badal gaie,
Bachpan ki yado mei kishorawastha bhi dhal gaie,
Nursery class mei ungali pakad kar chali thi,
Aaj akeli twelth pass ho chali,
Bado ke palko ki abhi bhi kali hu,
Oos ke boondo jesi moti ban gai hu,
Bachpan mei maa ki wo kanha wali choti,
Wo nal ka pani,wo chulhe ki roti,
Didi or mere thaelo ke khilaone,
Jhula na jholane mile toh lagti thi rone,
Baba- amma ke ankho ki pyari hu,
Sabki raj dulari hu,
Gao ke kheto ki wo mand hawa,
Dil toh wahi bus badal gaya chehra,
Maa ke hatho ki thapki or lori,
Papa ke god mein karti thi titori,
Atariya mei apne payal ka chn-chanana,
Mastiya, manmarjiya or apne aap mein gun-gunana
Wo bachpan ke khel,.wo dosto ki rail,
Wo raja -rani ki kahaniya , wo chadar ki jail,
Hanso jaise udati thi badalo sang,
Bade hote hi badal gaya sare jahan ka rang,.
Bachpan ki yade udas man ko gud-gudati, 
Kehta hai dil bachpan phir se aa jata........

Copyright © simpal tripathi | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

They say that the only sure things
Are death and taxes

After gathering information and a bit of math practice and
carefully filling out the forms
And sending them in to various governments:
Federal, State, and Local;

After gathering resources and a lot of running practice
And carefully filling out the registration forms
And sending them in
For the Boston Marathon -

Who knew 
The end of the race would really be
The End of the Race?

Crowds cheered
As the runners crossed the finish line

And a few crossed over
No doubt, to cheering crowds of angels
And loved ones long past

This is fresh news; and no one knows
Who planted the bombs
Or why

They say that the only sure things
Are death and taxes

Who knew they’d both fall on the same day?

Copyright © KJ Hooten | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
The most sorrowful and gruesome story ever told
begins with the man who crossed the waters and heights
carrying thirty and some unquenchable suns on his head,
the man who walked in the rain and wind with thirty and more moons on his shoulders.

For he looked like a slim and tender early spring shoot
that is rooted out from a rough and dry soil, and, therefore,
having no beauty to attract others, he was rejected; 
having no majesty worth honoring or respect, he was despised; 

and because he was acquainted with no comfort but suffering 
he was ousted to the hill named Skull at last under pouring lashes with a cross on his back.

Although the stories of his own that he told to the mountains were sad and painful, and written on the waters were sorrowful and lamentable, he enabled to hold himself by the faith he held 
in his friends who were always close by and shared a day’s burden with him. Although the cup he took at Gethsemane was bitter and stringent, it enabled him to take it through friendship
he was reassured through a broken piece of bread and a cup of wine he shared with them, surrounding the last banquet table 
that is beautifully shaded in red from the color of setting sun.

It seemed impossible though,
under a most disgraced humiliation,
he gave out himself to the pain that was unbearable,
he upheld a wooden pillar high in air with the spike pierced hands and feet at the hill called Skull. And it was possible only because he held warm memories in his heart, the remembrance 
of a loaf of bread he broke and dipped a piece in the reddened evening sun and drank it from the one same cup with his beloved friends.

After a man of such tragic life has gone,
after a man who lived through such distasteful life had left,
the most sorrowful and gruesome story ever told ended as a tale that year after year, 

since then, the man returns as a dew-landed lonely lily
in an early April morning on the other side of the footmarks 
he left behind, smeared with a drop of blood darker than 
the sunset ray.  

Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Here in far off Borneo, junior squash players are gathered in numbers...
Young and energetic, these are Malaysia's young hopefuls and contenders...

In the numbing heat within this immense hall, the muted thuds of hard hit balls...
Interrupt the cacophony of low conversations permeating through this hall...

Spectators, mostly loving parents, they are one with all the juniors in this tourney....
Raucously cheering the eager young players, battling each other for squashing glory..

Teary losers are pitiful sights aplenty, heaving gasps of disappointment and sobs...
While the victors are warmly congratulated, savoring the highs with renewed hopes...

Where a closely fought match is being played, spectators they swarm the area...
Viewing space then is standing room only,  gasps, groans and cheers are vocal and clear..

With 8 courts and featuring 197 players of various ages in the serious business of winning...
Suspense and excitement  are very much visible,  in both parents, players and supporters...

With the promise of cash prizes, hopes are high for cash and glory till the final win..
These young squash players, talented and motivated,  must be nutured and developed...

As future kings and queens of squash, junior champions they are  today but tomorrow....
Many will continue to grow and one day, and  the best will lay claim to squash  lofty  throne...

For such promising young squash talents, it will be a long journey to excellence...
Many of them will go astray, few will make it all the way, for many studies hold sway..

All these years, Malaysia as a nation hold her breath while trying to do the utmost best...
Of finding a potent squash player, good enough to take over once Datuk Nicol David rests..

Looks like the writing is on the wall, our darling squash queen is finally dislodged from her perch..
Who now can we hope, who now is good enough to quickly climb up to the very top of the perch...

As did the sweet smiling queen of squash, Datuk Nicol David for a phenomenal 109 weeks..
Of dominance over a frantic chasing pack of world class players, the Egyptians ahead of  the rest.....

So here we are,  this Asian Junior Squash sanctioned Silver Event for junior squash tornament..
To witness how young talented juniors come together as friends and foes  in this tournament...

To showcase individual talents, and meet expectations and hopes for Malaysian Squash for tomorrow... 
Squash On, Juniors! Take on the world!

Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Insanity is the essance, 
that helps define my identity.
Open the flood gates to h*ll,
for a little peak into my reality.

Tortured by the vivid dreams,
racing through my mind.
Stuck in a trance, frozen in fear,
I feel so left behind.

Locked down with metal shoes,
chained against the wall.
Nowhere to turn, no options to take,
my turn to take the fall.

I look down there's nothing there,
but the fiery pits of hell.
The flames so bright they are blinding me,
as I hide behind my exterior shell.

Protected only for a moments peace,
to put my mind at rest.
Accepting that this is it for me,
I have definatly been put to the test.

A small glimps into my file,
tell me, "What do you see?"
Insanity, anger, sorrow and pain,
the true depths of me.

Copyright © Priscilla Larson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
The great one glides to her ultimate destiny

Soon to etch in time an infamous legacy

All souls aboard not knowing their fate

An iceberg ahead,

just lying in wait

This huge ship of iron,

cutting so easily through a wave

About to send so many to a watery grave

Dozens of safe crossings by it Captain so proud

Confidence buoyed by calm seas,

and nary a cloud

Little children run and play on her gigantic deck

The Lord knowing for some,

their parent's last trek

Young lovers,

completely oblivious of the future

Set plans for America,

and offspring they'll nurture

Yet this massive ocean,

Earth's giver of life

Can be so unforgiving,

making widows of many a wife

The rich and the poor,

standing shoulder to shoulder

Going down with Titanic,

never to grow older

As loved ones in life boats,                    

hear those horrible cries

They are doomed to relive them,                  

for the rest of their lives

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn

Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
In our little village Nkporo,
We live in harmony and help each other.
We share among ourselves the golden rules
And nighbours remember their neighbours.
We play hide and seek at our leisure time
Creating kite and building houses with clay.

When the elders are around the corner,
We play calm and whisper little to each other
As they eat kolanuts and drink palm wine.
Boys must not look at girls eye to eye,
And boys must not talk to the girls
Because we were told it is bad
But never were we told why it is bad.

At night, we stay separately 
Under the mango trees to listen
To the moonlight tales of "Omalinze"
After, boys dance along with boys
Girls sing"kpakpangolo" along their paths.
They never told us why girls must 
Be separated from the boys.

Until we go wild and nasty,
In our games we meet;
We feel the girls emotions and feelings.
We entangle, caress and watch them groan
And moan passionately in our arms.
We disobey the elders and fall in love.

We try to see what the elders were 
Hiding from our today's eyes.
So we deep our fingers into where it ought not to go
Because the elders never told us why the boys
Must not be with the girls.

Boys meet girls behind the elders,
The pleasurable experince becomes sweeter.
We mingle and entangle with them for sometimes
Behind the village "Iroko" trees and boys 
Put girls in the family way because the elders
Never told us why the boys must not look at the
Pretty girls in the eyes.

#village life# rememberance# missing childhood# 

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
I have been waiting for you,longer than you know
I have been excitedly creating my collections,for you to show
I have been hopelessly waiting you, to share my stories a few
I have been in love with you,long before meeting you....

I know you are there somewhere
There are so many things i want to tell,so many dreams and hope to share
I hope you are as excited as me,for us to meet
I can't wait for hours to spend in talk,as together we sit....

Oh how amazing will it be,to finally see you.....
The day when i find the lost piece of my life,that was long due.....
The one i am destined to be with
The one i can share my every thoughts,harsh or sweet....

I want to tell you that i need you
But i so hope that you need me too,
though you don't hear me now
I hope the day to meet you is near somehow

I wonder what are you doing now
Imagining WH questions about me somehow
Do you miss me? i miss you
Do you imagine the color of my eyes??because i do,when i think of you

I imagine every little details of you...let them be your hair or your height,
my heart thinks of one way but then my brain sees all other might
Don't think me crazy,its just...I like to wonder the man of my life
Don't want to sound cheesy but i want to share life with you as your loving wife

Copyright © sakshat budhathoki | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
April decorates Nature
with snowy festivity...
to resemble a season so wintry;
will the unwelcome snow head for the shore?

The very disappointed skies gleam unpleasantly,
and the saturated earth weeps in agony;
who commanded the wrath of the tempest...
when winter supposed to be laid to rest?

The snow's showers cover the budding hills
quicker than the gelid rain of winter;
far and away...hope is illusory and brief,
and the questioning mind deflects its early coming!
Does this season have a late beginning,
or is it caused by an unknown factor?

April has smothered winter and hasn't protected
the trees, flowers and plants from frost;
almost everything has perished in its ferocious course,
and the desperate farmer deplores an harvest so scarce!

Inside is so cozy and warm, the gusty wind
is heard through the fireplace that retains the heat
of the crackling logs underneath;
some folks cherish moments like these!

April decorates Nature
quite beautifully and impressively;
brutally or unfairly...
it becomes an inevitable rapture!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2007

Details | Blank verse |
 The Odd Narrative 

Steamed up window my finger I paint a landscape,
 Mountain, forest and a lake; the peak cries into 
                   the lake it becomes a vast ocean, 
where trees, are made into wooden rafts floats. 
Midmorning, there is only an outline left of the crest, 
this will happen to Himalaya, 
it will be a grassland on a plateau, where horses gallop, 
                                   flying mane and all that,
 since man won’t be there to domesticate and make them 
drag bunk beds and kitchen stoves around the pampas.    

The rest of the world will have sunk into a big sea that is so still 
 it spends all its time mirroring the blue sky thinking it’s seeing 
                                     is so deeply in love with the image,
that doesn’t notice the man in a rowing boat; he’s one time forgot, 
                                     he has married a big fish
which he thinks is a mermaid, every so often he  puts his hand in 
the sea and strokes the fish’s    belly: “without you,” he murmurs 
                                    “I would truly be alone.”

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2017