Examples Of Narrative Poems - Page 3

Driving home one day after hours of monotonous office work,
Saw a man sitting by the road; looked as one down on his luck.
Paid small notice to the figure; my lonely life was in a rut.
He was just another beggar holding out a shiny tin cup.

But something was rather uncharacteristic about this scene.
His old camouflaged fatigues were those of a U.S. marine.
No legs dangled from his wheelchair, but he sat tall, proud, and upright.
Many ribbons bore evidence of America's finest knight.

Walked up to the stranger - what was left of a man sitting there.
No others near, just us two, and the pall of pathos in the air.
His hair unkempt, a shaggy beard, he stared as each car would stop,
Lest he miss a coin or, pray, a bill into his cup one might drop.

In horror saw that the cup was held by an artificial hand.
An ear had been severed; thumb on other hand, one eye was blind.
He acknowledged my presence, tipped his military cap.
As he did, I observed scars occupied most of his scalp.

Asked how life brought him to this intersection on life's highway.
From boot camp was deployed to "play in the sand" in land over there.
"Sir," he said, "From high school my great desire was to serve my country.
Fighting with my buddies one night, my jeep hit unseen IED." 

"In flames and smoke I fought to breathe; felt that my life was slipping on.
Could barely hear, could scarcely see, and knew that my right arm was gone.
My head was bleeding profusely; could not feel my legs or left hand. 
I begged God to let me die on the sands of Afghanistan."

"The corpsman came with tears rolling down his face and with choking voice,
Said soldier, it's your legs, I have to amputate, I have no choice.
There are other injuries, got to rush; choppers are on our right,
You hang in there, Marine; I salute you, brave American knight."

The more he spoke, the colder the chills that ran up and down my spine.
Thoughtlessness and selfishness exposed a depravity of mind.
Self-pity, self-indulgence, resignation had poisoned my soul.
Changed by man with no legs, he stands ten feet tall on my honor roll.

Perhaps next time a soldier we meet at the mall or on the street,
Honor and salute those who served, even died, that we may live free.
Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, Navy or Marine, guards of freedom's light.
Grateful for those who wore the uniform, brave American knights.

Our street was once a peaceful place
Kids played and you could jog
But our tranquil life was shattered
When the neighbour got a dog.

The thing would howl all through the day
And even after dark
And just as you tried to go to sleep...
The mongrel thing would bark.

It soiled all the lawns, but his
It chased the Postie's bike
And anyone who whined at all
Was told to "Take a hike!"

Old Bazza asked the owner straight
To silence the ugly brute
But the neighbour said
"My dog don't bark!"
"And I think he's rather cute."

The neighbourhood was up in arms
So of his own volition
Old Bazza went from door to door
And took up a petition.

The Council gravely listened
Then notified the Pound
Who gave the bloke a warning
But didn't take the hound.

One night Bazza came home late
(He'd had a lot to drink)
And when the thing began to howl
It pushed him to the brink.

He parked the car down near the curb
Then with bonnet lifted wide
He blasted on the air horns
Until the battery died.

Not satisfied his point was made
Into the street he strode
Then barked and howled for all to hear
In the middle of the road.

"Woof Woof, Bloody Woof Woof!"
He yelled it out with force
Until all the neighbours were awake
And he was nearly hoarse.

But his goings-on were tempered
By a team of Police in black
Who suddenly appeared en masse
And cut short his attack.

They tackled him and put him down
His shorts and shirt were torn
His face was in the wood chip
And his hair wore bits of lawn.

Now Bazza is a legend
And he takes great pains to tell
How the mutt next door could howl and bark
And give the neighbours hell

He could foul the grass and bite the kids
And never get molested
But when Bazza tried to do the same
He promptly got arrested.

I was in fire,
The room was dark and somber.
I sleep peacefully.

That alarm then rang,
The sound annoying and loud,
But it saved my life.

I had woken up
Scared, confused, and sad alike.
I knew what happened.

My shelter burning;
My bastion fiercely falling,
I, at just age four.

I'll never forget
The face of mother possessed;
The look of pure fear.

Her light pajamas.
Her dark and rustled "bed-head."
She soon yanked me up.

Along with my rest,
My sister, brother, and dad
Ran out of the blaze.

My pets, left behind,
Found the inevitable.
They live now above.

Out we stand, post-haste;
The cold and wet post-storm land.
We stand, soles chilling.

Approach the neighbor,
Seemingly calm and relaxed
Amid inferno.

Asked our well-being.
We had no reply to give.
She left with a sulk.

All possessions lost,
We drove far away, love lost
To live for years more.

Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
For many a year he had gnawed it near,
For meat was hard to come by.
Done by! Gum by!
In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,
And meat was hard to come by.

Up came Tom with his big boots on.
Said he to Troll: "Pray, what is yon?
For it looks like the shin o' my nuncle Tim,
As should be a-lyin' in graveyard.
Caveyard! Paveyard!
This many a year has Tim been gone,
And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard."

"My lad," said Troll, "this bone I stole.
But what be bones that lie in a hole?
Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o' lead,
Afore I found his shinbone.
Tinbone! Thinbone!
He can spare a share for a poor old troll,
For he don't need his shinbone."

Said Tom: "I don't see why the likes o' thee
Without axin' leave should go makin' free
With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin;
So hand the old bone over!
Rover! Trover!
Though dead he be, it belongs to he;
So hand the old bone over!"

"For a couple o' pins," says Troll, and grins,
"I'll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.
A bit o' fresh meat will go down sweet!
I'll try my teeth on thee now.*
Hee now! See now!
I'm tired o' gnawing old bones and skins;
I've a mind to dine on thee now."

*[as read by Tolkien on the tape:]
Thee'll be a nice change from thine nuncle.
Sunkle! Drunkle!
I'm tired of gnawing old bones and skins;
Thee'll be a nice change from thine nuncle."

But just as he thought his dinner was caught,
He found his hands had hold of naught.
Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind
And gave him the boot to larn him.
Warn him! Darn him!
A bump o' the boot on the seat, Tom thought,
Would be the way to larn him.

But harder than stone is the flesh and bone
Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.
As well set your boot to the mountain's root,
For the seat of a troll don't feel it.
Peel it! Heal it!
Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,
And he knew his toes could feel it.

Tom's leg is game, since home he came,
And his bootless foot is lasting lame;
But Troll don't care, and he's still there
With the bone he boned from it's owner.
Doner! Boner!
Troll's old seat is still the same,
And the bone he boned from its owner!

There she sits before her mirror,
Primping in excitement, her face flushed.
Today is her day; she will never know
How much I hurt, how scared I am
Of the void she will leave behind.

Will she forget me? I'll be replaced
By someone new, someone who makes her heart
Dance in her chest, a drumbeat.
Will he, can he protect her as I've done?
I have no choice but to trust...

I seethe with an almost-rage,
An unfounded, illogical jealousy, an anger
For what he is taking from me.
I am selfish. She is my joy, my life
I would die for her.

Today I will. A thousand times.

Then she turns to look at me.
In her beautiful face I see worry.
For me? She sees the unspilled tears
She knows. Of course, she knows.
She comes to me.

And with the smallest kiss, the subtle smile
All is well. She is still mine.
She will always be mine
In a different and wonderful way.
She is a part of me.

She will move on, she will give others joy,
And I am comforted knowing her goodness
Will be shared by everyone she touches,
And I am okay and proud, and I take her hand
To give her to her love, her new life.

I swell with almost unbearable pride
To have created something so perfect!
She was never mine to keep, this supreme being
Perfect to me. Shining, golden, priceless...
My heirloom of love.

And there he goes, that handsome, kind man
With his new bride, my daughter, my soul.
Does he know what has been passed to him?
He could not know, not yet,
But time will show him; he will realize.

Someday it will be his turn.
He will have to pass her essence on,
In his daughter, my granddaughter,
Our heirloom of love.
Will he weep? With loss, with anger?

Will he sit alone in his daughter's room
Filled with love and happiness...sadness?
No, content. A deep breath will help him stand
As I do now, and I walk with trembling lips
And chin held high. I leave this room.

I close the door.