Category Archives: narrative poetry

My Brother Does This Too

Sometimes I get emails from my oldest brother, and often times they will look something like this:

“cleaning out the stuff from my office… found a poem, written in my handwriting, that I have no recollection of whatsoever… written on the back of a grad school rejection letter”

The road runs right through most of the

country. Sometimes

the cross streets come fast with red, yellow

and green lights

telling you what to do, their colors spangled

together with the rest.

Pre-interstate, this road has two lanes or four,

some lines

or none, pedestrians and crossing guards,

speed limits

in the sixties sometimes.

The road runs from the east coast, somewhere

in the middle, south for a while.

It gets to the big wide open parts quickly and

runs right off the side of the map,

as if tit was destined to claim half the world.

But most people just take the

interstate. This road manifests itself in

names: Main, Elm…

solid names.

It didnt’ have much neon, but that it did have,

it liked. There were some on the

gas station, and the bar. Here, they called it

Main. They wanted

to be left alone. That’s what I heard, anyway.

We never met.

-jkd

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Always Beautiful

I knew a girl once,

who beauty killed.

She knew more about

looking, than feeling.

She’d been fat,

she’d been beautiful,

she’d been wanted,

she’d been scorned.

She bloomed like a flower,

and when the vase dried up,

she wilted.

A tenth grader who already felt

past her prime.

A tenth grader who was made to feel

ugly again.

Sucking on a malboro red,

windows down,

hair a mess.

Never ugly.

I remember the yearbook pictures,

reading like an age progression

for a girl who wandered off years ago.

She was called fat,

she was called beautiful,

she was wanted,

she was scorned.

She was beautiful.

If she could only see,

that she still is.

She still would be.

-dpd

As If She Cared

by juliar

I felt her eyes brush mine

As if she was judging me from behind

Looking at my hair

Not missing any detail,  as if she cared

From my morphed together toes

up to my ski slope nose

I could feel her stare

The sizing up glare

It’s almost as if… she honestly cared.

*****
I want to tell her that you grow out of feeling like that…

…But I don’t want to lie.

Therapy

by ForgetMeNotMyWords

The invisible hands of the old man clock ticked away,

As she twisted a thick gold band around white knobby fingers,

Her radioactive green eyes trying to pry into the abyss,

Of my mind,

She purses her lips,

Disgruntled,

Trying to interpret the vacancy of my face,

Still and patient,

I wait for her calculated observation,

Thick white paper crinkles beneath her yellow stained finger nails,

The lamp set off an eerie glow in the room,

Her ratty brown hair hung loosely above her shoulders,

My legs impatiently twitch beneath me,

“You’re depressed…You are too stressed out”

She finally says in an unexpectedly calm voice,

I can’t hear her,

For dissociation has already taken me far away,

She waits for my response,

An hour almost gone,

My vision finally starts to return,

My brains way of saying “fuck you” to her,

The invisible hands strike 2:45,

I stand to leave,

Hands wrist deep in my pockets,

The paper of her skin tightens across her face,

An hour wasted,

I shuffle towards the door,

Wondering once again why I’m even here,

As I turn the silver lock to make my leave.

Trying Too Hard

The bouquet of carnations was a little too red,

straining towards the light, trying a little too hard to be roses;

they smelled as sweet, but the lie was there.

I remember you gave me roses once.

I can’t remember why, but the intention was there,

I’m sure.

But I never liked those flowers:

They lived a little too long,

smelled a little too much like a late proclamation,

looked a little too beautiful after a week of neglect.

But the chocolates you gave me were lovely.

I didn’t eat them.

Perhaps I should have,

but I hate to get my blood sugar up.

I don’t want to get carried away as a result,

lest you think I’m trying too hard.

by DeathNoteMathChick

Eric and Ash

Here’s one selection from a series of narrative poems written by a new member of our writing community. She’s in 8th grade.

Night Terrors

by Kyrridwen

“Eric?”
The dark and the cold
wrapped around her waist,
chilling her to the very core.
“Eric!”
She whispered louder,
bare feet sliding
across
the hardwood floor.
“Eric, please wake up!”
She called, voice louder still
Trying to let him hear,
Over the creaking
Of the mill.
“Eric, don’t leave me here!”
She screamed
Calling out in fear.
She really shouldn’t
Ever
Have come here.
“Ash”
Came a creaking wall
Looking like
It would fall.
“Ash, please wake up”
Called the
support beams
Looking about to
bust their seams.
“Ash, baby, come back to me”
Cried an
Old, fallen tree.
“Eric, Eric! Is that you?”
“Please, please wake up.”
The world around her slim frame
Began to quake and shiver
The entire thing crumbled down
Burying her, light not a sliver.
A hand shook her shoulder bare
A new light began to glare.
A voice was calling
A voice so tender
Calling her back to the living
“Ash, shh… It’s ok now.
It was all just a dream.
Not need for you to fret,
No need for you to scream.
I’m here for you
I won’t ever go.
Ash, my Ash,
I love you so.”

Quietly, in the windy night
In the dark,
A girl had a fright.
Her lover came
By candle flame,
To scare the
night terrors
away.