4Th Grade Narrative Poems | Examples
These 4Th Grade Narrative poems are examples of poetry about 4Th Grade Narrative. These are the best examples of Narrative 4Th Grade poems written by international poets.
She was a simple child
Loved her seat by the sea
Where she waited for the fisherman
Who waved and said
What a simple child
She was happy with whatever life brought
Smiling during the sunny times
Holding hands and soothing feelings
when others felt sad
She was a simple teenager
The boys who grew up with her fell in love
With her simple ways, and her utter sweetness
She was a flower they all wanted to take home
She was loved by them, and loved by the sea
They married others and watched her from their ships
She waved and threw flowers out to them
The flowers lasted on the sea for a long time
For even the sea loved her simple ways
Uncle Jack decided to surprise me at school
Wore his new Halloween costume
Of himself being caged and carried by a gorilla
He thought I would laugh.
I followed the lead of the other kindergarteners.
We screamed and clutched each other in terror.
The teacher could not calm us down.
Uncle Jack apologized over and over.
I thought it was terrific!
Kindergarten had never been this fun!
Do you want to play?
Oh, yes! Indeed!
Let’s dance and twirl and make loud steps.
Let’s invite the boy with the wheels.
Okay.
Let's invite the white girl who has freckles
Okay.
Let's invite the kid whose hair is beaded and braided.
Okay.
Let’s invite EVERYBODY!
Okay.
At six, they include everybody.
They invite everybody.
They love everybody.
Unless they have been taught differently.
These lucky children have not been taught differently.
It is twirl, whirl, dance, hop, skip and laugh.
They hold hands and begin spontaneously singing.
Their parents and grandparents’ faces crack from ear to ear.
Enthusiasm, love, inclusion and joy bring hope into the world every time.
The magnificent spotted beast crept down to the cool lake
In a ballerina’s way, slinking like a large flexible lizard
I stood in silence, watching, not wanting to disturb or alarm
She looked up at me as her tongue hit the water.
With one click I took a photo I have shared around the world.
Only one take? Some people ask.
I nod.
Remembering how terrified I was that she might dart across
And grab me by the throat.
Remembering how hard my heart was beating.
Remembering the fear she instilled.
One take was enough, thank you
The snow was fierce that weekend
It never let up, kept falling and falling
The drifts were getting higher and higher
The wind chill was getting lower and lower
It was brutal outside, wasn’t it?
Mama rabbit did not mind
They had plenty of carrots and lettuce in the larder
She had put them up in Mason jars the summer before
Anticipating this kind of winter
She read the Farmer’s Almanac, didn’t she?
The baby bunnies were getting older now
They would soon want burrows of their own
She was knitting them February blankets
With giant red hearts, for she loved Valentine’s Day
And Woman’s Day which she was reading as she knitted.
She was a multi-tasker, wasn’t she?
Sheba Mabeebah was a playful fawn, and a whimsical doe.
We watched her frolic in the flowers when she was young.
She loved Queen Anne’s lace, wild daisies, and iris the best.
Her name is perfect our friends told us. She is perfect!
We had never rescued a fawn before, but we were glad.
For she gave us delight for many years before she found love.
He was a handsome buck, and they ran off together in March.
Making no apologies or promises. She made a lovely bride!
Harry has lived with us the entire eight years.
We did not know that agreeing to keep his shoes here was a big deal.
One day my husband said “I am throwing these oud!”
“We promised his widow!” I shrieked.
It was her one requirement when she sold us this house.
The next week was a nightmare.
I got carjacked. My husband lost his job.
One of our dogs got hit by a truck.
“It was those shoes!” I told my husband.
“Get them back!”
We tried, but they were long gone.
Every week got worse and worse.
We separated, eventually divorced.
I remarried, and we tried to buy a house.
“That was Charlie’s hat,” the seller told us.
“Leave it in the closet, or….”
I ran out screaming.
Farm kids wake up before the roosters
We do our chores twice a day in the dark
Once in the morning, and once in the evening
It is our responsibility; we are not reminded.
We want to do the right thing.
Farm animals know when to expect their feed.
Loud chickens are the first ones out of the hen house
Clucking and strutting; pecking and prancing
The rooster goes topside and begins to crow
We enjoy the dance of the barnyard animals.
Farm life is rapidly disappearing.
So many industrial farms have taken over.
Breeding hogs and cows without 4-H kids
Farm kids have moved to town now
Where are there no fishing holes, barns or tractors.
We have not forgotten. We shall never forget
The great life we had on a farm.
Once upon a time….
Miracle loved riding the fog
She glided gracefully around the tombstones
Feeling spirit eyes on her
Traveled past the cemetery gates
Enjoying Halloween night more than ever
There she goes again, a ghoul said.
Every Halloween, his goblin friend replied
Miracle was over four hundred years young
And she never changed up her routine.
She would be easy to mug, said a demon.
I could bite her neck, a vampire said.
But what would be the point?
Weird things happen up there, my uncle told me.
The other guy was looking out toward the mountain too.
I pushed my pancake around on the plate and listened harder.
My aunt said there are space aliens living in the big one.
Supernatural beings and spiritual things the waitress said.
She caught my eye and laughed. I noticed she had pretty blue eyes.
My grandma is Irish, she says there are little people up there.
You mean like elves, faeries and such? The truckers were on a roll.
We natives call it Magic Mountain, the waitress told me.
I decided to sneak up there later that night.
All kinds of wonderful elves and gnomes were playing music.
I began dancing. I heard a guy say, “I don’t see anything.”
I felt grateful that I am Irish.
Louise has the most exotic doll clothes in the toy chest.
We know she is Meg’s favorite because of her outfits.
Some of us are angry with Louise because of this favoritism.
Some of the prettier dolls are uglier now, and they throw a fit.
Last night Meg created a gorgeous gold bird nest hat for Louise.
We saw it, and many of us were not pleased in the least or at all.
She is more gorgeous than ever, and this is not fair, if you please.
Worse, it made her look svelte, and about six inches more tall.
I belly danced my heart out
Until someone yelled STOP!
But wait, I lie. I kept dancing.
Now doing the quick Lindy Hop.
I twisted and twirled and stomped and stamped.
Someone yelled out “Stop! You little Tramp!”
This did not make me mad, for I was in the zone.
I shuffled right by them, my craft duly honed.
She is so silly! Someone said in a mean kind of way.
I did not care at all. I was here to play.
She’s belly dancing again! Someone yelled. Let’s make her stop!”
I would not stop now until my body needed to drop.
Dancing makes me happy; it keeps my blood clean.
To make me stop would be incredibly mean.
I guess they do not understand, jealousy is in their way.
But I danced on happily, throughout the next day.
A dark shadow seems to follow me
walking down this moon light path.
Sometimes its right beside me,
sometimes its right in front.
I think it's here to frighten me
or perhaps it's here to stalk.
Maybe he just wants to be friends
and stop for just a talk.
My mind seems to be racing.
My heart goes, " thump - thump - thump".
I'm breathing a little faster now.
Then suddenly! - a "Bump"
I hear a gray wolf "howling"
and this barred owl, he won't stop.
I'm not sure if he is laughing or,
"Whoo -Whoo-Whoo" - 'OH! Please Make Him Stop!"
The sun appeared in the horizon
and with sun light he did flee
I suddenly realize on thing
that Dark Shadow was just me.
10/26/2021
Why do they say money grows on trees?
I don’t know I admit
Her eight-year-old eyes look into my soul.
They kind of do though because money is made of paper
And paper is made from trees, right?
I guess so, I say.
The conversation continues.
On and on and on and on and on.
Have you met eight?
I finally say, “I have a money tree in my yard.”
She snorts, snickers, laughs.
She does have a money tree, her seventeen-year-old sister says.
Her face changes; it is an unfamiliar expression of hesitation.
Wait a second, she says, “You told me that you lie, right?”
Sometimes I admit.
She looks relieved.
“You don’t have a money tree, right?”
Right, I admit.
Shaken down by a determined, serious five-year-old.
He said “I am bad”. I laughed, not seeing any bad at all.
Tried to get him to prove it. He couldn’t.
I reworked him. Replenished him. Reminded him
Of all the good I had seen from him.
He helped the little ones find the gym yesterday.
He lifted another little one up to take a drink in the fountain.
I was glad I had seen this. Thank God I had.
He was not convinced. Irritated with me.
Called me names. Said he did not want to be my friend.
I laughed. Knowing he would be back.
He always comes to me. He knows the truth.
He knows he is good. But it is difficult to think about
When your mother is saying how bad you are
Because you look like the man who raped her.