Best Storytelling Poems
Encased in an isolated castle of an old fool’s paradise,
A decaying dagger rests upon a distressed oak table.
Frayed book pages scatter across termite-riddled floors.
The calligraphy carries echoes of triumphant battles,
Vividly etched in ink.
A revered legacy is forgotten in decades of decay,
Its inked glory fading into disarray.
Reminiscing of bygone days when youth was a sturdy partner at my behest,
Now weathered crimson dahlias adorn the windowsills
Of a desolate dynasty,
As the last petal falls.
Echoes of faded footsteps can be heard within the empty halls of waste.
What remains is a golden crown with sanguine marquise
Resting heavily upon an exile’s head.
How do I conquer the bloodstained fear trickling within the fractals,
Reflecting off the scorching sun that swallows flames,
Swirling around the ashen pyre
Of the poetic corpses I’ve slain for validation?
An inquisition paints a vicious vermilion
Within the sobbing stained glass.
The once-perfect porcelain flesh of our legacy is flayed,
Surrounded by the whispers of forgotten souls.
Cobwebs drape over shattered dreams,
As beams of light punctuate looming shadows.
Concealed beneath cold stone lies the family crypt,
Patiently awaiting its reluctant visitor,
Beckoning the exalt through clandestine corridors.
Within the hushed chamber of undying slumber,
He recalls the tragic tale.
Before him stand his beloved wife and children,
Forever ensnared in the clutches of eternal sleep.
Echoes of the past replay like eerie shadows,
Retelling the grim chronicle of their demise.
His envious, wrathful younger brother succumbed
To the greed of his own ambition.
In the darkness hour of that dreadful night, the dagger-wielding usurper
Plunged their existence into oblivion,
Casting spirits of suppressed speeches to weep
Within wailing walls.
Now I am the cerulean dusk of the gloaming,
A burnt-out waxen ivory,
The candle before their tombstone.
The yellow neon sign casted a glow upon his chiselled cheekbones as the bustling sounds of a city that never slept droned on.
He carried his troubles with him, like a worn out cloak, weighing him down in his every step. His mind was entwined in a thorny thicket.
He has been haunted and bewildered since his introduction to her in a smoky speakeasy.
She was a siren shadow amongst strangers of the night, whispering his name in the breeze, intoxicating his psyche with a tempestuous flame.
She entangled him in a perilous dance, playing a game of chance.
Their encounters were like unbridled wildfires. She captivated him, consuming his soul with her potent allure. He felt engulfed, delicate as a feather in a storm, swept away by her force.
However he was a moth enticed by a relentless flame, she incinerated his dreams and made him feel hopeless. In the end, he succumbed to the hounds of disassociated reality.
His story concluded in tragedy, leaving his loved ones cries to echo through the empty streets of a heartless city.
The gentle watery flow smashing against the ragged rocks.
The snowcap mountains nestled against the bluest sky
wisps of a soft breeze whispering against the blushing cheek
unanticipatory verbiage impacting emotions
to thine own self be true
to rhyme without rhythm
to eat, to pray, to love
the best of times, the worst of times
the state of an era,
the unpredictable elipses
the improper but appropriate pause
inflection for reflection
brilliant salutations
morphemes
contractions
exclamatory fragments
Freedom within thought
freedom to express
Once upon a time ...
it was a dark and stormy night.
Of man's first disobedience ...
We hold these truths to be self-evident...
learned growth,
long journeys into the lost world
satisfaction at the close of the book.
artful, impacting, storytelling.
Facedown on the carpet I just knew that I would die,
the red obscures my vision as the blood dripped in
my eye,
I never saw it coming, tell me, how could I have
slipped? But let me back it up a bit and tell you bout
my trip.
My mother was the type who gave me food but fed
me lies, the woman gave me life October 5th of '85,
while growing up I always knew that something was
amiss, my 16th birthday's when I found out true lies
do exist.
October 2K1 my goodness, it was such a time, I
lived my life the 'seat of pants' way, out there runnin
wild,
my b-day gift from Uncle Sal which I was blown
away, a nickel plated 22 he called a 'throw away'.
Mom Dukes was straight addicted to a lithany of
drugs, my father died absorbing quite a lithany of
slugs,
I thirsted for the streets and no amount of love could
quench, to now possess a firearm, it all now
seemed a cinch.
I had some people over to the crib to celebrate, my
little cuzzo Pop and plus my homies Rell and Nate,
we had the PS2 because that Madden game was
heat, you know how things occur sometimes when
you expect it least?
It seems that day my mother really snorted up some
blow, she had assorted stains of snow which
showed around her nose,
when Moms got high the sky could fall and she just
wouldn't know, she also had a case of real loose
lips because of coke.
Now everyone was chillin, plenty happy times for all,
then Moms approached my Uncle Sal, the rising of
my fall,
she then just spoke out loud enough for everyone to
hear, 'Why don't you claim your son right now while
everyone is here? !
The music stopped and pinheads dropped I'm
thinkin who the F? Now cheery Sal with teary smile
embraced me to his chest,
'I'm sorry it was done this way but yes there's
sumthin true, I have 2 sons see Pop is 1, the other 1
is you'
I fainted, dropped my brew and don't know what I'm
gonna do.......
To Be Continued......
example 1:
recently orphaned adult
seven billion living souls
yet i am from no one
disquieting thoughts
elusive sleep
my children make me smile
example 2:
most glorious day
age sixteen milestone
driving test passed
shared joy with
best friend who
failed three times
It brought such memories, memories when I was a kid
It reminded me of all the things that I did
Storytelling, it's such an ancient art on
channelizing events in which our family gives
voice, sounds of laughter, sometimes by embellishment
It exists in such class, beauty, and astonishment
It's so legendary, so antiquated, existing as long
as humankind has had a nomenclature
It can be of a mental imagery...
It tells us life as it took place!
Every single family has its legends, and a storyteller of that
It has the magic of the soul, which flows through the mind
It goes way way back 10 times a dime beyond time
Although that story may not be happening at that
point in time, just visualize, rewind time back to the mind's eye
Vindicate what remakes today as yesterday before
tomorrow of the next day...
I want canvasses
littering my room
fed by paint from my brushes
and lukewarm water from my brains
I want to see a billion stories
scattered all about my walls
and my carpet, and my
Television wears a happy, painted
mask to hide his blackness.
I crave marbles
melted into breathtaking glass
sculptures, and these bodies
would watch me as I saw
them through my eyes
I crave acoustic forests
where I'll fall towards my husband
and his earthen hands will catch me-
He'll wear a happy, painted mask
and every body will watch us
lovingly
lovingly
lovingly.
Storytelling in the world
No planeta existem
todos os tipos de criaturas,
somente o ser humano
conta histórias!
A pessoa
QUE CONSEGUE CONSTRUIR
e contar histórias
no decorrer de sua vida
imagina e planeja,
inspira,
será bem sucedida.
Produzirá resultados extraordinários.
Contar histórias
Está a alcance de
Todas as pessoas!
Contar histórias
argumentar
é como respirar;
a própria respiração;
é uma história bem sucedida.
Agora
Vá e conte
A historia inspiradora da sua vida!
In a bright yellow, the big bus stands still,
Its lights flash a warning, a sign of care.
Giggles and waves from tiny hands inside,
A moment to pause, where safety’s embraced.
Red lights flash, and the bus is waiting,
You’re in a rush, but safety calls loud.
Around the bend, a cop might be watching,
One moment’s haste, and you face the consequence.
The ticket’s not just a fine, but a lesson,
Every stop sign guards lives we hold dear.
In their small hands, trust is given, so slow down,
In that brief pause, we see the cost of rushing.
Police might be near, keeping an eye,
What seems easy is wrong when caution’s ignored.
So slow down, remember, these kids count on us,
Let kindness guide your actions, respect the bus.
Storytelling
Comece agora
reflita:
desde o inicio dos tempos,
hoje e sempre
nos negócios
na vida,
tudo o que existe entre os seres humanos,
são a vida
e
a história de cada vida.
Tudo o que existe
entre os seres humanos,
são histórias!
Historias nas cavernas
historias de
histórias de amor,
de descoberta,
dos vizinhos...
AH!
Somos na realidade,
criaturas em uma história.
Hoje e sempre
nos negócios
na vida,
conte e viva
a melhor história
da sua vida!
When you ask me who I am,
I can not be sure what to say.
Am I a savage woman?
My answer might dismay.
Do I know what family is?
It is surely hard to say.
You see,
Not too long ago in this country of the strong and free,
My people had their freedom taken
and it has long since wore it’s effect on me.
Children were snatched up from families deemed unfit,
they were placed in unfamiliar buildings and that is not even half of it.
Kids could not speak their native tongue in fear of being hit,
No native art or family photos because the white man took away every little bit.
My grandfather had to make a choice
If he was ever going to escape,
He was tired of the constant beatings
and continuous, unfortunate rape.
Grandpa set his plan into motion
One fall in the dead of night,
On foot he ran and ran and ran
Until the school was out of sight.
No family to call or hug,
He could hardly remember a face.
The memories of a two year old,
can be rather hard to retrace.
So all alone he lived his life,
until my sweet mother was born.
The first piece of family he had ever known.
Finally with a daughter,
He could learn to love her so.
Unfortunately it is hard to love
When you have never had a real home.
Displacement is a horrendous fate,
leavin many with no option,
they turn to drugs and alcohol
because thy were never taught to take precaution.
So when you ask me who I am
Just remember please
It is not my fault if I cannot tell you,
that is the savage deep inside of me.
I am going to sea in a blueberry boat
That danced in the wind by the lee she did float
With vanilla sails and strawberry jib to bend her
Her chocolate chine hull held true on this double-ender
From starboard to port in a raspberry ocean
Her freeboard it romped up and down with commotion
The peppermint tiller was sticky to hold
My gimbals in irons I chose to be bold!
For spring tides it heeled her from stem to stern
While her yaw rode frosted waves of pineapple churns
She heaved and bellowed singing "Alive-Alive-O!"
As her rudder was a fishtail from a mermaid below
Over and under the jawbreaker swells
Listing like an upside-down candy apple she fell
To the bonbon trough she stumbled and waned
She crashed like a sugared angel melting in the rain
But I was the captain with orders to spew
I cried of marshmallows and graham crackers too
I could not give up and bend like a mushy banana
My heart was determined to sail the 'Susquahanna'
Alas she sunk to the deep down under
My pocket was her aftermath of all left asunder
While I swallowed candy with joyful jiggles
She melted away between nibbles and giggles!
September 13, 2019
Welcome to my Random World
Sponsored by Nina Parmenter
The minstrel with his lute so bright,
Beneath the moon’s pale, silver light,
Did weave a tale of love and woe,
A melody that hearts would know.
With nimble fingers, strings he'd strike,
Each note a pearl, each chord a hike,
Through valleys deep and mountains high,
Where heroes fought and lovers sighed.
A maiden fair, with eyes of blue,
A knight so bold, brave and true,
Their love a flame, so bright and strong,
But fate's cruel hand did them prolong.
He sang of battles, fierce and grand,
Of dragons slain, by hero's hand,
Of castles tall and moors so wide,
Where secrets hid, and dangers lied.
The minstrel's voice, a haunting sound,
As shadows danced and stars spun 'round,
His songs of love and loss did flow,
A tapestry of joy and woe.
And when the dawn began to break,
And shadows fled, for morning’s sake,
The minstrel left, his work complete,
His music stilled; his story sweet.
Not your usual
Not uncommon
The once upon a time
That line might be fine
Love of the heart at times being kind
A glass of wine being a story added divine
Line by line
Word by word
The distance between what happened
Extending to
Thinking through and through
Perhaps a notion having a thought
A pass dream remembered
Caught in a nightmare trap
Storms that became violent
One pause of silent
A past wonder
Sunshine suddenly appeared yonder
Emotions opened up
Joy prospered
Expiration had no tire
I know, but questioned
Opinionated but was a suggestion
Inspiration rang like a Philadelphia Liberty Bell
That moment, I felt like William Tell
I can do this
Encouragement spoke
Proceed told
You are mighty and bold
Heaven’s hand your threshold
The story within a moment’s notice of time
The life being m
we stirred our cauldrons in earthy heat
buck and goats gave sweet meats
stories around bonfires our grandma’s told
holding us close dearly, as we boldly unfold
across brown hills we trekked with our shields
seeking fresh rivers and green hills for yields
found wild red roses as we danced with drums
porcupine quills giving us thrills, alongside plums
across Africa’s heart we bled our treads
found our queens, their tribal dresses intact
hands were painted, herbs on their heads
everlasting were ancestral wisdoms a fact
myriads of flora and fauna gave us inspiration
spiralling our spirits across continent’s populations
rainbow dues blood red with orange sunsets
emerald were hearts until we reached the north
here crimson held cobalt and pale blue hues
peacock feathers fluttering fell into wild heather
often we held reviews, as warring tribes withdrew
rise was our inspirational purpose, wearing loin leather
from belly to heart to throat and foreheads
immaturity an impetus for evolutionary expansion
our whole was greater than sum parts with four legged
adventure, surrender, boundlessness our
satisfaction ~
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Fabric Art Wall Tapestry : Appliqué & Image Embroidery : ‘From the Belly of Africa we Rise’ : Ghairo Daniels : 2020
Canvas & Carpet with various fabrics & haberdashery : feathers, beads, sequins, ribbon, buttons, porcupine quills : 105 x 105cm
Style: Expressionist Story Quilting
Source : Private : LINK TO PICS AT COMMENTS SECTION OF POEM
Placed : 7th Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand : April 26
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