Sit and buy me a pale ale
while I regale you with
a tale written in braille
by a man stale in jail with
no avail to raise bail.
Curtail the detail ~ suffice it to say
how a frail male whale wailed when
again and again failed dislodging
a rusty nail impaled in its tail.
Not to derail but meanwhile
across the vale, a snail and quail
hightailed it but strayed off their trail ~
Once all were put up for sale,
t’was the female who tipped the scale.
It’s not much of a tale but
thanks for the ale, it was tasty.
Inhale ~ now let's enjoy an upscale cocktail.
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 lines ~ each line has 5 or 7 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
this is the machine,
you are the lithium cells,
blue or red pill, flask to fill,
take them both_with gin,
send it for a loop, make it spin,
carnival of corona limestone.
can there be two wolf pups
with the same eyes_?
moon opens to reveal the face in skies.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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!
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!
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.
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.
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...