Treasure Island

Top 100 Poems About: NARRATIVE


In this page, poems on / about “narrative” are listed.
  • 1.
    inside gertrude stein

    Right now as I am talking to you and as you are being talked
    to, without letup, it is becoming clear that gertrude stein has
    hijacked me and that this feeling that you are having now as
    you read this, that this is what it feels like to be inside read more »

    Lynn Emanuel
  • 2.
    Dance of Life

    It began with a dance
    Unbounded in freedom
    Far away from self immersion
    With elements of mystery read more »

    Nirmal Kumar Mishra
  • 3.
    Who Am I?

    “Who am I, you ask? ”

    I am a narrative in the making,
    A happy ending not yet told; read more »

    Vaughn Wood
  • 4.
    Television

    It's not that images are powerful
    but that consciousness -
    already cursed by narrative - is weak:
    everybody watches, mimics. read more »

    Anthony Weir
  • 5.
    I once knew a girl

    And her book of poems lulled her to sleep.
    The whining, whimpering narratives of nature
    and love.
    That is not life, she knew, and you do too - read more »

    bill nye the science guy
  • 6.
    Coffee & Dolls

    It was a storefront for a small-time numbers runner,
    pretending to be some sort of grocery. Coffeemakers
    and Bustello cans populated the shelves, sparsely.
    Who was fooled. The boxes bleached in the sun, read more »

    April Bernard
  • 7.
    Kinda Blue

    for Ben Schonzeit, painter

    You offer me slices of your days
    in gaunt calligraphy, black and red, read more »

    Becky Dennison Sakellariou
  • 8.
    Maya

    The
    spectacle was fleeting,
    And
    moments shadowed our narrative, read more »

    Ilham Ahmed
  • 9.
    Burning Words

    Every moment
    the world wants something new.
    Novel evenings
    And novel dawns, read more »

    Faeza gilani
  • 10.
    A Unicorn From The World Next-door

    In the house of death the old ones chant
    strange couplets & mysterious narratives-
    that like the tumble-weeds wisp through the picket fence....
    & flows, sweeping down the dark byways & pathways..... read more »

    Andrew Rymill
  • 11.
    Sorehead

    I was arrested because of that internal memo,
    and ended up in a cell, then I was told to sit
    with the police and the local bigwigs.
    In the hushed and fast darkening room they said read more »

    John Ernest Tranter
  • 12.
    Sun

    I wait for you in the morning sun
    the morning sun.
    Here in the morning sun,
    its light burning, burning read more »

    Oliver Roberts
  • 13.
    To think of God

    We have seen the potter’s tale hidden
    in the ashes of dying stars,
    dreamed of snow and sky
    and a land where the great scale pan read more »

    Leo Briones
  • 14.
    Hymn of the Bonekeeper(minor)

    *The following is taken as an excerpt from existent narrative of which I myself have written. It is a minor hymn of the character Krevik and thus is not present in its entirety as he would have it spoken.

    Rend the flesh and carve the bone
    Flay the living upon bloodied stone read more »

    Joshua Lee
  • 15.
    Book of Life

    Book of Life

    The book published when the costs were low
    A child born of a happy wedding. read more »

    AKELLA S. RATNAM
  • 16.
    Soil

    read more »

    Alexander Keli
  • 17.
    THE STONE PICKERS (A conversation with Edward Clausen's, The Stone Pickers, Laing Art Gallery, Newcastle

    If you were a stone picker,
    that look of resigned surprise
    at the pile of stones, defying gravity
    to bubble up from the meadow around read more »

    Patrick Lodge
  • 18.
    élan vital

    Who am I?
    A breath, an essence, a story
    Many narratives
    words that inadequately read more »

    Tori Pleasent
  • 19.
    Itinerary

    Vulnerable therein & perfectly
    relinquished by statis,
    object always of my
    natal, crepuscular desire, read more »

    Roberto Tejada
  • 20.
    The Marriage Voyage of Juan Ramón Jiménez 1916

    He doesn't know whether to trust sound or vision;
    reaching for Zenobia across the Atlantic, whether to lend
    credence to the sea's bellyaching or the shadow riven
    from the down-slope of a wave. Something distends read more »

    Sara Sams
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