Narrative Poems

Narrative poems. There's some controversy, or at least varying opinion among poets about the definition of "narrative poetry," but for me it's poetry that tells a story and perhaps doesn't have quite as strict a structure as it might.
Which is a laugh, I guess because my poetry is mostly unstructured, if one wants to go by the rules.
It's fun . . . I like to write it and hope you'll enjoy reading it.

• Another Threshold
  The new lament, the 'why can't two live on one income anymore.'
• Behind the Binding
  The metaphor of man-as-volume and whether or not he's a good read.
• Business is War
  Is Harvard Business School the West Pointe of lieutennants of commerce?
• Decade of the Refugee
  Continuing on the theme of the business environment as a war zone.
• Drawing Smaller Circles
  Reflections on the ex-pat writer's life and what makes it all worth the while.
• Drifting In
  Going away and then circling, setting wings and drifting in to the common pond that binds us.
• Fear of Flying
  Ah yes, well we do infect our children with our own insecurities and it's a crippling thing.
• Fireflies
  Remembering my Calvin-andHobbes seven year-old life and the smells that today can transport me instantly back.
• Friday Brought the D's
  Leaving home and reminded that nobody much has noticed . . . except when they do, which is bliss.
• The Glow from Either End
  Ramble with me through the insecurities of the writer's life.
• Hearing Red as Blue
  What we mean and how it's heard and why the voice is different than we thought.
• Market Rate
  I love this poem, but it defies a short and snappy lead and you'll just have to read it, slowly, to see if you like it as well.
• Missing Buses
  Reflecting on the lives and loves left behind.
• My Mirrored Self
  Looking with as much honesty as is bearable, to the face that gazes back from my shaving mirror.
• One Day
  Our optimistic reliance on O's and 1's to define every aspect of lives a mere short-circuit away from the cave.
• Random Radio Noise
  Born perfect, dying perfectly and the life between somehow forsaking those poles of perfection.
• Setting Fire to My Life
  Ah, the genesis of my leaving all that comfort for the unknown writer's life and what I thought it meant and perhaps what it actually did. Each poet writes a 'first' poem and this is mine.
• The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
  A father is so many things to a son, such a complicated contrivance, such an unending force, as unavoidable as gravity.
• Terrible Choices
  If you give someone nothing but terrible choices, he will surely make one.
• This Man
  Who are we, any of us, to the casual observer?
• This Moment Now
  A long life (or even a short one) is just a string of moments and we lose sight of the now moment.
• Time Between Lives
  The spectacular fractions of time when clarity takes over and we see just ever-so-briefly before plunging again into our unfocused lives.
• Will Come as No Surprise
  Harkening to the times when I killed your food and knew your smell.