Storytelling
Each of us has stories to tell if only we had the
courage to try
But what if they laugh at me?
or worse say they don’t like what I wrote
I don’t think I could survive that,
laying bare my story, exposing my
most raw hour
We must uplift our future storytellers at every turn
Stories are where we can safely moor, set our
anchor, rest and write
Open the door~
the one with the paint worn thin
where countless questions leaned their weight.
The hinges murmur like old storytellers
finally ready to speak.
A sliver of light slips out first,
gold as a whispered dare,
dust swirling like tiny prophets
dancing in the threshold’s breath.
Curiosity tugs on your sleeve~
gently insistent and impossible to ignore.
Open the door wider.
See how the shadows rearrange themselves,
how the air tastes of rain-kissed metal
and something unnamed but waiting.
A dove's feather drifts across the floorboards,
as if a winged thought escaped
just moments before you arrived.
Go ahead. Step through~
for the world beyond is stitched
with possibilities and almost-seen wonders,
a place where every question
is a lantern you carry in your heart.
Carlos: Do you think we’ll get away with this?
Don Juan: I tricked you into coming to this desert shack, didn’t I?
Carlos: I mean … Do you think we’ll make any money?
Don Juan: A bunch! I make it up; you write it down.
Carlos: How do we start?
Don Juan: “There was once a prickly pear who fell in love with a magic toad …”
Carlos: Wait a minute! My advisers won’t go for that!
Don Juan: OK. How about … “There is a hidden self, that’s Nagual-magical, connected to the entire universe to be unleashed by not-doings?”
Carlos: Wow! Heavy! Tell me more.
Don Juan: (setting his pseudo-profound bull generator to 'start')
“… Rebirth is the hidden knowledge of universal understanding and of us. You and I are storytellers of the universe. The goal of inner Nagual impulses is to plant the seeds of liberation rather than failure. We are being called to explore the galaxy itself as an interface between conscious living and unconscious sharing. By flowering thusly, we exist while manifesting the dreamtime. Nothing is probable: try or try not.”
There is an indigenous piece of wisdom
I believe more people today should to keep in mind…
The planet does not need more successful people.
It needs more peacemakers
more healers
more restorers
more storytellers
and more lovers of all kinds.
Wiccan’s creed is
to no one do harm
to no animal, plant or human
Is it weird that male storytellers were so fearful
that a matriarchal society might come about
that they turned them into witches
and made them appear mean and ugly?
Not at all.
it was the norm
back in the day
hopefully we know better now.
Wiccan’s creed is
to no one do harm
to no animal, plant or human
Is it weird that male storytellers were so fearful
that a matriarchal society might come about
that they turned them into witches
and made them appear mean and ugly?
Not at all.
it was the norm
back in the day
hopefully we know better now.
You ignite the
romance of my dreams.
I wish to encroach your
lips with my
tasty sandwich of perfected
rosemary teat.
I'll make your brain
immune to my soul
so you become out
of breath when far
from your source.
My toes will python
your emotions,
make you feel good with
motions that can't be
found in Neptune.
Oh! my Fairy prince,
should I Massage
those fire clay
masculinity and
blow your mind out of its organ?
I'm devoured by the
moans of your consistency.
Devoted to the strings of
your intentionality.
Should I delineate your
cubes of grip so it
illuminates the lines
of storytellers?
Or are you too shy to
tell the world that,
You're the heel of
my heart, the calf
of my stamina.
The spine of the moon
and the Larynx of the dark stars.
Honey!
I'll let you dance to the rhythm of Calla
Lily while I paint in the beams of Zinnias.
What madness
We are killing the healers and paying their killers
Bound to the pound and signed our own fate
Consuming its rot confiding in demons
looting the land and soiling the seas
The mother is burning the father is frail
Its shadow is creeping its whispers are vile
The machine it runs rampant its controls are all broken
Our storytellers are paid to swim with its tide
Is this the best we have to offer?
Slogans selling you tomorrow
Father, who entrusted me with his mission of salvation
Will provide me with labourers to realize this goal.
Pondering, he roamed around in disciple formation.
They will, like fish, gather to the kingdom of God, each soul.
Waves of humans from every walk of life were collected.
The new teacher, as though a magnet, attracted everyone.
His smile, like full-moon elegance, seemed secret-reflected.
The author of all, he's not an authoritarian
The breeze blew gently in his presence. Buds bloomed. Trees stood still.
Schools of fish swam onto the sea surface to get a glimpse.
Children, as though seeing a miracle, flocked, filled with thrill.
Poets, playwrights, and storytellers composed suspense-filled scripts.
Odd persona opted as though it's a play of honour,
Did they realize it was a calling from the Father?
Like twins, we share markers of a common history,
Civilization, and knowledge; a call for unity.
The carcasses of slavery and the slave trade
Are lost in the dust. O black water days.
Colonization has been eaten by our sovereignty.
Our flag, we raise high in the sky.
The struggle for the unification of Africa,
The fight for the liberation of the African people;
To live, strive, and thrive like everyone.
There is only one race; the human race.
Our blood is red; cords of conformity.
The African ancestry is a mighty influence.
Black is gold, black is our identity.
Creamy are our lands; green like the sea.
The glory days need to be fetched.
Let us be the storytellers of our people.
A time to use one powerful currency.
Our honour was never lost but stolen.
Africa is a well, Africa is not a cell.
From here, we provide them with all.
Beautiful, dark people, O Africans.
The merchants no longer come by sea.
Stopping making any form of plea.
As equals or no more dealings.
Africa is for Africans; raise your voice.
With Habakkuk Kargbo (Rabbi)
©Poem Makers SL (18/04/24)
Breathe Again
Did I truly accumulate years of experience, or were they merely years of monotonous repetition? The echoes of my past reverberate, etching pain into the fabric of my love life and work. As time advances, I find myself embracing a newfound indifference—a defiance against the judgments of others. That perennial question about my funeral guest list—whose presence matters, whose absence stings—loses its grip on my thoughts. Let them bury me beneath the ancient mahogany tree my father planted long ago. There, sheltered from life’s harsh winds, I’ll find my final repose.
Love and loss intertwine, their dance a testament to human resilience. Can love truly conquer the most relentless hardships? Or does fate hold us captive, binding us to our own narratives? My ex, who departed last February, lingers in the shadows. Does he know he left us behind? Could he return, inhabiting another vessel, weaving a fresh tapestry of mishaps and lost chances?
The best storytellers are keen observers, attuned to life’s ebb and flow. Like a river, I carry within me a multitude of stories—of sadness and fleeting happiness. These currents shape my existence, etching their marks upon my soul.
fuchsia rose was captured in the early sixteenth century
her legend was passed through many dynasties,
then storytellers got bored with her, and forgot her story
she waited for her chance; twinkling and dazzling newbies
enticing one to release her from her Pandora prison
the unlucky instigator of the pandemic
Too much enlightenment
with not enough empowerment
depresses me to feel isolated
and surrounded by self-impressed fools,
like me
or against me.
Too much empowerment
with not enough enightenment
anticipates
and advocates
and avidly endorses
narcissistic egocentrism
for my individual self
and
manically unrealistic
anthrosupremacist
Other Otherers
Super Patriarchal-Capitalist powers
against Earth's
and polycultural EarthTribe's resilient
self-organizing
health and wealth care
Long-term
indigenous wisdom potential
for healthiest RightHemisphere
felt co-empathically empowered
and wealthiest LeftHemisphere
verbally enlightened
For great grand future regenerators
of all secular ergodic
sacred synergetic
cooperatively greased relationships
Reducing trauma for squeaky,
curious
compassionate future
multiculturing secular
LeftYang diversity
inter-religious sacred
RightYintegrity
pre/re balancing generations
Of transcendent
co-invested
wealthy and wise storytellers,
co-empathically enlightened;
and cooperatively healthy
ecofeminist
history makers,
impressively co-empowered.
We are
Storytellers
In our speaking
Conversing
Interpreting..
Seemingly
Making sense of
The indescribable
Spontaneity of this..
Death of the
Storyteller
Frees the story
Telling itself
With a character
Fondly
Known as the
Storyteller...
fierce fire-elk transforms into a skeletal elk during a forest fire
the few who have seen her, recognize her powers through prophecy
These storytellers do not last long, for they are not forest fire survivors
if you get caught in the woods during an inferno, beware of the fire-elk.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.