Short Narrative Poems by LitNetters

Here begins a thread of short narrative poems (i.e. poems that tell a story. Let's keep 'em relatively short, for instance, no 12 or 24 book epics. Ballads and "ballades" would also be appropriate for this thread, methinks.

In order to get the tales a-spinning, here's a short narrative poem by yours truly:



The Mermaid and the Android “Meet Cute”


With tresses all seaweed-y and shell-strewn
but barely brushing her breasts,
and her tail clinging to rocks all wave-hewn,
as her scales glisten with bubbles and brine,
she misses her freshwater step-sister,
the voluptuous vamp of the Rhine.

Splashing down like a swift-diving sea loon,
a semi-manned space capsule floats, rests –-
now cracks like a metal egg hatched on a moon.
Steel-skinned, he wades out, while whirring a whine:
Wanting his mama, this sky-sailing mister,
Crying dry tears for the mother-lode mine.

Such presence of mutual absence: a common boon?
Half-girl + demi-boy, sea with sky nests.
Fabled anatomy and automaton, both smitten, thus swoon
Into marriage-mix mystery, a miracle sign:
No human hearts to meld, nor Cupid’s wounds to blister,
When myth-born maid and man-made parts entwine.

this sounds fun mind if i give it a try?



sitting in a tree
he waits silently

slowly breathe, draw an arrow
catch a meal for tomorrow

bring home meat, feed them today
his family is week, in disarray

he eyes grow weary, mind goes dark
his skin is irritated against the bark

a figure moves within the brush
his arrow flies, a wooden rush

his eyes go blank, his mind a swirl
for his arrow found a little girl...

and i seem to have killed this one:sick:

Getting Medieval On Your ***

In bygone times in long-past realms a knight
and damsel trapped by happenstance did meet
between a hungry dragon and its flame.
The fire flashing red out of its mouth
flared down to melt the sword so feebly raised.
And likewise the bold knight’s thin-tapered lance
would like a ticklish pricking merely scratch
the surface of hard and horny dragon skin.

With fearsome beast, its head all poised to strike;
the shaking knees of the fearful knight did drop
in pious, preparatory prayer
for the next world to come. The lady, meanwhile
took note: that though the dragon loomed as large
as the dreadful Behemoth of holy lore,
not thick like the hippo’s from that Book,
its head was scrawny, like a chicken neck.
befitting a reptile’s base and worm-like line.
Like a stag she leapt upon the thumping tail
and crawled across the bumpy jutted spine.

From the towered tip of her cone-shaped hat she tore
the scarf which erstwhile rippled through the breeze
and colored the air with a brightly flowing stream:
a weapon now, which round the narrow neck
she wound. With twin-ends held in either hand,
so soft and delicate before, now strong,
with all their might both stretched and pulled and squeezed.
The beastly hulk like a wounded puppy yelped.
It coughed up a ghastly choke of smoke and gasped,
with a spasm shuttered weakly, then it fell;
and over sideways flipping did it turn,
a hound obediently playing dead
(for real.) The resulting thud did shake the earth
but not the nervous knight in fervor rapt.

The grim garrote, the fatal flag, sprang free
to flutter down, its hero’s work well done;
thus spent, redeemed its former self again.
En route, it brushed the face devout and still.
Thus flung, the flirtatious lace then chanced to itch
the noble peak of the praying knight’s fine nose.
In groggy daze his head then rose to meet
the truthful gaze of a savior, full and square:
a female champion like Britomart
or warring Queen Boadicea.

With roles reversed, the knightly one does seem
the one whose favor once was formerly sought,
now prized to be won in newly unusual ways.
Conversely now, the weaker sex is he
conceding daring deeds to woman’s wiles.
Toward inferior position was therefore thrust
to grant the lady proud a guerdon’s boon.
He offered both his heart and vow to wed
in yonder realm. In happy quest they strode
past the carcass already in full stink
to speed to parts where damsel and knight could yoke
and later, a cozy castle built for two,
where she will wear both armour and the pants.

Go, Little Poem, and by thy faith bestow
breadth for this stately twosome to grow
as One, as one-to-one, not split
in twain, unequal halves to quit.
Thus we leave the couple to its lot,
Also the dragon, left to rot.

Lines in the sand
from cutlasses drawn by seasoned hands
now lifeless sunsalt fingers at dawn. Gold,
bitten by yeast-weakened jaws once pearls
the sails unfurled in sunsets red
as blood too in the hold of wind.

And with the wind
that platter hope of peace they thought would come
now strains its sinews in approaching days.
Fine fools and fellows till the drink ran out
shaking dice in hour glasses, stretching
arms in tight-packed glances, lopping
tall poppy abandon, painting the snapping canvas
crimson, over a creaking deck.

When night comes, with the fall of men
some sit battered by the bow,
stern eyes fixed to the gallows, the tallow
path of a wave-rocked lantern
hanging a rattling voice of chains,
clanking a hymn to the sea.

And then one day, with seaspray breath
one thought among them anchors on the breeze;
an unpicked seachest on a burning ship:
'Whose grasp is it that spins the wheel?
Who drives the wind?'

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by lucidnightmares

this sounds fun mind if i give it a try?



sitting in a tree
he waits silently

slowly breathe, draw an arrow
catch a meal for tomorrow

bring home meat, feed them today
his family is week, in disarray

he eyes grow weary, mind goes dark
his skin is irritated against the bark

a figure moves within the brush
his arrow flies, a wooden rush

his eyes go blank, his mind a swirl
for his arrow found a little girl...

---

I loved this. I loved this so much. We had to choose a poem in English today to do a work sheet on, and I chose this.

the latin lover
jumps out of bed
and onto
the window
escapes the hell
jealousy tells
Romeo fell
a serious lover
stays out of bed
and onto the boudoir
makes out a maid
in frills and veils
to be about
seeing the mail.
properly fails.