narrative

Learn more about other poetry terms

He keeps me safe I trust him because I fear him And he’s all I need and more He has a power over me he can’t control He makes the birds sing
Once upon a time I needed you. My body and heart craved for you. You were my definition  of perfect. Everything in you was just intact. Little did I know that wasn’t a fact.
Cold wet toes hug the sandpaper edge
Before my house’s basement was finished, It was a barren concrete playground, For my imagination to mold. Silver lined walls got punctured and distorted,
To whoever will find this note I left,  'Tis certain I am dead and not so quick.  Be still, and sit inside your cleft,    As I read to you my fable thick.  So hearken! For here begins my tale. 
Two years, three years, five years passed Now we're in this chapel Everything feels surreal It all feels like a dream   Two years, three years, five years passed
At five, when I fell off my bicycle for the first time and bled, my mum leapt in to pick me up and ,"Honey!”, she said, “You know why Superman has a cape that is red?"
Born with blood royal And blessed with fairy wishes, A young girl was to grow into a lovely woman But was tainted with one’s cursed kisses.   No matter the spoils or words of roses
"Never again" History's a cruel mystery But how clever a pen Cinema's sentiment's more cinnamon-sweet We're amateur janitors just been sent in to sweep Epilogue for a demagogue when we set him asleep
I wish I had a photographic memory so that my mind could take snapshots  of the vividness before me the collections of saturated thoughts are ever present   I recollect the luminous glow of the heavens
Time is currency between us. Nights make sure to last longer so that we can talk for that much more. From your apartment, I can hear the clamor of the city outside.
Miles into rural land, where no honk or squeal of the city could be heard, no urban life, The summer air was tempid and so thick you could slice it with a knife,
My boat drifts away from the dock I sit and watch my dreams die.   How do I say, “it is okay, you have a plan.” You do have a plan, right?   The boat drifts to the horizon, my stomach drifts with it.
Locker 1453. I left a part of myself behind your door on the last day of seventh grade; you wheezed and sputtered when I opened you,  but I didn't mind; for you had become a strange sort of companion
Oh little runaway How could I refuse? Take my hand   Here we go! Oh, my little runaway We'll have so much fun
Who are you? I can't see you But I know you're there   Will you stay with me? We can conquer the desert You and me   So what do you say? Run away with me?
Oh, little runaway... Did you mean to meet me here? All alone yet together   I'm standing here Can you see me? Oh, little runaway...   Do you see me? There's no need to cry
i always wake up feeling the best at other people’s houses and other people’s beds. is it the person or is it the meds? feed me sertraline and caffeine, inject me with all those pills  and potions. give me a reason to keep living by my struggling...
Aught afore the mountains And afore ye seven seas T’were created something else As a few now still believe And a beauty that they were And so shall e’er be The fish-folk of the depths
“Tired of hurricanes or tornadoes carrying away your home?
I did not wake up like this, yet I am flawless.   It was harder than I could have imagined (still is, sometimes).   I have a strength forged through perseverance
She walked into the room again, her heart was about to bust, She talked about her feelings, the shame within her lust, She danced across the floor, to show just how she felt,
It was 11 o'clock on Christmas eve Everyone was heading to bed When all of the sudden someone said "do you hear that" Here what we said "the noise it's sounds like bells overhead"  
The poem, A Marvelous Day, is based on a prompt from my poetry writing course and the book Writing Poems by Boisseau, Michelle and Wallace, Robert.
Twinkling, descending, clear shafts Drip helplessly from Garage roofs, and Ice takes shape of pealed Paint along the house-side, And I’m glad because at least once a year my
Subscribe to narrative