Spencer Rossouw April 11, 2014

  • Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the narrator and characters as well. The entire story is usually written in metred verse. The poems that make up this genre may be short or long, and the story it relates to may be complex. It is usually dramatic, with objectives, diverse characters, and metre. Narrative poems include epics, ballads, idylls, and lays. Some narrative poetry takes the form of a novel in verse.
  • Lonely slowly solely I trailed on a street
    I looked back, forward, left and right and there was no one to greet
    The street was narrow, long and seems to have no end
    Very scary, I trembled, so I called my big brother Ken
    I shouted his name, shouted and shouted without taking a pause
    My voice only goes, multiplies and bounces back, with no response

    Very tired, frustrated and hungry, so I leaned beside a tree
    I plucked some fruits, just to quench my stomach’s plea
    But hungrier than I, was the lion standing not far from me
    It roared and swung its tail looking at me
    “An already-made meal, how sweet” It said and smiled at me
    “Oh father, make me not its daily bread” I prayed and planned to flee

    My feet was not glued, so I asked it to hurry to flee
    How fast I ran, I don’t think I can even give you a clue
    The lion followed me angrily as I ran and pant on the road
    I was tired but could not afford to assume a resting mode
    I almost gave up but saw a tree I felt I could climb
    It could be a nice rescue so I doubled my steps to climb

    Voila! There I was and the lion could only stand to watch
    I smiled back at it, as I searched for a better place to lodge
    But there was none, as the tree owner seemed not to be happy with me
    The cobra raised its flattened head, ready to pounce on me
    I was much scared, confused so I felt the urge to pee
    I said my last prayer to God, thanking Him for what He has done for me

    The cobra jumped at me but unluckily fell in the neck of the lion
    It fought the lion and I could only referee to crown the champion
    Poor cobra lost the fight and the lion devoured its whole length
    But the king of the jungle couldn’t withstand for long, the venom of the cobra
    A voice then spoke to my heart, after the hungry lion’s departure
    “Fear not my son, even in the valley of the shadow of death”