Storyteller Emma Jean
I’m wearing a sparkling blue ring,
from precious Mother Emma Jean.
This ring gives me power to storytell,
Emma Jean told stories and she did it well.
Now she told a story I will never forget,
she weaves the story of the “Headless Horseman”.
telling her story in Missouri at a really young age,
better then Grimm’s Fairy Tales writes it on the page.
Her voice changes in fluctuation and stance,
weaving words like a rhythmic dance.
Even though Emma Jean’s gone,
I will tell her stories so they will live on.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.15,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Storyteller Emma Jean
I’m wearing a sparkling blue ring,
from precious Mother Emma Jean.
This ring gives me power to storytell,
Emma Jean told stories and she did it well.
Now she told a story I will never forget,
she weaves the story of the “Headless Horseman”.
telling her story in Missouri at a really young age,
better then Grimm’s Fairy Tales writes it on the page.
Her voice changes in fluctuation and stance,
weaving words like a rhythmic dance.
Even though Emma Jean’s gone,
I will tell her stories so they will live on.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.15,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother Jean’s Message
It’s an hour before midnight,
and I hear a yelling sound,
It’s street girl shouting out loud.
“Open up I have some news!
You must hear me you have
no time to lose! ”
Opening the door,
I see urgency in her eyes.
telling me she had
a dream that took her by surprise.
Jean my adopted mother spoke to her
last night & put her into a terrible fright.
At first street girl was leery,
because she was wearing
Jean’s small golden earrings.
In the dream Jean said “That was o.k.
don’t worry I’m here to say,
tell my daughter to move far away.
It is going to get worse and I she won’t be safe,
Make no mistake, tell her soon, Ok? '
Now, I really believed street girl,
for she never knew,
Jean was my adopted mother
and I was her daughter so true.
This confirmed the unseen
That my precious mother Jean,
was watching over me.
Written Feb.2,2011 by Christina Sunrise
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother Jean’s Message
It’s an hour before midnight,
and I hear a yelling sound,
It’s street girl shouting out loud.
“Open up I have some news!
You must hear me you have
no time to lose! ”
Opening the door,
I see urgency in her eyes.
telling me she had
a dream that took her by surprise.
Jean my adopted mother spoke to her
last night & put her into a terrible fright.
At first street girl was leery,
because she was wearing
Jean’s small golden earrings.
In the dream Jean said “That was o.k.
don’t worry I’m here to say,
tell my daughter to move far away.
It is going to get worse and I she won’t be safe,
Make no mistake, tell her soon, Ok? '
Now, I really believed street girl,
for she never knew,
Jean was my adopted mother
and I was her daughter so true.
This confirmed the unseen
That my precious mother Jean,
was watching over me.
Written Feb.2,2011 by Christina Sunrise
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Emma Jean’s Free
Emma Jean is flying free,
flying over the fields of green,
For when she was on this plane,
she had to walk with a cane.
Now she’s free as free as can be,
with her beautiful colored wings.
Flying up through the trees,
She can see everything.
From colors bright to bold,
like pink, orange and gold.
Being a butterfly in the sky
she is so happy again in time.
Written by Christina Sunrise Feb.9,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ted Nugent
With long hair and narrow face,
he jumps around all over the place.
Jumping high, jumping low,
he swings from a twisted swinging rope.
Wild rock songs he does play,
in Iowa Jam surrounded by hay.
Years later I would inherit a ring,
it is from precious mother Jean.
Ted Nugent is cousin to Jean too,
ring reminds me of them, it’s the color of blue.
A print of Ted Nugent is in the Marathon Music Center’s shop,
I might buy it for Ted Nugent looks really hot,
and maybe one day I will wear an outfit like he's
and dance till I drop.
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tell Me A Story
Tell me a story that isn't gory
tell me a story that isn't fake
tell me a story where you made a mistake
tell me a story where the cows come home
tell me a story I want to know
tell me a story where the princess finds herself
not a prince who is more like an elf.
Tell me a story that I can laugh out loud
tell me a story where storm makes lighting clouds.
For in the end we only have our stories to tell
what make them funny, give them hell.
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Catch Me If You Can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, ohh my...
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, my, my, my...
Sweet magicians daughter, weaving spells my way
You know I want to be with you, but magic words are all you say
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, my, my...
Merlins magic daughter, I know thats what you are
Im playing magic games with you, its easier to guide a star
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, my...woo
Magic lady waiting, your palace walls are tall
I can wait forever, but Im climbing up the palace wall
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, ohhh, my, my, my, my...
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Jean, jean, jeanie, catch me if you can
Do ya, do ya really wanna try, my...
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Emma Jean’s Free
Emma Jean is flying free,
flying over the fields of green,
For when she was on this plane,
she had to walk with a cane.
Now she’s free as free as can be,
with her beautiful colored wings.
Flying up through the trees,
She can see everything.
From colors bright to bold,
like pink, orange and gold.
Being a butterfly in the sky
she is so happy again in time.
Written by Christina Sunrise Feb.9,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ted Nugent
with long hair and narrow face
he jumps around all over the place.
Jumping high, jumping low
he swings from a twisted swinging rope.
Wild rock songs he does play
in Iowa Jam surrounded by hay.
Years later I would inherit a ring
from precious mother Jean that is more than bling.
Ted Nugent is Jean's cousin too-
ring reminds me of them, it's the color of blue.
A print of Ted Nugent is in the Marathon Music Center's shop
I might buy it, for Ted Nugent looks really hot
I'll wear an outfit like his and dance till I drop.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 14,2011
www.suzae.com www.suechevalier.com
www.christinasunrise.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Storyteller's Word
In a decent book, I can lose myself,
For, at least, a good couple of hours.
A well told story, for young or old,
My mind will quite hungrily devour.
I’ve always loved a real page turner:
A story, which, is totally compelling.
Sometimes, there’s a story, true or invented,
Which, simply, deserves, and needs telling.
Sometimes, a person in a book,
To me, can feel like a true friend;
You share their life and adventures,
And feel rather sad, when it all ends.
A story can stir up a mixture of emotions:
I’ve cried tears, and gasped with surprise.
I’ve found myself completely captivated,
As a story unfolds before my very eyes.
A good story, has the ability to transport you,
To different places, and to different times.
You just never know where you may end up,
When you sit and read those immortal lines.
Stories should never be kept locked away:
With others, they should be readily shared.
There is no other past-time, known to man,
With which, reading a book, can quite compare.
Whether a story is based on a person’s life,
Or whether, it has been quite purely invented,
A story can make such an impact upon you,
That, forever, in your memory, it is cemented.
I’ve always adored a really well written story,
Regardless of, by whom, or when, it was written.
Snuggled up, with a book held in your hands,
It is so easy, to become completely smitten.
A story can make you lose all track of time,
When, in a book, you are totally immersed.
I love reading a story, and really drinking it in;
For reading books, I’ve developed a real thirst.
There are many stories, the world over,
Which, are still waiting to be heard.
Nothing on earth, is quite so powerful,
As the power of the storyteller’s word.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laddy The Protector
Bark, bark is what you would hear,
from Laddy the Sheltie who would bark off your ear.
He was the protector who wasn’t afraid,
he would make sure mother Jean was o.k.
He rescued her in the her swimming pool,
she fell in and he pulled on her robe so very smooth.
Photos of Laddy and Shieka my Pom-Shelty pup,
They both sat on chairs, sitting straight up.
They both played and played all day,
Shieka made Laddy happy when Jean passed away.
Now Laddy is with mother Jean,
I hope they are happy once again.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 20,2011
www.suechevalier.com www.puppetpoems.com
www.christinasunrise.com www.purplepoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Jean
Blue jean-i just met me a girl named blue jean
Blue jean-she got a camouflaged face and no money
Remember they always let you down when you need em
Oh, blue jean-is heaven any sweeter than blue jean
She got a police bike
She got a turned up nose
Sometimes I feel like
(oh, the whole human race)
Jazzin for blue jean
(oh, and when my blue jeans blue)
Blue jean can send me
(oh, somebody send me)
Somebody send me
(oh, somebody send me)
One day Im gonna write a poem in a letter
One day Im gonna get that faculty together
Remember like everybody has to wait in line
Blue jean-look out world you know Ive got mine
She got latin roots
She got everything
Sometimes I feel like
(oh, the whole human race)
Jazzin for blue jean
(oh, and when my blue jeans blue)
Blue jean can tempt me
(oh, somebody send me)
Somebody sent me
(oh, somebody send me)
Sometimes I feel like
(oh, the whole human race)
Jazzin for blue jean
(oh, and when my blue jeans blue)
Blue jean can tempt me
(oh, somebody send me)
Somebody sent me
(oh, somebody send me)
Somebody somebody
(oh, somebody send me)
Oh, somebody send me
(oh, somebody send me)
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Famous Dog Story
The story I am about to tell you it well may be true
For the one who told it to me for to give him his due
Is one who does not make up stories nor neither is he
One prone to imagine it would seem to me.
We were swapping dog stories myself and old Lew
Of dogs we heard tell of and dogs that we knew
Of dogs who are honoured in story and rhyme
The history of their greatness has lived on in time.
But the best dog story he told me was one I heard before
When I was a young school-boy going back five decades or more
The greatest dog story that he can recall
Perhaps is the greatest dog story of all.
A story from early Spring the weather was cold
The red shorthorn calf had strayed from her mother a young five days old
In the field by the farm-yard the cow bellowed around
But her calf did not reply and was not to be found.
The farmer searched for her with Shep his brown cattle dog
But no trace of the calf in the field by the bog
He then thought the calf may have strayed and in a bog hole drown
Still no trace of the young heifer though the bog he searched up and down.
But in the gray dawning of the very next day
Old Shep the brown dog to the yard made his way
With the red heifer calf suckling on the end of his tail
That the clever dog had dipped into a full milk pail.
The mother cow was delighted her calf she did lick
And none more relieved than the old farmer Mick
As he patted his dog you're a hero he did say
This a famous dog story that lives on today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Stories
The stories
Night bed its mats
And also we are
Wait and see
The narrative begins with the story
The stories of long time ago
Between fact and fiction
The stories from the ends of the earth
And depth of the ocean
We draw the characters and imagine
Live roles
And sail far and far
And overwhelmed with happiness
And the longing pulls us
And eyebrows painted terms on our faces
The story behind the story
Delight our nights
The stories of my grandmother.
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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Little Liza Jane
Traditional
Where is my tambourine wait a minute I'll get your tambourine
Got my tambourine get your thing baby
What's wrong with you what is it you want
Can't forget my tambourine boy want a minute
This is a folk tune nad it's called Little Liza Jane
We get some rhythm started here and see what happens
I got a beau you ain't got none Little Liza Jean
I got a beau you ain't got none Little Liza Jean
I got a beau you ain't got none Little Liza Jean
I got a beau you ain't got none Little Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Come my love and live with me
I will take good care of thee Little Liza Jean
Come my love and live with me
I will take good care of thee Little Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Hambone Hammer where you've been
Down by the river making gin
I know a man that's three feet tall
Drink his liquor and has a ball
Saw him just the other day
He had a horse and a ball of hay
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Liza Jean Little Liza Jean
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Liza Jean Little Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
He took me to his great big town
Lots of people standing around
They were listening to a great big band
the bestest music in the land
I tell you once and tell you twice
Enjoy yourself and live your life
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Liza Jean Little Liza Jean
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Liza Jean Little Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quatrain-A Fairy Story (Somewhere In Fantsayland)
Stepping into a fairy ring,
Every fairy began to sing.
Presented with a ring of gold,
A fairy story, I was told.
poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Missouri 2007
It was the year 2007,
that was the year Jean went to heaven.
I went to see the place she was raised,
she had an interesting life I do say.
She designed Hallmark’s house,
Her dad was friends with Walt Disney
who created Mickey Mouse.
She loved children,
for she designed a playground set,
She was very talented and the best.
A storyteller and a poet talented at age 8,
She edited her mom’s poems made them great.
Ted Nugent is her famous cousin,
I saw him perform at Iowa Jam,
He kept people buzzing.
Now I wear Jean’s ring,
she wanted to give me everything,
but that’s o.k. memories of her are the best thing.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on August 12,2011
www.christinasunrise.com www.puppitlady.com
www.suzaechevalier.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tell Me A Story
Tell me a story that isn't gory
tell me a story that isn't fake
tell me a story where you made a mistake
tell me a story where the cows come home
tell me a story I want to know
tell me a story where the princess finds herself
not a prince who is more like an elf.
Tell me a story that I can laugh out loud
tell me a story where storm makes lighting clouds.
For in the end we only have our stories to tell
what make them funny, give them hell.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hummingbird Hotel
There one was a Hummingbird hotel,
in Lake Worth I remember it well.
For it has stories to be told,
one is about Al Capone.
He stayed with his gang,
on one of the floors,
betting on a team
that would have
a top score.
Betting on a boxing match
that was played in Chicago,
little did anyone literally know.
Many years later I would arrive,
paint on the sidewalk
just outside,
I was happy
and filled with pride.
I was a rogue artist
that did not give up,
even when they said there
was no more spots.
Now this year the
Hummingbird hotel is closed,
still many stories need to be told,
Thank you Winston
for sharing what you know,
and letting be in the Street Painting show.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.21,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Prettiest Flower You've Ever Seen
What's blue, yellow, red and green?
Why it's the most beautiful flower you've ever seen.
It grows in Melodie's garden,
Where everything is golden.
It was pollinated by Butterfly Queen Emma Jean.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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