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Goth fitness
among sorrowful stories
the green agreement of the park
I walk to walk
pass by the dead unburied dogs
Poems on the topic: story
Poems on the topic “story” on Poets.by.
Border patrol
hours without a witness
how the state and Customs
assess the foreign
how divide and excise
part by part
like the prerogative of the crow
to take any sandwich
with a cheap cry and fright
they kill a story
like a dissembling fanatic
laugh to hear pound
the greatest heart
* * *
paper torn by those
who don't like the story
written on their body
skin
( A Girl Called X )
She is the girl called X ,
small and quaint
strong and sweet
but no one will ever know that .
because physically she is not special
on the outside
she is the girl called X
on the inside she is a glaxay of stories
a mind full of love
and a heart full of beautiful blemishes
but you will never know that
because she is the girl called X .
Once Upon a Time
They say it's a story
By starting with
Such a line
But I can't help
To think that maybe
That's a lie
It happened
So it should be
Once upon a time
Though maybe it
All is made up
Perhaps we aren't
Even here
The people you meet
The memories you've had
That is truly
Stories
He stomped
his foot to come
self through out of him -
his hand.
His voice
was loud and the
ear was
frightened
Now the
fire has gone
down.
Old stories
told again,
again
and again.
B U T
We want to be in relation but its too early at this age
We want to mend the things we broke but now its too late.
We were so in love but we were never actually meant.
my love, How can we go at this rate?
She reasoned, she explained
"but" is now the word he hates.
Fate wrote on their final episode "but" instead of "the end"
Hilarious how some stories break in the middle of a sentence.
Little Brother's Story
We sat in front of the fire;
Grandmother was in the rocking chair doing her knitting
And Little Brother and I were lying down flat.
“Please tell us a story, Grandmother,” we said.
But she put her head on one side and began counting the stitches,
“Suppose you tell me one instead.”
I made up one about a spotted tiger
That had a knot in his tail;
But though I liked this about the knot,
I did not know why it was put there.
So I said: “Little Brother’s turn.”
“I know a perfect story,” he cried, waving his hands.
Grandmother laid down her knitting.
“Do tell us, dear.”
“Once upon a time there was a bad little girl
And her Mummy gave her the slipper, and that’s all.”
Seumas Beg
A MAN was sitting underneath a tree
Outside the village, and he asked me what
Name was upon this place, and said that he
Was never here before. He told a lot
Of stories to me too. His nose was flat.
I asked him how it happened, and he said
The first mate of the Mary Ann done that
With a marling-spike one day, but he was dead,
And jolly good job too ; and he'd have gone
A long way to have killed him, and he had
A gold ring in one ear ; the other one
" Was bit off by a crocodile, bedad."
That's what he said. He taught me how to chew.
He was a real nice man. He liked me too.
Father's Story
We put more coal on the big red fire,
And while we are waiting for dinner to cook,
Our father comes and tells us about
A story that he has read in a book.
And Charles and Will and Dick and I
And all of us but Clarence are there.
And some of us sit on Father's legs,
But one has to sit on the little red chair.
And when we are sitting very still,
He sings us a song or tells a piece;
He sings Dan Tucker Went to Town,
Or he tells us about the golden fleece.
He tells about the golden wool,
And some of it is about a boy
Named Jason, and about a ship,
And some is about a town called Troy.
Uncle Ananias
His words were magic and his heart was true,
And everywhere he wandered he was blessed.
Out of all ancient men my childhood knew
I choose him and I mark him for the best.
Of all authoritative liars, too,
I crown him loveliest.
How fondly I remember the delight
That always glorified him in the spring;
The joyous courage and the benedight
Profusion of his faith in everything!
He was a good old man, and it was right
That he should have his fling.
And often, underneath the apple-trees,
When we surprised him in the summer time,
With what superb magnificence and ease
He sinned enough to make the day sublime!
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