Narrative Name Poems

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Details | Narrative |

"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.

Deeply!

She is their Queen after all. 

What? 
A song? 
Maybe!
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!



08~12~2014
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Fighting Depression(poems for PD) 
 



Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014




Details | Narrative |
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 www.anagrammer.com
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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Suddenly a very soft and familiar voice spoke to her conscious saying “Lovely”
“Yes” she replied   
“Tomorrow you are coming back home”
“OK” she said breathing heavily
The conversation ended right at that instant 
Seven minutes later the unpredictable happens and Lovely dropped into a short comma.
A new day arrives.

Date: 01/01/1788
Ding dong, ding dong, sounds the door-bell
Lovely wakes up; open the golden windows the sun is raising
Knock, knock someone is at the golden door
She didn’t know what was going on this time
She walks all the way to the door not noticing that her house was made out of the finest
marble, and the finest gold that ever existed.
Lovely answers the door thinking is the mail man with the missing letter.
When she finally opens the door instead of the mail man was her husband with open arms and
a smile on his face.
Saying “welcome home baby” “I had been waiting for you”  

WE ALL  GOING TO A BETTER PLACE SOMEDAY. OUR REAL HOME.



                                                                                        
Diogenes Zuniga

Copyright © Diogenes Zuniga | Year Posted 2009




Details | Narrative |
Date: 12/31/1787
Ding dong, ding dong, sounds the door-bell
She wakes up; open her window the sun is raising
Knock, knock, some one is at the door
She rushes to the door thinking is the mailman 
She is expecting a love letter from Iraq
She finally answer the door but stead of the mail man is an officer from the army, he is
well dress and carries a small box with him and inside of the box is an American flag with
three different medals.
One medal is for being a soldier of the US Army, the second medal is for being a national
hero, and the third one, is a medal of honor for dying for his country.
She goes crazy crying out for help, screaming all out that she was expecting a baby.
“I’m really sorry” the officer says
“If there anything I could do please call me” he reached his wallet and pulled out a
business card and gave it to her.
“He was a brave man” he said
The officer turned around and left the house with out hesitation.
Poor girl was drowning in her own tears; she still didn’t believe what just happen 
“Lord please help me”, “help me go through this horrible pain” she cries out.
She goes back to the bed and tries to sleep it off, but it didn’t work out, the pain was
too much just to act like nothing didn’t happen.
She finally falls as sleep after several hours of crying painfully.
She tosses and turns all night long, sweating like crazy with massive pain on her chest 
While she was having a horrible nightmare; dreaming about the death of her husband-

Copyright © Diogenes Zuniga | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
Often a parent cannot know
What seeds of anguish they do sow
When a name on offspring they bestow
Teased by army pals whilst abroad
Oscar ,became Claude !
This soldier, painter ,who changed his name,
Later found world-wide fame;
So if you find an Oscar Monet, today
Keep it safe,don't throw it away !

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |


My name is Jack but who am I... really I'm not a famous personality I haven't made any outstanding contribution to science I've tried to be a loving caring human being But will I be remembered after I meet my maker Or will I soon be forgotten as I pass into history So many famous people who leave us Are remembered for a while But then fade from our consciousness I'm sure I'll be remembered for a little while But dear life continues And soon I will only be a distant memory Only those close to me will carry me in their hearts That's all I wish for, all I would expect My name is Jack but who am I... really © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
.


He was a maverick on a country lane
A bit peculiar, but not ashamed
He never said much to make us stare
But, quietly lived with a certain air
His story, kept private, known by a few
Not much to say, but he paid all his dues

We are the neighbors who lived down the lane
We heard all his stories again and again
He knew what the sun had intended to do
With curly white clouds, and why rims of blue
His talk of Nebraska, and horses and grain
Discussed all the crops, and the darn lack of rain

We had seen him many a sun-drenched day
Standing in the field with the horizon to gaze
Perhaps he dreamed of the prairie skies
With secret story and with knowing eyes
Lightly as leaves cling, the quick years clung
About his shoulders, till his songs were sung
Kept to himself for many a year
...but today, his story has ended here

There is left behind such sad disbelief...
Surprised, and unexpected,..immense is our grief
For what had begun eighty years ago
There is still so much we will never know
Who was the man who had no name?
He paid his dues, but no one knew

Exiled he was, but never his words
Words "fell to the soul...like a the morning dew
               


--------------------------------------

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |


All you Souper know me as Jack But in reality, my real name is Charles I will try to explain this seemingly strangel turn of events I was the last of ten children in our family The first nine offsprings were girls And then came a BOY... li'l ole me! Well the word quickly got around our small town The Ellison girls have a baby brother, WOO HOO! Word also got around that all nine sisters and my Mum Agreed “Jack Norman Ellison” was to be my name However, on the way to the church for my Christening My Grandmother changed my Dad's mind at the last minute And convinced him to christen me Charles Byard After my Dad's brother who died a hero in the First World War My sisters were livid with anger And decided from then on They'd call me Jack irregardless of what my birth certificate said! And they did... so now you know the rest of the story Strange or what??? © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
you light up my life
and have made me compleat
the one i would kiss 
each day of the week
a year and three months
to this very day
i spoke to you last
before you went away
many tears have sence fallen
and screams i let out
just like laughter
uncontrolably out of my mouth
my greif scourges me
every where i went
yet to others i looked content
each day i kiss your picture
and say i love you to your name
i guess they're the thing i do 
to keep from going insane
all these thing must have added up
to a small message from the God i trust
early early this  morning 
after i woke up a music box
played just a few notes
you light up my life
were the notes that it played
shocked and awed i was dismayed
but when i found the box that had played
it was the one i gave you 
because of the song it played



(This is a true story)

Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
His father named him Moses.
Devoid of speech yet blessed.
Doctors said he would live thirty years hereafter.
Buoyant nature and carried a smile always,
With sense of humor lived through derision.
On the day his father passed away 
He sat still and hid his tears within.
Not long, few years later
His mother who would voucher him,
Understand the complexity of his heart
Laid on her final resting place,
He sat still and hid his tears within.
Later his bosom friend moved away,
He sat still and hid his tears within.
Enervate and lonely orphan he became,
Dolefully he wept when none would see.
Albeit the great sorrows of his heart, 
No trauma ceased him to live mirthfully.
After thirty still he lives.
And walking through the paseo every morning,
They who pass him by with admiration schmoose of a man
Who can’t speak and had great sorrows;
Nonetheless so twinkly he lives on,
Knowing not yet parfay wishful,
when he would wake up one fine morning
And meet his loved ones again on the other side.

Copyright © sukkum chang | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
Pain, my enemy and my closest friend
please I beg of you, spare me your presence this day
Please
I'm tired and lost the will to fight you off any longer
Please; just hold me tightly, comfort me if you will
so I can feel the warmth of a touch
fill a void, well at least temporarily 
Can you answer a question for me
Why do I torture myself like this
why do I subject myself with prying eyes
to watch her, Penelope, enjoy life with a tremendous smile
while mine is swinging on a grandfather clock
attempting to buy time
Everything she's shared with me, all we've been through
won't fade from me, I refuse to lose it
How did I fall for her complicated splendor
maybe it was all in her eyes or maybe she caught me by surprise
Just..how can it be over after everything I told her
What do I hold now since she's forbidden from my presence
The thing that still beats her name softly like a whisper
calls to fight for her, calls to spin her around and kiss her
yet I'm too inexperienced, too much of a coward
so I let it all implode while I'm a neutron star on the outside
She's all I cared about. my dear Penelope
but I pick up a leaf
no significance, just for some peace
just to have something to rip and tear apart
Watch and be amazed
I'm the human paper boy
being ripped and torn apart to resemble a dying man
resting on the bottom of the ocean

Copyright © Crow thepoet | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
While the light is still shining, I take my notepad to the window sill, and with my ink blue pencil write your name and again..... and again. A whole page with nothing but your name, but that one word tells a story in my heart. Thousands of words I will never publish.

Words that are coloured in every available colour:

Orange for the hoodie you like to wear, and the juice we both like to drink.
Brown for the colour of your eyes, like powerful mocha, paired with dark chocolate, exquisite.
Green for my eyes who see you wherever you are,
Red for your heart and mine,
Blue for the water that separates us.
Purple a colour they gave our love, how susprising.
Yellow for stars and moon and sun, all stellar constellations, when we gaze up, we see the same differently. You and I, the same yet so different.

A whole page with nothing but your name, every time telling me a different story. Once your name belonged to a young boy, to a wild teen, a young man in love, a man with desillusions, a man in love all over again. Your name, every time it writes something different on my page. It tells of fears, laughs and love.

Thousand times your name, a thousand times I rewrite my love on this page, until the moonlight disappears behind a cloud and I need to sleep.

Sweet dreams my love
:)

***

April 21, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
The girl whispered how gross she’s a stripper she has no pride
Her friend replies I bet when she goes off stage she spreads her legs ever so wide
Look at her she’s such an idiot looking all lost
I bet she’s looking for her first day’s client, pimp, or boss
Oh God why is that whore looking near this door
I silently roar, Would you please not talk about her any more
Yes she’s a stripper but her class surpasses either one of your asses
Yes her job is exotic but your judgment is naively chaotic
Everyone’s not as fortunate as you two and we have to make ends meet
That strippers name is Jane and she’s ever so sweet
So despite your negative comments a stripper she is still to be
But silence for the moment because she’s a charmer and she’s with me




Copyright © james faulkner | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
I’d never have guessed the fuss behind names To the rich and famous, their claim to fame To some a status of great importance Some changed by deed poll, classed as a hindrance Mr, a title and blend of Master Mrs, feminine can one go faster Such fuss over names, fill me with laughter They’ll always be here, before and after.

Copyright © Do you Write a lot? | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
She walked into the narrow lane
of the city, her dark black robe
merged with the dusky crowd.
Her face, sinfully white and pale;
Her gait quite weirdly bowed.

Perhaps it was the large bag over
her shoulders; her hand
firmly gripped on it.
Or maybe, the sultry heat of summer
that made her twitch and tic.

A keen onlooker would have noticed
her kohl eyes,
stared rigidly ahead – revealing fear.
And her soft pink lips mumbled endlessly;
perhaps a religious prayer.

She halted abruptly; stood dazed –
like debating to put off the mission
for yet another day.
But instead, her hands raised –
slowly, up to the heavens in revelation; in submission.

With her eyes shut tight, her soul
painted a glorious picture
of the other world: Her paradise. Her goal.
Taking with her innocent toddlers, men and sisters
in the name of a blissful and peaceful home.

And while they cherish the last few
moments of their brief life,
She smiled, childlike – a contented winner
of a strife; gallantly bidding adieu
as she finally hit the trigger.

Copyright © Radhika Bhangolai | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
i journied through a forrest covered in haze.
through the thick grey fog there was a bright glow of red.
i stumbled trying to make my way towards it,
tripping on the roots from apple trees.
i came closer to this red. a rose was revealed.
this rose was mesmerising. my hand reached for it without thought.
immediately, i threw my now red fingers back.
under this rose were thorns sharp as daggers.
in my state of confusion, i could’ve sworn i heard Someone say,
“this is not yours to take”

Copyright © Catherine Chan | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
When i think about you some people think that ill get happy or even sad to think that i miss 
you well this is what i do...
1.)Curse your name outloud
2.)Cry in pain
3.)find a way out
but in then end i know you think about me sometimes.And how i was the best you eva had:-)
i do not care if you are with someone eles or even with my best friend but i do not care 
because i know you miss me and the fact is you have a right to date my friend i know but 
hun..... the fact is.... you have= no right to say ,my name to look my way to even say hi to 
me for i want nothing to do with you for Me Kathy Kate Haley is finally happy with the man 
she loves and you can do nothing about it!
thats what i do when i think about you :-)

Copyright © Kathy Haley | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
Love was her name, her eyes the color of the ocean,
At only sixteen, she didn’t have the slightest notion,
Of what lay in store, what was the excitement?
The strange smiles, head nods and commotion.

Her parents sat her down one day,” Meet Rahul,”mom said,
In three months time it will be your wedding day.
“Oh,” she said, tears welling in her eyes,
“Gee thanks mom, dad, you too kind”

I’m getting married she thought, I must be in love,
But where is the love? Is it below or above?
Her thoughts suddenly are on Amor,
The boy on the corner, who carries her books for her.

But Amor is neither handsome nor rich,
He works hard by day, in a mill that hardly pays.
His family waits for their food you see,
Twelve hungry mouths to feed.

A second job he has at night,
Carrying wheat for the local dealer, Mike.
That extra money he puts aside,
For the beautiful anklet she so desired.

He’s too poor you see, so what gives him the right,
With no green eyes, and dimples or money in sight.
But mom knows best, she’s mom after all,
Getting rid of their daughter was their only reward.

Copyright © Riah Hari | Year Posted 2007

Details | Narrative |
I'm falling down a rabbit hole,

Down, down, down.

No...I'm not Alice...

This isn't just a dream,

This is our reality.

 

I've never fallen faster,

Never been so careless.

Love at first sight,

You make me fearless.

Light catches seize of the shadows,

In a white light washed night.

 

Racing, speeding, down the way,

Twist, twirl, curve, dip, in, out, in between,

Up, down, inside out, night to day.

The clocks hands fly,

Each minute, second, passing faster by.

You take my hand,

It all just melts away.

I'm lost in your arms,

That kiss, I'm breathless.

What's my name?

Copyright © Kristina denDekker | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
THE SHADOWS HAVE A NAME

The air is dark and the words are sharp
that plays in the minds deep within the night,
Oh, how the voices lies just to get you trapped
holding all your emotions in darken dreams
Oh how Dark Angel loves to see you scream.

The groans that are behind that cold gray wall
makes you feel the hurt of he or she that bleeds,
Nobody really cares don't you see?
this is a place of darkness where love is never free,
You can hear the men and woman go mad
while another looses their head.

Oh, God Jehovah look what they have done,
they have put love on the run,
My Lord Jesus you felt the pain 
Come please and wash me clean in the rain,
I have seen to much that makes my soul weep
the shadows of the night gives so much fright.

The bones they burn into ashes 
every shadow has a name that gone into the flame,
when I think about my own name 
what does it mean for me?
I am lost into darken dreams
Oh, please Help me.

I moan when I hear another cry out in shame
given more blame just to get fame,
Don't they know you my Lord Jesus seen all things?
when I call out your name Oh, Jehovah my God 
Jesus my Lord, they start to laugh while they say no more.
I weep and I pray while I see the blood pour out like ink
Oh, how that make my spirit sink.

I would hear the aging laughter 
while another loose their head
the dead is coy and the shadows change into the flame
of bones of ashes
they all have a name while they burned
But my God sees everything 
and he will give the the evil ones all the blame .

Poetic Judy Emery (c) 2017 7.9.2017

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
he contemplates
those Indian names that tell who, 
or what, they are as a being,
tell something important regarding
the actual person being named

like:
Ron his horse is thunder
Bodaway the fire maker
Wakiza the desperate warrior
and 
Kajika walks without sound

other cultures have meaning
implied in names they assign
to their children, 
though most refer to religious matters
seldom, if ever do they speak its meaning
even when known

Aasim, person who keeps away from sins
Abdul the servant
Yaman, good tidings
Jafar, a rivulet or stream
and

David, beloved one
Albert, noble and bright
Michael, who is like God
and
William, desire a helmet
(which seems perplexingly honest)

will today's peoples ever call 
themselves for what they prize or
what the person actually is,
like:
Geithner too big to fail
Wallstare, wanna see big screen
Carb Manna, he who always eats
or
Runnin' Behind, perpetually late

Maybe my name would be
Thinks too much, 
or similar variant
perhaps something farther out
like:
Dreams wandering
or
It's an interesting view from here

© Goode Guy 2011-11-30

Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
Beautiful she was when I saw her
Nestled gently in that obscure corner at the Supa
If only she knew how many years I’ve longed for her
How sweet the poem I wrote for her was
Well, since I saw her and heard her beat in my heart
I swore with the little cash I had that I would buy her

And to buy her I now have
It was few minutes to nine
And the thought of spending another night without her,
 ...harassed my mind
I couldn’t survive the loneliness,
			...I wouldn’t 
So off my room I rushed 
...and into the Supa I dashed
There she still was, as beautiful clad as the day before
I didn’t have t look twice to know she was mine
That I had done in my mind so many nights before
Now, this was the time for her to really be mine
For opportunity to be theirs had long passed them by

Damn, how good it felt to have her in my grip
When I had her is when everyone else realized how fine she really was 
Now they all wanted to own her
Damn, I’m glad it was too late for them

Here she now is
Nestled lovingly on my thighs 
The feeling as sensational as I thought it would be
Her beautiful shape so bewitching
Her contours so obsessing
Her sound so marvellously enthralling
She is the love of my life and together we’ll be more than fine

She and I will find a way to make it sound and look right
We shall soon make love on the stage in the star light
They shall soon pay to see us perform our hearts delight
But before then it’s tough practice every night

Copyright © Wiseton Prins | Year Posted 2011