I am half sick of shadows,* yet I find
peace in shadows away from scorching sun,
away from soul-torturing, shade-chasing
light designed in torment, designed to blind
cloistered eyes and the naivety spun
of life’s innocent patterns inlacing.
I am half-sick of living life sheltered
and of this living half-afraid to run~
why must I partake in my erasing;
with my every thought and feeling weltered
to self-effacing?
* Alfred Lord Tennyson's 1832 narrative poem, “The Lady of Shalott”
I teach beneath a foreign sun,
where the desert hums in quiet gold,
and the call to prayer meets the ringing bell
of a Philippine school far from home.
My passport rests heavily in my pocket,
but my heart carries islands
Luzon’s mountains, Visayas’ seas,
Mindanao’s songs whispered in memory.
I speak of heroes not carved in stone alone,
but alive in values
malasakit, bayanihan, dignity in labor,
hope glowing on a smart board.
I tell my students:
Nationalism is not only loving the land you stand on,
but honoring the land that raised your name,
even when your feet are planted elsewhere.
In Qatar, I draw maps with digital light,
yet the truest map is within
a compass pointing always home,
no matter how far the journey goes.
Every correct answer, every dream encouraged,
is a quiet service to the nation I left behind.
For though I teach abroad,
my purpose remains Filipino.
I remember when I had anxiety,
I'd try to act normal around friends and family
I’d put on a smile and pretend like
I was the happy Taimee they all knew
No one knew the pain I felt inside
How my body was being
Bombarded by strange bodily symptoms
How talking to people made me nervous
How driving on highways scared me
How I’d worry I might have some serious medical condition.
How I’d a feeling of dread about the future
How I’d feel empty each night wondering where was my life
And all the other worries which
Were running through my mind
A few times, I told some family and friends
What I was going through, yet I always regretted it
The usual reply was I should join a club, go to a gym
Or, worse still, to stop feeling sorry for myself
And pull myself together
You and I both know it’s not so easy
This is one of the worst parts of suffering from anxiety
No one understands you
Not your friends, your partner, your family…
Even when you go to a health professional
You still don’t get the understanding you’re looking for
The fact is, unless they’ve suffered themselves
No one will understand what
You are going through or been through
An Amazon Adventure
A Narrative Poem by C Russell
Let’s go, let’s go to the Amazon far,
We’ll catch a boat, won’t need a car!
Let’s see, let’s see the wildlife here,
Jaguar, anteater and white tailed deer.
Let’s travel, let’s travel along the river, too
Down the rapids in our wooden canoe.
Let’s find, let’s find some curious fish,
To see a piranha that is my wish.
Let’s climb, let’s climb the tallest tree,
Then go for a swim with a manatee.
Let’s fly, let’s fly with parrots so high!
Above the leaves all the way to the sky.
Let’s rest, let’s rest under some shady tree,
And watch the White cheeked spider monkey.
Let’s sleep, let’s sleep high up in the canopy,
Next to a giant sloth and his family.
Let’s dream, let’s dream of the flowers so bright,
While a million stars twinkle at night.
There was a man who was
A giant over his brothers.
He was a fighter not a lover,
Always in a brawl forevermore.
His name was Cain.
And countrywide was his fame.
Everyone knew his name.
Oh, that infamous Cain.
One day he shot the lawman,
And left his wife to mourn.
One son was but a lad.
The other was unborn.
The unborn son wanted vengeance all his life.
He grew to be a loner with no wife.
His constant companion was a gun.
He learned to shoot and always won.
Narrative poem contest Feb. 9, 2020
He took away Cain's life in a bar.
Legend traveled very far.
Every day he thinks of his dad.
The memories, they make him sad.
I woke up last year with 33 kids,
Took the challenge with fearful funny risks.
Every day was like a social suicide,
Love then came and it’s lurking me inside
I wrote a narrative poem in my mind.
Should have said before that I’m totally blind.
I did not see the spark on their eyes.
Still no regrets when I made a sacrifice.
I love how the way how we stick together in show.
Treasured the top and capturing the best in a slow.
Stolen smiles will be kept forever.
I don’t even know how I could keep you so ever.
The most awaited moment is finally here,
Screams of people are all you’ll ever hear.
Your days of hard work are now lastly over.
Are you feeling the trail of sweet scented summer?
Up until I realized it was just a dream.
My 33 kids will go on their own stream.
Looking forward to see you on your day.
Clapped my hands in your grand graduation day.
I sat there staring at the screen
Thinking about lunch
Feeling very lean
I sat there still
Letters taunting me
Staring out the window sill
All I got was Nature staring back
Mocking me completely
I grew so slack
Haiku’s flashed through my head
So short and sweet
Frustrated, I went out to my shed
But narrative poetry that I must
Haiku’s so less sticky
My heads about to bust
Haiku’s I pressed on
The boss said otherwise
So much I think I might go eat a flan
Who’s this boss?
Master of school and more
Salad she did toss
She who is the bomb
Yet stern as a stone
She is known as my wonderful mom
What shall I ever do
Going through such misery
I shall go watch Winnie the pooh
Going to the big screen
I watched away
But I must return to my previous scene
Back at the small screen I ate a skittle
Procrastinating much
Thinking little
Finally arriving at the last
I think about Haiku’s
But I actually had a blast
In the yard I see our gnome
Standing there alone
Telling me to end my narrative poem
Dead Carrotts
A Narrative Poem
“Carrotts is alive until they pull them from the ground” said Father John.
“He just got saved at church again last nite” said Narrator Seven.
“Please Father John Please preach about something else this time” said the
congregation.
“Carrotts is our life we eat them to survive” said Farmer Brown.
“When you pull a carrott from that grounded patch of acred land it kills it it is
murder then” said Father John.
“And what is meat” they cried in masse “but butchered love”.
Dead Carrotts
ODER
Oder
A narrative poem in the charlax stYle
Benjamine: he hath an oder oh mye qyeen
Qyeen: yes he smells just like my camels butt
Benjamine: eye meanteth
He has a poet in toe
Qyeen: eye have a blister in toe it is on my left foot
Benjamine: the poet in TOW is the bard
Qyeen: a splinter from a board why are you so hard today to understandeth
Benjamine: he brings the bard in tow to proselytize to readeth prose and poetry
Qyeen: why would he carry the board that the splinter came from to show me his
toe would sufficeth
Benjamine: confusion reigns today
Qyeen: He is my Asian cousine.
I am all confused about income tax credits
Now you ask about something called debits?
This is really driving me insane with a pain.
Do I get interest at all for capital gains?
What can I tell you about common stocks?
Now liabilities and stockholder’s lock box,
Is this really a case of stretching my brain?
All this taxes take our money with no gain.
Balance sheet increase, this just sounds crazy
Income statement and loss, this is so hazy!
It feels like my eyes are just filled with grain.
Thank you the day is done and it was no fun
Look at this accounting spreadsheet again?
Help me lord, now I know I’m going insane!
Comments: This is a free verse narrative poem. I had intended to make it a
sonnet on taxation. It was written during an income tax accounting class. Input
was received from several students. Some thought it was really funny, and
others thought it was very serious. It was read by the professor the week before
finals and was very motivational.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.