Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the

voices of a narrator and characters as well; the entire story is usually written in metered
verse. Narrative poems do not have to follow rhythmic patterns.

I’M JUST A MAN

You sat there crying with tears rolling down you face
Asked me why I didn't show you any compassion
All I could say was that 'I'm just a man'
I should have wiped away your tears and held you tight
Told you I loved you and everything will be all right
Yet, I showed no emotion, because 'I'm just a man'
All the answers to your questions, I couldn't find
I was impatient, because 'I'm just a man'
All those times you would scream and shout went unnoticed
I thought you would calm down after the silence
I never meant to hurt you, but 'I'm just a man'
I can still remember the day you said goodbye
I was so confident you would come running back
I wish I wasn't so arrogant, but 'I'm just a man'
I saw you walking the other day with another guy
I can't help but be jealous, because 'I'm just a man'
I saw you smile and you seemed so happy
Finally, you met someone who understood you
Who will show you compassion and hold you tight
You deserve a real man, not someone still a boy
But how could I understand, when I don't understand myself
I was an unloved child who lost his childhood
Nobody taught me how to become a man
Nobody told me the difference between right and wrong
Nobody taught me how to love and care for another
School didn't teach me anything about life
Now here I am again all alone dealing with the ghost of the past
Even though you don't think so, I did love you deeply
Guess I didn't say it enough, because 'I'm just a boy
I hope you have forgiven me for the times I hurt you

Because 'I'm not a man', 'I'm just a boy'

 Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the
voices of a narrator and characters as well; the entire story is usually written in metered
verse. Narrative poems do not have to follow rhythmic patterns.

THE ENCHANTED FOREST

The woods were silent except for the shifting

soft sounds of his hooves as they fell upon
the forest floor. There he stood amid the mist in
his white majestic coat calling to me to come
to him and ride upon his back, vanish with him,
(as the sun lay dying into quiet shades of twilight)
into an unknown sacred realm where no
one's footsteps could follow.

I stroked his soft warm velvet nose and felt the

subtle flair of his nostrils breath on my hand.
When I climbed upon his back we rode
as one as our love and trust in each other
had slowly grown into a synergy unsurpassed.
Moonlight filtered through the verdant trees
as darkness enveloped the starry sky.
Suddenly we found ourselves in a glade
where we were surrounded by the soft glow
of tiny faeries as numerous as fireflies.

We were warmly welcomed into their sacred

sanctuary and I felt enchanted by their sylvan
beauty as two tiny faeries braided long strands
of my golden hair, intertwining fragrant flowers.
I was asked if I would help to keep the forest
safe from clear cutting, and I promised I would.
I awoke to the faint sound of hoofbeats as dawn
was rising and there were pretty flowers in my hair.
\

Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the
voices of a narrator and characters as well; the entire story is usually written in metered
verse. Narrative poems do not have to follow rhythmic patterns.

FATHER

On your last breath.. I told you there was nothing to forgive Stubbornness and bitterness -
sure are a hard pill to swallow Four years and not a word from you How sad - your last
words were full of rage No chance to rectify them - you left without saying a word In
reality, you walked out a long time ago Tell me father - who was to teach me how to be a
man? Tell me father - who was to teach me how to be a dad? Guess you didn't know
yourself - for a father you never proved to be Lost with your demons - intoxicated by the
evils of society The fear you caused to so many - did you ever ask yourself why? Leaving
those who loved you behind - to chase decadence Seduced by sinful deeds - your forgot
you had a son Isn't a father supposed to be a child's hero? Even from a distance - I still
loved you for being my dad You made me strong - told me never to cry Forgive me father
- the tears didn't stop when I saw you dying It was too much to hold them for so long -
guess I'm only human But, I promise you - I have not shed another tear since that day You
told me - son live to be feared - no need to be loved But, I don't want to be like you - I
have too much love to give I guess you were right - after all I am my mother's son You
had your favourites and I guess I wasn't one of them In reality - it is because of you I am
so strong because, I never wanted to be anything like what you had become I know that
you're looking down at me from up above Tell me father - are you proud? Of all that I
have become? For at the end of the day it's your name I have Cancer took you away -
does it make you happy I survived? You can't really miss something that you never had
Guess, I will always wonder what it is like to have a dad You took away my childhood -
but I hold nothing against you Life was dysfunctional, but I didn't succumb to your
manipulation All is forgiven - I hold no grudges - life is full of challenges Sometimes
your thoughts cross mind - but then they just go away I know you were misunderstood
But I hope you found your peace today..
 Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the
voices of a narrator and characters as well; the entire story is usually written in metered
verse. Narrative poems do not have to follow rhythmic patterns.

OBSESSION

undeniable as dawn and dusk upon the still horizon

as tulips reincarnate in bright hues on blue grass gardens
so is the scent that lingered in the folds of your leather coat
as it catches wind on someone else’s skin….so wrong….

familiar…just like my breathing….obsession in the air

aching like a thorn in my heart it bleeds a refrain of pain
remembrance should be buried in the earth where you lay
yet it haunts me still and taunts my soul in turmoil (indelible)

like midnight slaw mangled in a bowl of noose and weeping

somewhere you slumber (buried asleep) as my throat chokes
I still miss your laughter when that cologne hit’s a June breeze
if I close my eyes I still see your crooked grin in mid day sun

as tangible as wisps of smoke my fingers reach your smile

I toss the solemn words “I miss you” on the lakeside silence
I will see you again….this I know….and the scent assails
always like footprints dried in concrete….forever with me

*R.I.P my friend…..
 Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the
voices of a narrator and characters as well; the entire story is usually written in metered
verse. Narrative poems do not have to follow rhythmic patterns.

LOTERRY WINNER HELPS HOMELESS

As I walked into the banquet hall of the

Goodman’s Inn, the first thing that stood
out to me were the eyes of the people. I
felt as though I could actually see hope. Eyes
seemed to sparkle and everyone in the hall
sat talking to the others sitting around them
as they waited for the main course of the evening.
To understand this report we need to go back just
over a year ago when Lindsey Long won the 50
million dollar lottery. Apparently the multimillionaire
booked the Goodman’s Inn for December 24th through
to January 2nd of this year solely to house the homeless
over the Christmas holidays. Miss Long walked through
the streets herself over the last week inviting the
unfortunate homeless to come to the motel for these
festivities. Lindsey Long has not only provided the rooms
for this week, she also has clothed them with new
wardrobes and warm winter clothing and accessories.
Now as the people sat around the table they were
told Miss Long had an announcement. We all waited
to hear what this amazing lady had to say
and excitement filled the room. When this
beautiful young woman began to talk there
wasn’t one dry eye in the building. She told them
how she was not going to just send them back
on the street next week but how she had
built a new centre that would have sleeping
facilities and showers to accommodate all
of them. This new facility will be serving
three meals a day which will be prepared solely
The feeling in the Inn that night was pure joy
and as the people realized the impact of this
wonderful news, they all broke out singing
It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. This is
Rhonda Reeds reporting for
The Good Newspaper.
Merry Christmas everyone.
 Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the
voices of a narrator and characters as well; the entire story is usually written in metered
verse. Narrative poems do not have to follow rhythmic patterns.

CHOPPED III-HUMOR

i narrate me own story in a fake english accent. the bloody typewriter is

broken, it can't capitalize. i'm out of coins for the heater. i can see me own
breath. it must be really bad . it's summer here in london. i'm a tough guy who
carries a gun. don't mean i don't want to look good. i freshen up my lipstick,
light up a cigarette and offer one to my secretary. she is hot really hot.
like i said it's summer. she don't wear lipstick it wouldn't help. in the
encyclopedia under the word butch is her picture.

i put out my cig in an ashtray overflowin. i'd tell her to empty it but she scares me.
she only wears one gold earring. who does that? i'm workin on a case, already
drank half the beers. by the way i'm a dick a private dick. the name is rock,
rock hard. there's a knock at the door. this could be bad she has two fourty fives,
she's also got a gun.

she's holding an airline ticket. no reason. she says she just likes it.
whatever! maybe it has to do with some kind of contest.
she says we're going for a ride. we are driving when she gets a flat.

i pump she pumps then we get out of the car and fix the flat. never liked
cars, horses are more convenient. less breakdowns. she takes us to a
party everyone is jumpin for joy, so joy gets up and leaves. bet you wish
this was going somewhere. it's not. like i said i'm a dick.
 THE ODYSSEY

Odysseus left for 20 years,

Facing monsters and his greatest fears.
He started off at the island of Troy,
Where his new victory brought him great joy.
Next, his men were to lose their minds,
With the offering of Lotus Eater kind.
He left without them as their minds were high,
To give the Cyclops a quick swing by.
The Cyclops lived in a cave,
Where two men would soon find their grave.
The creature drank milk from his sheep,
While Odysseus decided to take a great leap.
He sharpened a stick and stabbed his eye,
As the Cyclops wept that "Nobody stopped by".
Odysseus receives a bag of air to end the day,
But his men open it and it blows them astray.
The island of Aeaea is where they are sent,
And find Circe singing and approach her with no resent.
She turns men into Pigs, but Odysseus is too big,
So he flees to the land of the dead.
Teiresias appears,
And tells the men about their future fears.
They are sent to the part of the island,
That beholds the irresistible singing sirens.
They sail pass and find Scylla, the six headed girl,
She eats the six men, which makes the rest of them hurl.
At Lord Helios's Island, the men eat his cattle,
And face their death from Zeus's battle.
Odysseus washes on the shore of Calypso,
Where he is given a boat to sail home, solo.
He returns to Ithica disguised in rags,
As he enters a contest to win his wife back.
He kills all the suitors and wins the contest,
He passes the true test.
Odysseus and Penelope are reunited together,
Forever...