Narrative Poems and Stories that will get your attention

Narrative Poems and Stories that will get your attention.

Narrative Poems – Poems help you to express your thoughts, feelings, and actions. Narrative poems are a special type of poem that tells a story.

From rhythmic ballads to long epics to short narrative poems for kids, dive into all the forms a narrative poem can take through these examples.

A narrative poem in literature is a poem that tells a story. It has a full storyline with all the elements of a traditional story.

These elements include characters, plot, conflict and resolution, setting and action. Although a narrative poem does not need a rhyming pattern, it is a metered poem with clear objectives to reach a specific audience.

These poems have been borrowed from oral poetic narratives from different cultures. Narrative poems include old epics, plays, and ballads.

1. The Iliad, Book I, Lines 1-15
RAGE

Sing, Goddess, Achilles’ rage,
Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks
Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls
Of heroes into Hades’ dark,
And left their bodies to rot as feasts
For dogs and birds, as Zeus’ will was done.
Begin with the clash between Agamemnon–
The Greek warlord–and godlike Achilles.

Which of the immortals set these two
At each other’s throats?
Apollo
Zeus’ son and Leto’s, offended
By the warlord. Agamemnon had dishonored
Chryses, Apollo’s priest, so the god
Struck the Greek camp with plague,
And the soldiers were dying of it.
– Poem by Homer

2. The Strongest Girl I Ever Knew

She never got to dance
Or go to her own prom.
She never got the chance
To forget where she came from.

She never got to kiss,
A man she idolized.
She never felt love’s bliss,
‘Cause she was paralyzed.

She never got to talk
About love with a smile.
She never got to walk
Down a church’s aisle.

She never got to say
Those precious words, “I Do.”
But she was far and away
The strongest girl I ever knew.

She couldn’t brush her hair
Or put make up on her face.
She couldn’t hold you dear
Or give you a warm embrace.

She couldn’t clasp her hands
As if in the form of prayer.
She couldn’t understand
Why she was in a wheelchair.

She never showed her fears
Or let you hear her cries.
She never showed the tears
That fell down from her eyes.

She never looked for pity
Or sympathy from you.
That’s why she’ll always be
The strongest girl I ever knew.
– Poem by Ronald Doe

3. Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
– Poem by Edgar Allan Poe

4. Little Red Riding Hood And The Wolf

As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma’s door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, ‘May I come in?’
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
‘He’s going to eat me up!’ she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, ‘That’s not enough!
I haven’t yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!’
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
‘I’ve got to have a second helping!’

Then added with a frightful leer,
‘I’m therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.’

He quickly put on Grandma’s clothes,
(Of course he hadn’t eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that,
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma’s chair.

In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
‘What great big ears you have, Grandma.’
‘All the better to hear you with,’
the Wolf replied.
‘What great big eyes you have, Grandma.’
said Little Red Riding Hood.
‘All the better to see you with,’
the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I’m going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma,
She’s going to taste like caviar.

Then Little Red Riding Hood said, ‘
But Grandma, what a lovely great big
furry coat you have on.’

‘That’s wrong!’ cried Wolf.
‘Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I’ve got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I’m going to eat you anyway.’

The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature’s head,
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.

A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, ‘Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.’
– Poem by Roald Dahl

5. Us Two

Wherever I am, there’s always Pooh,
There’s always Pooh and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
“Where are you going today?” says Pooh:
“Well, that’s very odd ‘cos I was too.
Let’s go together,” says Pooh, says he.
“Let’s go together,” says Pooh.

“What’s twice eleven?” I said to Pooh.
(“Twice what?” said Pooh to Me.)
“I think it ought to be twenty-two.”
“Just what I think myself,” said Pooh.
“It wasn’t an easy sum to do,
But that’s what it is,” said Pooh, said he.
“That’s what it is,” said Pooh.

“Let’s look for dragons,” I said to Pooh.
“Yes, let’s,” said Pooh to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
“Yes, those are dragons all right,” said Pooh.
“As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That’s what they are,” said Pooh, said he.
“That’s what they are,” said Pooh.

“Let’s frighten the dragons,” I said to Pooh.
“That’s right,” said Pooh to Me.
“I’m not afraid,” I said to Pooh,
And I held his paw and I shouted “Shoo!
Silly old dragons!”- and off they flew.

“I wasn’t afraid,” said Pooh, said he,
“I’m never afraid with you.”

So wherever I am, there’s always Pooh,
There’s always Pooh and Me.
“What would I do?” I said to Pooh,
“If it wasn’t for you,” and Pooh said: “True,
It isn’t much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. “That’s how it is,” says Pooh.
– Poem by A. A. Milne

6. We Are Seven

———A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
—Her beauty made me glad.

“Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?”
“How many? Seven in all,” she said,
And wondering looked at me.

“And where are they? I pray you tell.”
She answered, “Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

“Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.”

“You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be.”

Then did the little Maid reply,
“Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree.”

“You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five.”

“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”
The little Maid replied,
“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,
And they are side by side.

“My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

“And often after sun-set, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

“The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

“So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

“And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side.”

“How many are you, then,” said I,
“If they two are in heaven?”
Quick was the little Maid’s reply,
“O Master! we are seven.”

“But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!”
’Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, “Nay, we are seven!”
– Poem by William Wordsworth

7. Paul Bunyan

He rode through the woods on a big blue ox,
He had fists as hard as choppin’ blocks,
Five hundred pounds and nine feet tall…that’s Paul.

Talk about workin’, when he swung his axe
You could hear it ring for a mile and a half.
Then he’d yell “Timber!” and down she’d fall…for Paul.

Talk about drinkin’, that man’s so mean
That he’d never drink nothin’ but kerosene,
And a five-gallon can is a little bit small…for Paul.

Talk about tough, well he once had a fight
With a thunderstorm on a cold dark night.
I ain’t sayin’ who won,
But it don’t storm at all…round here…thanks to Paul.

He was ninety years old when he said with a sigh,
“I think I’m gonna lay right down and die
‘Cause sunshine and sorrow, I’ve seen it all…says Paul.

He says, “There ain’t no man alive can kill me,
Ain’t no woman ’round can thrill me,
And I think heaven just mught be a ball”…says Paul.

So he died…and we cried.

It took eighteen men just to bust the ground,
It took twenty-four more just to lower him down.
And we covered him up and we figured that was all…for Paul.

But late one night the trees started shakin’,
The dogs started howlin’ and the earth started quakin’,
And out of the ground with a “Hi, y’all”…comes Paul!

He shook the dirt from off his clothes,
He scratched his butt and wiped his nose.
“Y’know, bein’ dead wasn’t no fun at all”…says Paul.

He says, “Up in heaven they got harps on their knees,
They got clouds and wings but they got no trees.
I don’t think that’s much of a heaven at all”…says Paul.

So he jumps on his ox with a fare-thee-well,
He says, “I’ll find out if there’s trees in hell.”
And he rode away, and that was all…we ever seen…of Paul.

But the next time you hear a “Timber!” yell
That sounds like it’s comin’ from the pits of hell,
Then a weird and devilish ghostly wail
Like somebody’s choppin’ on the devil’s tail,
Then a shout, a call, a crash, a fall–
That ain’t no mortal man at all…that’s Paul!
– Poem by Shel Silverstein

8. Long To See Your Sweet Face

Two pink lines, we knew it was true,
Sooner than later we would meet you.
I yelled for your Daddy, and smiled just so,
He stood there in shock and a glorious glow.
We made lots of phone calls and shared our great news,
I had lots of symptoms and even some clues.
Then one day as I was taking out the trash,
Something came over me and I knew in a flash.
Everything was wrong and I prayed it wasn’t so,
So I called up your Daddy and said we must go.
To the hospital to check on your stats,
Waiting so patiently for the results to come back.
We were told the bleeding was normal, you were just fine,
Worrying uncontrollably because you were mine.
Waiting for the doctor seemed to take forever,
I guess she just thought she was being so clever.
Up on the screen we could see your silhouette,
The doctor made a grave face, and I said no, not yet.
There is no heartbeat are the words we dreaded most.
The tears started to fall and I felt like a ghost.
I wanted to run, and I wanted to hide.
I wanted you there standing at my side.
I long now to hold you and hear your soft cries,
Play with your belly and hear your faint sighs.
Never will I have the chance to kiss your sweet lips,
Wrap your sweet legs around my soft hips.
I know you are in Heaven and safe you will always be,
But oh, I long to touch the baby I will never see.
– Poem by Kim Perry

9. The Cage

A man walked up to me some time ago.
He had a story he wanted me to know.

He reached out his hand to shake mine,
And it took me back to a place and time.

He told me he was a soldier in World War II,
A POW in Moosburg; sad but true.

As he began to tell the story, I could see in his eyes,
He’d gone back to that place in his mind.

He said “110,000 men walked through those gates.
The Nazis were filled with nothing but hate.

The camp was thronged
And we knew our stay there would be long.

The floor was hard and the nights were cold.
Young men grew malnourished and old.

They must have feared me because I was put in a cage,
And all I could do was pray.

I cannot tell you how many days I was there,
Only that every day I said the same prayer.

I asked the Lord to send someone our way,
to get us out of there and take us far away.

On April 25,1945,
He sent someone just when I was ready to give up and die.

The Fourteenth Armored Division came crashing through.
It was The Liberators, with a job to do.

They were there to set us free!”
And with a smile he said, “Everyone erupted with glee.

A soldier came running my way,
And he reached down and opened my cage.

After all these years I never forgot that man’s face or what he did for me.
My only regret, I didn’t get to thank him when I got up from bended knee.

Now he’s standing in front of me shaking my hand.
So thank you sir, because you were that man.”
– Poem by Jodi M. Kucera

10. Brave American Knight

Driving home one day after hours of monotonous office work,
Saw a man sitting by the road; looked as one down on his luck.
Paid small notice to the figure; my lonely life was in a rut.
He was just another beggar holding out a shiny tin cup.

But something was rather uncharacteristic about this scene.
His old camouflaged fatigues were those of a U.S. marine.
No legs dangled from his wheelchair, but he sat tall, proud, and upright.
Many ribbons bore evidence of America’s finest knight.

Walked up to the stranger – what was left of a man sitting there.
No others near, just us two, and the pall of pathos in the air.
His hair unkempt, a shaggy beard, he stared as each car would stop,
Lest he miss a coin or, pray, a bill into his cup one might drop.

In horror saw that the cup was held by an artificial hand.
An ear had been severed; thumb on other hand, one eye was blind.
He acknowledged my presence, tipped his military cap.
As he did, I observed scars occupied most of his scalp.

Asked how life brought him to this intersection on life’s highway.
From boot camp was deployed to “play in the sand” in land over there.
“Sir,” he said, “From high school my great desire was to serve my country.
Fighting with my buddies one night, my jeep hit unseen IED.”

“In flames and smoke I fought to breathe; felt that my life was slipping on.
Could barely hear, could scarcely see, and knew that my right arm was gone.
My head was bleeding profusely; could not feel my legs or left hand.
I begged God to let me die on the sands of Afghanistan.”

“The corpsman came with tears rolling down his face and with choking voice,
Said soldier, it’s your legs, I have to amputate, I have no choice.
There are other injuries, got to rush; choppers are on our right,
You hang in there, Marine; I salute you, brave American knight.”

The more he spoke, the colder the chills that ran up and down my spine.
Thoughtlessness and selfishness exposed a depravity of mind.
Self-pity, self-indulgence, resignation had poisoned my soul.
Changed by man with no legs, he stands ten feet tall on my honor roll.

Perhaps next time a soldier we meet at the mall or on the street,
Honor and salute those who served, even died, that we may live free.
Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, Navy or Marine, guards of freedom’s light.
Grateful for those who wore the uniform, brave American knights.
– Poem by David G. Moore

Narrative poems take another form of writing, almost like you trying to tell a story, and different kinds of stories are always being told. Romantic stories or most times stories for kids.

The poems compiled contain various narrative poems, we hope you found the one that was of interest to you and that you had a good read.

Daily Time Poems.