Narrative poetry is poetry that tells a story.

In its broadest sense, it includes epic poetry;

some would reserve the name narrative poetry for works on a smaller scale

and generally with more direct appeal to human interest than the epic.


An example of a narrative poem would be

The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe




She had come to leave his heart
they had been apart numerous times,
but as they ended, he sought solace in rhymes.
Words and verse of how she had come to depart.

She was a gentle soul, a vision for his eyes
soothing and healing, appealing to his senses –
he stood unprotected, without defenses,
anguished by the sound of her cries.

He felt tears welling as well,
for he could tell she would not be returning.
In his heart of sadness, he was yearning
for love to be enough, but it was instead a hell,

a fiery disposition, a fatal condition
that devoured her in ways neither expected.
Again rejected, a warrior with his love unprotected
a painfully unconditional contradiction.

To his fate he was resigned for she would be bereft him.
Life did things in its due time
as he realized that there was no solace in rhyme.
He waved solemnly as his fallen angel had left him.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2020


19 thoughts on “INFORM POETS – NARRATIVE


    Upon the road
    I met a man
    who saw my load
    and lent a hand.

    His back was strong
    and so, his smile;
    the road was long
    but all the while

    we strode the way
    with stately pace,
    because the day
    was not a race

    but proffered hours
    for one another
    to treasure flowers
    and ask the other:

    What memories
    befriend your eye?
    What vision frees
    your heart to fly?

    What hopes have you
    for days to come?
    What would you do
    when hope is numb?

    At length we came
    to drop the load;
    we’d shared the same,
    likewise the road,

    and in the space
    where partners part
    had found the place
    in the other’s heart

    where time is oath
    and trust is sowed
    and so were loath
    to quit the road.

    We walked instead
    to the farthest bend
    before I said,
    “Farewell, my friend.”

  2. Ripped Away

    In boyhood, a love of football
    occupied him after school
    work was done. Rangy, and tall,
    he metamorphosed to teenage cool.

    He turned to experimenting,
    beginning what would be
    a lifelong love of smoking
    cigarettes, occasionally weed.

    His mother and father, estranged
    from early years, left him with mom,
    who turned boy against dad with rage.
    In later life, boy felt time had come

    to seek out dad. He’d grown to a man.
    Father and son became a close team.
    Son’s second marriage produced Stan,
    a son, and father vowed never to leave.

    Moving up in the business world
    he used his technical skills.
    Respect was easily earned
    as he possessed wit and good will.

    He should have had a good, long life
    but it was taken–ripped away
    when his tower fell under strife
    on a sunny September day.

  3. I love narrative poems. Maybe because I love telling stories.

    The Escape

    No privilege
    No silver spoon
    No prominence
    And the free ticket machine was empty
    God chose for him to be born with nothing

    He grew
    He learned
    He accepted
    After all he thought his life was normal
    Just like the lives of all those around him

    But the radio told him a different story
    The television depicted a much different life
    Seeds of desire for more were planted
    But how would he climb to a higher plain
    How would he escape this life of nothing?

    High school ended
    College was out
    Work was scarce
    And the chance to get ahead rarely existed
    In this poverty stricken Northern Maine town

    He washed dishes
    Pumped gas
    Loaded potatoes
    And picked up odd jobs from wherever he could
    Always looking for a way to escape the nothing

    Then one chilly autumn evening in Star City
    He walked down Main Street all by himself
    In a window bold posters caught his eye
    All he had to do was sign on the dotted line and
    He would be off into the Wild Blue Yonder

    That’s where the nothing life quickly ended
    And a whole new world appeared in his future
    Nearly fifty years later he looks back on that day
    And thanks God for the courage to sign on that line

  4. She Who Loves Beauty

    On a sunny, lazy day when peace reigned
    between tribes and the people were happy,
    a young woman, She Who Loves Beauty,
    gathered clay on the red banks of Foxtail River.

    She formed it into a jug, a necessity of life,
    functional, drab and dull, but useful.
    Then an artistic, poetic muse whispered
    to her spirit of whimsy and lighthearted notions.

    She thought of shape, color, symbol and
    with tender, inspired motion of creative hands
    she pressed a purple flower’s delicate petals –
    and made a pot to adorn her abode.

    That was the beginning of functional beauty
    not merely a domestic duty, a chore no more,
    as her heart soared with pride and she sang
    a song of praise to the grace of the lovely vase.

  5. Just a little narrative for 9-11.

    A Disastrous Day

    I miss the towers
    Even though I’ve never seen them in person
    Nor have I visited the memorial or museum
    But I remember them from so many movies
    Their unique silhouette on the cityscape
    A well known landmark since 1973
    I miss the towers

    I remember that Tuesday
    Walking by the dayroom
    on my way to my office
    The TV caught my eye
    One tower already on fire
    The announcer still not sure
    If it was an accident or not
    But soon it was abundantly clear
    It was an attack because the
    Second plane hit the other tower

    I sat in silent shock
    Still something in my mind
    Wasn’t at all surprised
    I mean we live in an evil world
    And evil will eventually
    Raise its ugly head and
    Win a battle or two

    They won this round
    Took down the towers
    And hit the Pentagon
    We took down the fourth plane
    In a Pennsylvania field
    American bravery on display

    It was a disastrous day
    That Tuesday in September
    This generation’s Pearl Harbor
    This nations’ wakeup call
    A test of our resolve
    A time to unify

    Now 19 years later
    The unity is gone
    Our resolve has eroded
    Politics have taken the stage
    And so many have forgotten
    That disastrous day

    But not me
    I will never forget
    Evil still exists
    And always will
    Until Christ returns

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