Examples Of Narrative Poems - Page 2

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,   
   Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
   Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
   Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
   ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
   No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
   Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
   That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight   
   To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
   That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
   By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
   Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
   ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
   Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,   
   That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
   Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
   From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
   And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
   When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."

Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,-
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,-
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,--
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,--
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

There once was a girl named Sue.
She came down with the case of the flu.
She let out a sigh,
"My temperature is high,
what ever shall I do?
Oh my! Oh my!
I think I will die.
What ever shall I do?"

So, she stumbled out of bed.
"I know I'll take some meds.
If this the flu,
I take an aspirin or two.
Then I'll drink some broth and some juice.
Oh my! Oh my!"
she began to cry.
"I think this is acute."

So, she grumbled back to bed
and pulled the covers over her head.
She let out a sneeze,
a cough and a wheeze.
"Won't someone help me, please?
Oh my! Oh my!
Will I survive
the case of the crazy flu?"

So, she finally fell asleep.
She slept and slept for a week.
She tossed and turned,
her symptoms have passed.
Her temperature normal at last.
"Oh my! Oh my!
I think I survived
this case of the crazy flu."

I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
—the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly—
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
—It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
—if you could call it a lip—
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels—until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.

Gloriously she walks down the aisle,
And already she can see his gorgeous smile.
That smile that is so soft and sweet,
That smile that makes her knees go weak.

Halfway down the aisle now,
And she begins to wonder how.
How did she ever fall for the likes of him?
She feels as if she cannot swim.
Struggling to keep afloat in this sea of desire,
About to marry the man who sets her heart afire.

She's at the altar now, ready to be given away,
Always she's waited for this day.
Beside her King she now stands,
As they hold one another's hands.
Repeating the words she has waited forever to hear,
Suddenly she begins to fill with fear.
But looking into her man's eyes so bright
She knows everything will be all right.

As he lifts her veil and kisses her lips,
She feels electricity pulsating to her fingertips.
And as the preacher introduces her with her new name,
She knows nothing will ever be the same.

In the neighborhood where I was raised,
My life revolved around my friends.
And each day brought new adventures
And endless games of let's pretend.

We were just a band of misfits,
Running wild in the sun.
Living by our mantra,
"One for All and All for One."

Now Ivy was a little girl
Who lived next door to me.
She was a sweet and guileless girl
Who was a loyal friend indeed.

But poor Ivy had a stutter,
So even in the midst of play,
We'd stop and listen patiently
If Ivy had something to say.

It never had occurred to us
To tease her or make fun.
She was a cherished part of us.
"One for All and All for One."

Now Tammy was an aimless girl
Who dreaded going home.
Instead she'd cling to all of us
Or roam the streets alone.

She was always seen as strange or odd,
So by many she was shunned.
But we embraced her strength of spirit.
"One for All and All for One."

Terry and Peggy were sisters,
And just as tough as they could come.
They were always ready to stand and fight
Before they would cower and run.

In the neighborhood, they were infamous,
Known and feared by everyone.
But we welcomed their grit and moxie.
"One for All and All for One."

Now Dougy was just into puberty,
And was viewed as a very bad seed.
He was in and out of trouble
And always full of tricks and schemes.

But to us, he was our brother,
And a better brother there was none,
For he'd defend us to the bitter end.
"One for All and All for One."

Now I was a puny, cross-eyed kid
Who had always been laughed at and teased.
But I found my niche in this group of friends
Who nurtured and watched out for me.

We were truly a band of misfits
When all was said and done.
But we stood for each other through thick and thin.
"One for All and All for One."

How I wish today our youth could know
Such camaraderie second to none,
Finding strength and unity in diversity,
Living "One for All and All for One."

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them “Supper.” At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. “Don’t let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!”
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

Had he and I but met
    By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
    Right many a nipperkin!

But ranged as infantry,
    And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
    And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because--
    Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
    That's clear enough; although

He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
    Off-hand like--just as I--
Was out of work--had sold his traps--
    No other reason why.

Yes; quaint and curious war is!
    You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
    Or help to half a crown.

You entered the room and my heart skipped a beat
I knew in an instant we were destined to meet.
As you looked up from the floor and your eyes locked on mine
A warm subtle chill crept up and down my spine.

Another blind date, I was not in the mood
But given no choice, I waited subdued
What a surprise though when you opened the door
So sweetly amazed, I almost fell to the floor

You walked toward my table, and the closer you came
The warmer my skin, the warmer the flame
You offered your hand as you asked me to dance
And so was the beginning of our sweet romance

That was the day that our journey began
As so it was foretold and so was our plan
As two lives spent alone then became one
And a love like no other could never be undone.

You've held my heart in your hands ever since then
As you proved your love to me again and again
Four months later we were husband and wife
And I have always thanked God that you entered my life

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.