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#narrativepoem
suzi100310 · 8 months
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Love you since
The first day of that summer, When our eyes locked, Those sparks that used to take away my breath, That High School year end. The life of a rogue, A rough rogue with a silver crown, Bowed down her head, Gave you her crown, That High school year end. Life took different paths, Everyone of this story had different starts, Still bumped into, This entangled fate of hearts, We met and I confessed, But, maybe, likes of yours had different plans, Still together, With parted hearts, And that was again, A High School year end, A one sided love, And a broken heart.
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porterswale · 1 year
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Watch "People Next Door (No Thanks Version)" on YouTube
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#spokenword #lyricalpoem #narrativepoem
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tapedamage · 3 years
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The Confessions of Garry Right, part of my holloween themed poems of dread. 
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throughscreendoors · 4 years
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most of what happened the morning of my strabismus surgery in los angeles, california (10.25.19, revised 1.29.20)
I was so late—I kissed my girlfriend goodbye and went to the wrong building, hungry with a headache from not sleeping, head swimming, checking in behind an equally lost angry woman in a wheelchair and her nephew in a neon construction shirt.
The man behind the desk pulls me behind the counter and lets me out the back door, down a bright alley to the right building where another attendant with eyes like saucers (jumpstarted this morning by cocaine or adderall, most likely) checks me in late as my doctor’s orderlies hound my phone.
My first nurse is sunny as she performatively stumbles over my last name and weighs me, waits for me to use the restroom, lays me in bed early, tells me to take off just the shirt, closes the curtain, comes back in early and I’m still shirtless and oopses in embarrassment.
My second nurse speaks Vietnamese and contradicts the first saying not even underwear so I take off my gown, my boxers, put the gown back on. She says they’re all going to ask me what eye are we doing over and over again, and I hear that disclaimer echo in the bay elsewhere and I hear a doctor tell another if the patient had even any medication in the last 24 hours surgery is off as she spikes my vein, threads the IV and it stings and somehow I can tell she’s having “a day.”
I’m staring at the curtains and staring at the styrofoam ceiling tiled above me and taking in my slanted world for what, I consider, could be the last time (if I die under general anesthetic) as the air in the bay crackles with life like a hanger of pilots prepping to fly.
My optometrist has the manner of a stern elementary school teacher I secretly think would be a good dominatrix (maybe she moonlights) and whose bedside manner leaves something to be desired, at the very least, if she mostly works with kids (which she does)—but on the big day with her hair in a blue mesh cap she glows in the light of an impossible smile.
There’s a preponderance of eye surgeries in the bay and old folks amble by on canes and one curtain over the nurse tells her patient how Edgar Cayce read books through the back of his head and through his pillow at night while he slept.
My anesthesiologist is objectively beautiful, a Peruvian woman with clear skin, bright eyes, white teeth, a firm handshake—I’m too far away to be struck by any of it—and she covers her face with one of those blue things.
I ask how fast the anesthesia works (I have to ask something) and she says quickly—I'm getting something else to start that will calm me down (who said I wasn’t calm) and have me relaxed and ready. The other attendant enters and says wassup bro and shakes my hand and as we touch I know he yearns for the anesthesiologist, his warm tone a respectful nod to a beauty we both get to be present for—all this is transmitted energetically, clear as light, my life quite literally in the hands of strangers.
The first drug is quick (she was right) and I accept tunnel vision and am wheeled down white corridors reduced to a baby's point of view at ease and airy peace and talk—about writing, being paid to write, the things I like I can't remember staring in a halo light—and lose consciousness.
(I think of the last movie I saw: Free Solo; of Alex Honnold’s brain: hollowed by dead emotional centers; my terror and its incumbent pressure: my optometrist’s cozy footholds.)
When the patch comes off a few days later the planes slide in place like the prisms in the device I’m ordered to blink into and everything focuses. It is the first room I can trust in years.
I’m on codeine and my chest balloons and my eyes cry on their own and I don’t hug her (though I want to). Instead I offer cliché (I can’t thank you enough) and say I’m trying not to cry (a lie) while she watches me with blank patience. After a pocket of silence she says it's okay to cry, a laugh positively exploding from her face.
Her teeth are huge and her smile gleams like a trout in a stream. The walls are papered with cartoon thank yous, children’s drawings of superheroes and dinosaurs, but there’s one from an 80-year-old man I can actually read:
There's so much beauty in the world
thank you for helping me finally see it.
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danedagatan-blog · 5 years
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Friends
The first time I entered LPU
I had friends but only few
I enjoyed their company at lunch
We are always a happy bunch
But as the day gets busy here at school
our friendship became a powerful tool
In succeeding every endeavor
We chose to explore
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worldtowrites-blog · 5 years
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The news is for grown ups
The news was scary today,
There was a man in London
“That’s where we live!”
Mummy said he stole some peoples lives
Just took it away from them
When I took Jack’s toy
I went to time out.
Assembly wasn’t fun today
The big boys and girls made drawings
There were words too
but I couldn’t read them
They were talking about missing someone
Mrs Norris had a tear
She wiped it quick but I saw
Mummy says I’m good at spotting things
I’m the best at hide and seak with my friends
I always find Jack first.
Mummy said the news is for grown ups now
I have to go to bed before it comes on
Mummy says I’m too little to understand
Why Jack couldn’t come to school today
I must be too little to read too
I think Jack isn’t coming back to school soon
I think he might be fed up of me finding him first
I wish I could tell him
That in secret
I only find him first because he’s my favourite to search with
Jack goes to an exciting new school now
That’s what mummy said anyway
He gets to go there because the man in the sky picked him
Mummy says he’s called God and he looks after people
I don’t like him
He took away Jack
He stole my best friend
Just like that man stole those peoples lives
And mummy said that man was evil.
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Full and spot illustrations for narrative poem “You Are Old, Father William” by Lewis Carroll
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oldenglishpoetry · 5 years
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We're about at the end of our Beowulfian journey - I have a couple more things I'd like to post, and there's always another translation to geat and read. This is the Klaeber 3rd Edition, considered the authoritative edition to get of the original. The supplementary commentary and notes are extensive. I haven't dived into it all, but along with the Tolkien and the glossed Penguin, it's the most helpful in expanding your knowledge of the poem. #beowulf #beowulfpoem #oldenglish #anglosaxon #oldenglishpoetry #anglosaxonpoetry #oldenglishverse #anglosaxonverse #beowulfmeter #alliterative #alliteration #alliterativepoetry #alliterativemeter #epic #epicpoetry #narrativepoetry #narrativepoem #poetry #poem #poems #poets #poet #anonymouspoetry #anonymous #klaeber #bookstagram #bookstagrammer #books #bookshelf #bookcollection (at Nashville, Tennessee) https://www.instagram.com/p/BxuzHtcACXb/?igshid=zwamogdalb26
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carriejonesbooks · 2 years
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Mean People Suck
Hi! This year (2022), I’ve decided to share a poem on my blog and podcast and read it aloud. It’s all a part of my quest to be brave and apparently the things that I’m scared about still include: My spoken voiceMy raw poems. Thanks for being here with me and cheering me on and I hope that you can become braver this year, too! Mean People Suck She is driving, in her car, with the sticker MEAN…
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View On WordPress
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thtstonedpoet · 3 years
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Who was the monster? Full post in the link in my bio. . . . A piece of the poem in the Let’s Write a Narrative Poem . . . . #poetry #poems #themonster #poemsdaily #depressedpoem #heartbreakpoetry #evepoetrygroup #kexum #narrativepoem #narrativepoetry #nationalpoetrymonth #whowasthemonster❓ #poetryaddicy #igpoems #poetscommunity #poetrydaily #shortpoetry #writerscafe #igpoetry #piecesofkblog https://www.instagram.com/p/CNvl1B0hZ15/?igshid=1l1js49nhiaiy
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wqueens7 · 4 years
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‪#meditation ‬ ‪#narrativepoem‬ #narrativeidentity ‪#quarantine ‬ #Memory ‪#identity‬ ‪#poem‬ #narrativesonnet #storytellingsonnet ‪#reality #sonnet ‪#iconoclasm ‪#newyork ‪#humanity‬ ‪#gratitude ‪#grateful ‪#truth #subjectivity ‪#celebrity #fame ‪#memories ‪#optimism (at The Geographic Center Of NYC Marker) https://www.instagram.com/p/CDOYjxLB9Dn/?igshid=e38oycad9mcd
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itzzzme · 2 years
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Only Poetry - I hate being disappointed (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1209185977-only-poetry-i-hate-being-disappointed?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=3darkknights&wp_originator=q0bTTEJyNo3p0t80v4MnfUaka6ea%2F%2BlmXsE4041wwzBD52u2tEnZZugKR5U%2BZonCxNF%2BjbyOyKyAPCnFjgStLn5DsG2OYU9DvV0NMcg7ZnEThjn83d7BJ49fDUFt%2FVzF If you're looking for some poetry, you've come to the right place...or book. I hope you enjoy what I write.
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porterswale · 1 year
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Watch "Through the Valley (Spoken Musical Poem)" on YouTube
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#ballad #poetry #narrativepoem
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jamstaana-blog · 5 years
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My First But Not My Last (Narrative Poem)
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“My First But Not My Last”
The first time I admire someone, is when you became my seatmate,
First time someone made me blush, when you look at me,
First time someone made me feel butterflies in my stomach, when our skin touches,
First time someone made me feel awkward, when your talking to me,
First time someone made my world stop, when I caught you looking at me,
First time someone made me feel special, when you show me that you care,
First time someone made me believe in fantasy, you made me crazy in love,
First time who made fell in love and first time I thought who could love me back,
First times, yes you were my first times, but not happened to be my last...
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itslaeshorseeh · 4 years
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The Knight From Eldon. Buy on Amazon Kindle Store now for $1.50.
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the-bakitlist-boy · 6 years
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“Ang hirap mag-mahal ng bestfriend”
Yes. Sobrang hirap. To the point na nagseselos ka kapag may nakapaligid sa kanya at naagawan ka sa mga pagkakataong kayo dapat ang magkasama. Napakahirap dahil kahit alam mog malabo na sila ng kanyang syota ay hindi ka makakagawa ng move dahil takot kang magbago ang tingin nyo sa isa’t-isa, yung tipong pipiliin mong maging bestfriend na laging nasa tabi nya kesa maging manliligaw nya.
Di ko alam bakit ako nalulungkot sa ideyang hanggang dun lang ako. Gusto kong mas lumalim pero wala, wala naman talagang mangyayari. Ang hirap din nung ikukwento mo yung babaeng gusto mo sa kanya kasi hindi mo naman masabi na sya, sya ang gusto mong makasama.
Hindi rin ako nakapag salita noong tanungin nya ang tipo kong babae. Hindi ko alam kung paano sasagutin. Sasagutin ko ba sa pamamagitan ng pag bigay ng magagandang katangian? Wala na akong ibang naisip na paraan kung hindi tumingin sa kanyang mga mata ng walang binibitawang ni isang salita. Gusto kong makita nya sa mga mata ko na sya ang sagot sa tanong nya kung sinong gusto ko.
Pero aarte pa ba ako? Kasama naman kita palagi at mas malapit na ang mundo natin. Ang swerte ko dahil nakilala kita. At wala na akong ibang hihilingin pa.
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