Why We Tell Stories
For Linda Foster
I
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground
and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers
and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened
and learned to speak
2
We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us
and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees
3
Because the story of our life
becomes our life
Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently
and none of us tells it
the same way twice
Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them
and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and
poem by Lisel Mueller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Every Face Tells A Story
Look at the man in the corner, hes sitting all alone
His blankets are made out of cardboard,
His pillows are made out of stone
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
See the man walking on the water, see the light in his eyes
He came into the world with a message to tell,
He came into the world to die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Youre always telling stories, youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories, why?
So think of yourself in the water, seeing your days flashing by
Its too late to see what you wanted to be,
Youve spent all your time, you must die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Step down
And make it work out right
Im trying to get to you with my warning
Been there
For nearly half the night
Look its nearly four in the morning
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Face Tells A Story
(m. allison/p. sills/d. black)
Theres no need for you to tell me
I can see the way you feel
I just know without you saying
What is a lie and whats real
Every face tells a story
Its hard to hide a lie
Every face tells a story
And yours is saying goodbye
Somethings going on, and I know it
You cant keep it from me
Your smile cannot hide what you feel inside
And I dont like what I see
Every face tells a story
Its hard to hide a lie
Every face tells a story
And yours is saying goodbye
Youre always telling stories
Youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories
If you want to leave me, leave me
No good living a lie
You can pretend that were not gonna end
But your eyes are saying goodbye
Every face tells a story
Its hard to hide a lie
Every face tells a story
And yours is saying goodbye
Youre always telling stories
Youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories
Tell me, I got a right to know
Pour your little heart out to me, baby
You know, you know I dont want to let go
Every face tells a story
Its hard to hide a lie
Every face tells a story
And yours is saying goodbye
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Old Bones
Writer Dolly Parton
These old bones will tell your story
These old bones will never lie
These old bones will tell you surely
What you cant see with your eye
These old bones, I shake and rattle
These old bones, I toss and roll
And its all in where they scatter
Tells you what the future holds
Oh, she lived up on the mountain
Eleven miles or so from town
With a one-eyed cat named Wink,
A billy goat and a blue tick hound
Her graying hair was braided
And wrapped around her head
And her dress was long and faded
And her home a rusty shed
In a little pouch of burlap
Tied with a piece of twine
There were bones all shapes and sizes
Gathered through the course of time
Shed throw them out before you
She swore that she could see
The present, past and future
She could ready your destiny
Everybody knew about her
Came to get their fortune read
Concerning health and wealth and power
Who to love and when to wed
Well, I just like helpin people
Im just glad that I could help
Why, I know everybodys secrets
But I keep it to myself
These old bones will tell your story
These old bones will never lie
These old bones will tell you surely
What you cant see with your eye
These old bones, I shake and rattle
These old bones, I toss and roll
And its all in where they scatter
Tells you what the future holds
Some called her witchy woman
Some said she was insane
Some said she was a prophet
Still everybody came
Just because a bodys different
Well, that dont make em mad
Well, theyve crucified a many
For the special gifts theyve had
I had often heard about her,
Dreamed about her now and then
For I, too, was clairvoyant,
Came about when I was ten
I was fascinated with her
And the things Id heard about
And I knew some day Id meet her,
And one day it came about
Well, I knowd that you uz acomin
I could feel it in my bones
These old bones have also told me
That I wont be here for long
Did you know that you uz adopted?
Did you know you oncet was mine?
But the county took you from me,
Said I wasnt right in mind
But I just knowd I had to see you
Fore these bones was laid to rest
So I conjured up a message
It musta worked, I guess
This gift runs in the family
I know you also know
And I passed this gift on to you
These old bones, theyre just for show
These old bones will tell your story
These old bones will never lie
These old bones will tell you surely
How to live and when youll die
These old bones, I shake and rattle
These old bones, I toss and roll
And its all in where they scatter
Tells you what the future holds
I held her hand while she was dyin
And with the funeral through
I headed on back up the mountain
For Billy, Wink and Blue
And that little pouch of burlap
With those bones so worn and old
She give me somethin special
Now every time I throw
These old bones will tell your story
These old bones will never lie
These old bones will tell you surely
What you cant see with your eye
These old bones, I shake and rattle
These old bones, I toss and roll
And its all in how they scatter
Tells you what the future holds
Now I cant tell you what you want to hear
I just tell you what I see
Its these old bones atalkin
Blame it on them; dont pack it on me
Its just like that time that there boy died
Up at the sawmill
Well, I knowd who done it, but I never said
And I knowd when somebody is a cheatin
Or when somebodys baby was gonna be born dead
But unless somebody just plain out and asked me
Well, I just figured there aint no point goin around actin like you know
everything, just cause you might.
Ah, you know girl I want you to take these bones
Cause I dont want no youngun of mine agoing around unprepared
You just remember that the magic is inside you
There aint no crystal ball
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scheme
the seed sprouts
and tells the true story about
its being embedded
beneath
the coat of its being
beneath the fertile ground
promises of leaves
and roots
the sun is too harsh
to face
the moon too cold
survival is the aim
of every
red ant
the tree is big
and tall and the clouds
are friends
one day
it learns the song of the grasshopper
after which
the conversations become as nice
as buds
there are truths to hide
words to decorate
sweet
white lies
the story begins with
a whim
caprice its complication
there ought to be a nice ending
a freeing
it is all about the full blooming
of a red rose
i have all the petals inside my hands
to complete the
story
you love it
do not tell me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Story Lady (poem)
There’s a very special lady, a person that I know
Who tells a funny story wherever she may go
She speaks to you so softly with a smile upon her lips
As she relates to you a tale, not a word of it she skips
She speaks to you of ministers of maidens and of men
Who made a few mistakes with their words now and then
Her stories are told with wit and with such charm
You know as a listener they really mean no harm
‘Tis a very special lady this person that I know
Who tells a funny story wherever she may go
poem by Dave Tanguay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Grass Smells Red
The grass smells red.
Untill these mortal bounds find thier way into the catostrophic fire's of love and redemption, the grass will smell red.
The grass tells a story of wars unsung and battles lost.
The grass tells a story of love gained and a fury found again.
The grass smells red...but does it speak?
Does it's voice ring out like the bells in a steeple?
Does it feel the pain of those who died?
Did it hear the screams?
The grass smells red and it grow's red.
It feels red.
This grass will die red.
poem by Troy Nichols
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Story Teller
The story tellers
of different language
of different clothes
of different color
tells the same story
about the missing prince
in the palace.
People gathered around
and listen
to the story teller
who has the most beautiful face
and dressed like a princess.
One young man
dressed like a beggar
tells the same story
about the missing prince
in the palace
but no one came to listen.
Night comes
and the young man rides his horse
back to the palace
the young man...
is the missing prince.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Did The Wind Tell The Rose?
what the wind tells the rose to make it bloom
what the sky tells the mountain
to make it more green?
what the clouds tell the sea
so the boats can sail smoothly
what the birds sing to the sun?
what the leaves tell the ground
in utter peace?
what all this world give
to make life more
with life?
it is found here in my heart
singing
a song to my God.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Love That Old Old Story
I love that old old story that tells about Christ's Birth
That time of year when peace on earth came on a midnight clear
I love that old old story How Jesus came to earth
That old old story about the Christ Childs birth
I love to hear that story it does my heart so well
The story of the birth of Christ that I still love to tell
poem by Bridge Ernestine J. Tebo
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Learning Well Life's Lesson The Real Way
a virtual heart
a second hand experience
of love and pain
and half-deaths from time to time
you call this learning
and you like it
because you stand at a certain distance
and tell yourself
that is enough for me
and then you
leave
and face another world out there
not feeling well
what you have just seen
bloodily
from a fence
and a thin wall
it is different when you bleed yourself
when the wound in your face
tells your eyes
this is it!
when the pain that seeps to your bones
tell your heart
this is it!
when the shattered pieces of your bones rattle and shout at you
this is it!
when the gaping skin sliced by a thin, sharp knife
tells you on the face
bloody hell! this is the pain!
and it is with you sticking on your palm
wherever you go and then you cover your mouth and
say, 'Oh, My God! '
this is learning the hardest way
when it is you that is broken
and not someone else
when it is not another person's story
that you read one night beside your soft bed
and you cry
when you learn to use the word 'empathy'
or 'sympathy'
or the justification of the word
'internalization' about other people's
tragedies, their own miseries and laments
their drowning in the raging sea
their head and hands cut and eaten by unidentifiable sharks
while you watch the show on tv
as you eat your pie and drink your orange juice
and you see
and feel the 'mess of their lives' just like another hit movie
oh, this will be different now,
it is you
do not think or utter death as another word of the dictionary,
it will be different now,
it is you who is dying,
not someone else on the other hospital bed by the other window
then you begin to learn, how is it, what is it,
and how painful is it really. It is you now, baby.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0245 The Sound of The Flute
Listen to the sound of this reed-flute –
hear what it says. First, it laments
its banishment; its tearing away
from its home, its reed-bed. And
this alone, tears at the yearning heart
of all those whose heart feels far from home.
Listen to it.
Then behind its breathy air
is fire – the fire of love; that sound
which tells every love-story in the world,
of lovers, parted, yearning to be
together once more. This flute first
tells of separation; then of unity.
Listen to it.
Do not listen to this dangerous
flute, unless you wish to hear
the innermost secrets of your heart –
the parting and the separation,
the yearning, yearning, for return –
Dare you listen to this story of pain, of love?
Listen to it.
(freely taken from the Prologue to Book I of the Masnavi I Ma’navi
of Maulana Jalalu’din Muhammad Rumi, the founder Dervish)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Demon voice
he tells me to fight not to walk away
he tells me to scream not to talk rational
he tells me to hate not to forgive
he tells me destroy not to create
he tells me to give in
he tells me to kill
he knows i'm getting weaker
he knows it's almost his time
he knows he will be free
he knows he will have fun
he knows it will be a bloody ride to the end
he knows the end is death and so do i
poem by Paddy Jansen
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Warm Milk And Toast
Warmed milk sweetened with honey
toast buttered with a thin spread of jam.
A bedtime story told by my Grandpa
times of Castles and Giants, living in some Fairy Tale land.
The warmed milk would make me sleepy
the toast would fill that nightime hunger need.
Sounds of Grandpa's soft loving voice
as he would sit on my bed and read.
My Grandpa's gone so many years ago
now I am one myself.
I warm and sweeten my Granddaughters milk
and take that same book down off her shelf.
Her eyes are wide open, as she chomps away
at the toast with butter and jam.
She tells me how much she loves me so
and just how neat of a Grandpa that I am.
I see her eyes growing heavy now
as I continue to read the story.
And am proud that I'm a Grandpa
and now can read, my Grandpa's Fairy Tale Story.
poem by Linda Winchell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The nice thing about the Bible is it doesn't give you too many facts. Two an a half lines and it tells you the whole story and that leaves you a great deal of freedom to elaborate on how it might have happened.
quote by Howard Nemerov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grain....
when life one dark night says
that it is tasteless and so bland like the air
the leaves of the mahogany trees hear it
and the following morning confide it with the
sea breeze
who tells it all to the sands who spread same story
to the waves of the shores
who deliver it to every desert in the sand
who keep all these in the heart of their
sacred solitude
and the wisdom stops in there
every dry sand of the desert
thrives upon this story
and sleeps so soundly.
'it is a fact and we are not surprised' the grain
of sand so proudly tell the others.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A black rose
a black rose sees and tells it all.
how long are you gonna live
are you gonna find true love
where is life taking you
when are you gonna die
but most importantly,
a black rose sees
through your
relationship.
pick up a black rose just one
time and you'll be able to tell and
even visual whats going on in
your relationship.
black roses are very deep and meaningful.
black roses tell you like it is and not like a red rose
who only wants to show you passion and consideration.
listen to a black rose and it will make you
wanna pull out your hair because it tells you
the whole truthful story
but listen to a red rose and it will make you
happy by telling you only the good things
and keeping all of the secrets and lies away.
-La'Veranique
*aka*
dat girl nickey
poem by Nickey Mason
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Kill The Pain
Put the red lights on
Dont tell them that youre gone
Leave behind your fears
You know they cant be wrong
Kill the pain you feel
Kill the pain you feel
I know youve seen some things
That hurt you in your dreams
Your face it tells the story
The pages stained with tears
Kill the pain you feel
Kill the pain you feel
Keep the heart
You feel within
Take the curtains down
The sun is what you found
It leads you far from here
And takes you to high ground
Find a way
Keep the heart
You have within
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bedtime Story
I'm going to tell you a bed time story
it's the one my Grandpa told long ago to me.
But the bed time story I will tell you tonight
will become a part of, now your families history!
It will tell of the days of covered wagons
that once rolled across the prairies green!
And tales of hunting and fishing
you will invision all of my story telling scenes.
Of indians and cowboys!
around the camp fires and hunting buffalo!
And homes built from the lands trees
and those fields, that the farmers plows tilled to grow.
I will tell you a bed time story
that you will tell your own children one day!
I will tell it the way my Grandpa told it to me
then you can tell your story, in your way one day!
poem by Linda Winchell
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Ever After
The life of a fairy tale.
Can be like our own.
The ending is happy.
But the story unknown.
The story begins.
Then there’s always a twist.
You can’t get to the ending.
Unless you persist.
Some stop reading the story.
When things, they look bleak.
They don’t have the strength.
Their hearts are too weak.
So they grab a new tale.
Then the reading begins.
If it ends in the middle.
Then nobody wins.
So things just seem hopeless.
Because we always quit.
We don’t finish the story.
To the fear we submit.
God tells us, “Hold on.”
“The ending is near.”
“Just keep reading the story.”
“Don’t give in to fear.”
“Believe in My ending.”
“Believe and then hope.”
“That the hero will climb up.”
“From the end of his rope.”
And so you continue
The prince finds his queen
The greatest fairy tale ending
You ever had seen
But had you not finished.
The true ending unknown.
The prince would not have a queen.
To share with his throne.
Fairy tales are filled.
With both sadness and laughter.
Where you finish the story.
Becomes your ever after.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Flower
She dreams of the country
Her eyes go far away.
She wishes for flowers
He says, perhaps in may.
The city always was gray
The reflections of his eyes.
And she knows he liked it that way
And that way he shall die, well...
Shes always known,
That there was something more.
Theres this hunger in her belly
Like an instinct it tells her that theres something more.
This living shouldnt be called living
cause its really only half a life.
Shes a flower that grows despite cement holes
And she will survive, she will survive.
Shes a rare breed with violet eyes
And leafy limbs.
In conversations she looks for cracks
To dig her roots deep in.
And her ways come up like daisies,
She pushes her head to the sun.
She says I am content here to grow
Despite the steel frost that consumes everyone.
Shes always known,
That there was something more.
Theres this hunger in her belly
Like an instinct it tells her that theres something more.
This living shouldnt be called living
cause its really only half a life.
Shes a flower that grows despite cement holes.
And she will survive, she will survive.
In the end these steel cages will consume us
And like coffins ignorance will take us in and
Fashion dont mean anything
cause fashion cannot be our friends.
And when all else fades away
And the city falls into its sleep.
Well still have flesh, blood, bones and
Our soul to deal with so we should
Dig our roots deep.
Always known,
That theres something more.
Theres this hunger in our bellies
Its like an instinct it tells us that theres something more.
This living shouldnt be called living
cause its really only half a life.
Shes a flower that grows despite cement holes.
And we will survive, we will survive, we will survive, we will
Survive.
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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