Long Story telling Poems
Long Story telling Poems. Below are the most popular long Story telling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Story telling poems by poem length and keyword.
I used to think about
My competitive recreational athletic entertaining bout
And then appeared the invisible hint to get out
It was all in my glamorous haunting past
Ferocious winds terrified my life’s sailing mast
Filled with reality water’s challenging chop
Thrashing my egotistical maturing mind screaming ‘please stop’
But here I take my pen in hand
Not trying to be anything only to survive taking a stand
I used to think about a mistake
I did not make
Everyone scorned me calling me a fake
But through putting blood on paper,
During slow time as a high-class waiter
I get things off my chest
Showing my reader, I did my best
Confronting a conflict that tried to make my life a mess
Guilt will make my antagonist confess
I will be the heroic protagonist getting celebrity headline press
Would this be the solution?
Proper resolution
In a certain arc
That shows the light in the dark
Story telling is my way
To put information on the communication tray
Writing books
Fictional plots and scenes I do cook
This is what it is like to be an author
Always going out pitching for a publisher’s offer
This what I used to think about
No longer wasting time engaging in any addicted pout
(“Tapestry”, 2025, original encaustic)
Have you ever been taken in by the story
Delivered some place foreign and strange
Yet familiar and true?
Of course you have, as all humans do.
Vocalized, visualized, subliminally dreamed
That is our lot.
From bedtime stories to books and movies
Our lives leap gladly into the novel.
And oh what awaits us there!
Portals and corridors
Into what transcends the individual
And so transcends even our humanity.
I dreamt once of being a bridge
Literally not figuratively
And I’m sure I’ve also dreamt of being
More animate nonhuman things
The dream after all
In all its animate and inanimate forms
Is simply a creation of our mind
Our mind made illusively flesh and fiber
Fueled with all the tinder of waking experience
But brought to a frothing boil
By something more
Something that only comes alive
Taking form and shape
In the telling.
(11/15/25)
TV news flash
New trade pact;
Bubbly economics
~~~~~~~~~
Digital movie mania
Hollywood and company;
Visual impact strikes
~~~~~~~~~
Bad weather havoc
Torrential rainy outbursts;
Flood waters invade
~~~~~~~~~
Poise in sure noise
Instant cacophony;
Chamber orchestra
~~~~~~~~~
Music floats
Harmonica melody;
Street corner performance
~~~~~~~~~
Fancy menu here
Foreign language 101;
Mystery order Must-Do
~~~~~~~~~
Wit in sure jazz
Jest in fond fest;
Birthday wishes trend
~~~~~~~~~
School talk to teens
Simple conversations;
Story telling highlights
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy slumber steals
Conscious lamentations;
Words not included
~~~~~~~~~
Rain and more rain
Wetness everywhere;
Wet is the new dry
~~~~~~~~~
Sadness slips and slides
Rain takes all away;
Empty feelings loiter
~~~~~~~~~
Purge all reason
Ditch common logic;
Seize pure inspiration
~~~~~~~~~
Dark is the night
When light goes out;
Even sleep feels deep
~~~~~~~~~
Look to passion
To defy reason;
Let purpose fashion
~~~~~~~~~
Lone owl hoots
Somnolent gestures;
Story book ending
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
18 November 2014
Singapore
Along rails of ambivalent dreams,
Bittersweet yet luscious flashbacks
Take me back to my friend, the tactile moon – a
Quiescent basin of grace and alchemy: we would utter
And laugh about legends quite arcane from books
Chipped from eve’s daily flamboyant story – telling rites…
As willows stoop like night’s immolation for more
Replays of drama, our guiding star acts as an intercessor
For excuses to prolong near dusk's trail in our former home--
This quintessence of a young spirit’s hunger to journey
Far across moon-friend’s range in an endless, mythical glide!
11.15.16
Ten word challenge -2 for John Hamilton
Fiction opens the door to a new world
Whimsical and real, strange and familiar all at once
One gets transported to a new setting
Where he is neither a stranger nor a spectator.
As the plot unfolds, one grows with the characters
Feels their tensions, anxieties and excitement
Sometimes the commonplace world disappears.
And he gets transported to different realms-
To experiences manifold and encounters diverse.
Along with the characters, we laugh and cry
With them we sob, sigh and grieve,
Sometimes view their antics as outsiders
Or join them in their funny escapade.
Thus, every fiction leaves a trace behind.
With my eyesight slightly blurring,
I am not in the habit of reading fiction lately.
But from the archives, a few books come alive
‘Gone with the Wind’ by Margaret Mitchel,
One I read years back, still stay green in memory.
Its protagonist, Scarlett O’Hara,
A symbol of stoic endurance and resilience,
Strong willed and ambitious is a woman true.
Though shattered by war, she resurrects,
Like a phoenix, driven by a desire to rebuild.
Her obsession with Ashley
And her disappointment in love
Deeply pained my heart and thoughts for long.
But her resilience, I remember,
Had never ‘gone with the wind”
Another book that left a deep impact
Was ‘God of Small Things’ by Arundhati Roy
A winner of Booker Prize from my land.
The rustic life with its familiar landscape
And characters who lived around
And likely to be met, come before me,
Once again as I open the book.
Her fiction combines story telling with poesy
She mirrors the artlessness of village life
And the complexities of a social structure
With its diverse power factions like-
Family, gender, religion and Politics
Her book at once is entertaining and unsettling.
Thus, fiction is not merely a flight,
Into a fantasy land, but a dive
Into a world of deeper hues
And a true mirror reflecting life.
In complicated relationships,
and complex story telling
with regeneratively developing
and degeneratively undeveloping characters,
Personalities with powers to inflict harmful
punishment,
and healing
forgiveness,
Shunning
and harassment
or compassion
and integrity,
Neglect
and abuse
or co-investment
and solidarity,
Who switches from and
to positive
to negative
and back again
first
and last
Depends on where and when we choose to begin
our journey down selective memory's avenue
of speaking and reacting
and not listening and responding,
But this primary choice
of Alpha and Omega point
is further influenced
by what we choose to notice
and assume is perceivable,
malleable,
still alive
And what we fail to remember
to reconnect
to return again
to restore
What we omit
set aside
assume unchangeable as death
and poor pay disproportionate taxes
Among all our political and economic
civil and uncivil history of individual relationships
and family systems
and community networks
and EarthTribe polycultural species
come and gone before
on Earth's round revolving stages
of unfolding
unraveling
And refolding
reforming
redeeming
rewinding
regenerating
restoring historic healthy relationships.
Having an obvious proclivity for story-telling,
the old man leaned forward in his chair,
eager to impress the grey-haired men gathered around him
while he continued with the saga of his most peculiar life.
With each slight nuance of his speech
and with every twist in the plot of his tale,
he was able to hold them all spell-bound!
I can attest to this, for I watched him
as he cleverly mesmerized the group of men
for a little over an hour!
There seemed to be no aperature through which
any one man could slip into inattentiveness,
for that old storyteller would gesture wildly in one moment
and then – in the next- - he would pause for dramatic effect,
and then he was immediately back to his fascinating narration.
I wondered as I listened to him -
how did this wizened centenarian
still show the marrow to continue at such a pace?
At last, I could tell that he was winding down.
His nursing home peers, hanging onto his every word,
leaned forward in their seats
as he, at the same time, leaned into them – his adoring audience -
and delivered the climax!
I myself was inwardly chuckling, knowing
that the story he told was not his own!
He had ripped off the plot of the most engaging movie
which I had seen recently at a local theater.
But how were the other old men to know that?
In this barren place, they never got out to see movies.
The storyteller was the new kid on the block!
I marveled to think this man now 100 years old
had recently seen a contemporary movie still in the theaters!
For sure, nobody else in that group had seen movies
inside an actual movie house for at least the past decade!
I had to hand it to the guy; his temerity was epic.
He was -after all -
one to tell stories!
Nov. 16, 2018 for John Hamilton's 'Eight word challenge-9' Poetry Contest
Like clover petals
We bind together for all
Good Ol' Irish Luck
For the love of green
From Ireland so it seems
Originally
A tough bunch we are
Catholic Mobsters due east
Fight Protestant Priests
Drink till half past three
Story telling Histories
Of our Ancestry
Revised 05/05/16
From North to South, East to West
From Lands End to John O’Groats,
You can always find a festival
That will surely float your boat
There are festivals of music
For blues, folk, jazz and rock
And festivals for foodies
Where you can learn to cook in a wok
If you’re not into music or cooking,
And your interests are literary
You can participate at a book festival
With story telling and poetry
You can visit a festival for the arts
Or an Eisteddford, where people sing
Or hear jokes, at a comedy festival
If singing is not your thing
Or be a viewer, at a film festival
Watching copious ‘films noir’
Or take a walk round a festival of gardens
Through a plethora of fragrant flowers
History, culture, religion, the sea
Are all covered by festivals too
Genres for everyone, regardless of age
Whatever you like to do
Festivals for this, festivals for that
For each month throughout the year,
But the festivals I like to frequent the most
Are the ones that involve drinking beer!
(Earth's creation to the end of the last Ice Age)
© 2008 (Jim Sularz)
Sun’s first rise over life-less skies, the earth cools, and the waters pool -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And the planet’s broken plates quake and move.
Lightning strikes, the waters stir, and the bonds of life begin to churn -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And the waters swirl in a living urn.
Strange aquatic things, they all evolve, some spiny finned, start to crawl -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And they slowly stretch erect and tall.
Eons pass where the cunning reign, a savage place, with small sized brains -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And the dead surrender their twisted remains.
An asteroid streaks from the sky, blocks out the sun, cause most to die -
the Sun burns East to West.
And all in the blink of Time’s eye.
Footprints in stone, some on mountainsides, make it clear that rocks don’t lie -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And the fossils always tell the time.
Eons pass and eons more, the fittest evolves, and man is born -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And the early brain, once fast asleep, begins to dream and mourn.
The first million years, man lives in fear, learns to hunt, invents the spear -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And migrates to claim the vast frontiers.
Tools from stone and controlled fire, creates language, that shake man’s empire -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And splash cave paintings with human inspire.
Life-times of hunter-gathering, and story-telling in the dark -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And a world spins with a million hearts.
The Earth starts to warm, the oceans rise, and the waters shape the lands -
the Sun Burns East to West.
And when an Ice Age ends, then comes, the Age of Man.