About The Winner
he was once the winner
and they listened to him
every word he says becomes
their new laws and he amazed
them with all his wits
and they all liked him
he made a name for himself
and for this
he forgot his real name
the one given by this mother
when he was born
and for that new name
he invented
all the stories about himself
how he was as a warrior who slayed
the dragon in their heads
how he saved the princess from the
clutches of the beast
how he built his castle in the clouds
where they can all be happy
and all his stories were recorded
as truths and
they all believed them
until finally
he lost his face
and hands and
he kept on looking
for all of these
in the sands of the desert
under the orange moon
and then one day he found
his pair of eyes
and opened it before all of them
he told the truth
that all his stories are lies
that he who is now making a speech before them
is no longer himself
he is a lie. and that is the truth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The Lying Truth
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
Because we got it from a 'reliable' source,
And who told you it was a 'reliable' source.
Ha, Is there any thing that is really called the truth.
For, every 'truth' told in this twisted and sinister world,
A lie is invented, concocted, told.
And when a question is asked, and the truth is required,
And if told, many events, considered dire,
Happen in response,
A white lie is told.
But the whitest lie, considered the truthful lie,
Thought up by those considered wise and selfless,
Is really the darkest, blackest, most deceiving lies of all.
Over time stories, true stories, turn to myths, myths to legends.
so why not lies, white lies too.
Centuries, years, maybe even weeks and days,
Turns the most deceiving and evil lies into the 'truth'.
So I come back to my original question,
But don't misconstrue my words,
For I dear not defy the truth,
The truth, so rare, that passes us unnoticed, unseen, undetected,
The rare truth that exists in this dark, sinister world.
So yes,
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
The truth, the truth, the lie.
poem by Michael Devenish
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The 'Truth
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
Because we got it from a 'reliable' source,
And who told you it was a 'reliable' source.
Ha, Is there any thing that is really called the truth.
For, every 'truth' told in this twisted and sinister world,
A lie is invented, concocted, told.
And when a question is asked, and the truth is required,
And if told, many events, considered dire,
Happen in response,
A white lie is told.
But the whitest lie, considered the truthful lie,
Thought up by those considered wise and selfless,
Is really the darkest, blackest, most deceiving lies of all.
Over time stories, true stories, turn to myths, myths to legends.
so why not lies, white lies too.
Centuries, years, maybe even weeks and days,
Turns the most deceiving and evil lies into the 'truth'.
So I come back to my original question,
But don't misconstrue my words,
For I dear not defy the truth,
The truth, so rare, that passes us unnoticed, unseen, undetected,
The rare truth that exists in this dark, sinister world.
So yes,
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
The truth, the truth, the lie.
poem by Michael Devenish
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Stories
Through every window, we look out
what we see on the other side
holds many stories waiting to unfold.
Stories of great achievements
within someone’s life.
Stories of gathering love
found with in open arms.
Stories of perusing heartaches
where someone has gone away.
Stories a million fold
that surround every living thing.
Stories we are not aware of,
but happen before our eyes.
Stories to share with all
from those who can see them unfold.
The next time you look out a window
try and see what is really there,
the stories that are everywhere.
26 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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Egypt
(9/15/12)
Stories have been written, movies have been shown
Of this land of mystery the world has known.
"Egypt"
History and bibles tell of the plights
Of pyramids being built for the pharaohs delight.
Stories have been told of an unknown civilization
Who showed them how to build this nation.
It is said they came from out of space
To teach technology to the human race.
Why was these structures built in the desert sands
Where it took thousands of lives
And millions of hands.
The story of aliens is a tale you see
Which was made up for you and me.
Take a trip down the Nile
And visualize that for a while.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
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We sat down and told stories that happened to us in our childhood, to our children. They were all basically based on the truth. These stories were funny and poignant to us. They just took off. These are all stories from my life.
quote by Howie Mandel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories
when we were young stories were told
That I'd kiss you sweet like
People said there was a connection between us
Now that we're old stories are told
Of how I hold you tight
Whenever I see those people I tell them they were right
Stories will be told
From when our children are young
until they're old
About our endless love
We must have had a blessing from above
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Until the sun won't rise
Oh
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wells Of Truth
Tell me
tales of truth.
Truth is as
elusive as water
in oceans of
Arabian desert sand.
Truth may be
soaked up totally
in a desert of
whispered words.
Truth may be
washed away totally
by a torrent river of
well told lies.
Truth may be
blown away totally
in a blizzard storm of
orchestrated misinformation.
Tell me tales of truth
told throughout history!
I will listen well
intently to your stories of
culturally half sun baked
studied scholastic lies.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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You see, I was told stories, we were all told stories as kids in Nigeria. We had to tell stories that would keep one another interested, and you weren't allowed to tell stories that everybody else knew. You had to dream up new ones.
Pathological Liars
Pathological liars
are 'Legends In Their Own Mind'
well I make them into evil characters
all the time.
I don't even have to come up with a plot
pathological liars give me all they got.
They all think they are so charming and smart
they usually state this right from the start.
They usually say you are nuts
when really deep down they have no guts.
They hide from the truth—
and blame it on you
making you believe their lies-
even when they are totally ridiculous
like 'I was in the shower-that's why
I didn't come to your side'.
They make you out the guilty one-
for now you ruined all their fun.
when it's like 'who really cares—
I make my Stories more with a flair
Like game Truth or Dare...
Truth, Dare, Promise or Repeat…
it was a fun childhood game
we could tell secrets and not be discreet.
But now all your stories
are recorded in rhyme-
making interesting poem
come to life.
Written by Christina Sunrise on June 27,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Stories We Could Tell
By: john b. sebastian
1974
Talkin to myself again
Wonderin if this travellin is good
Is there somethin else a doin
Wed be doin if we could
Chorus:
But ah, the stories we could tell
And if it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Listen to the stories we could tell
Stared at that guitar in that museum in tennessee
Nameplate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
Scars upon the face told of all the times he fell
Singin all the stories he could tell
Chorus:
Ah, the stories he could tell
And Ill bet you it still rings like a bell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
And listen to the stories it could tell
So if youre on the road trackin down your every night
Playin for a livin beneath brightly colored lights
And if you ever wonder why you ride the carousel
You do it for the stories you can tell
Ah, the stories we could tell
And if it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Just listen to the stories we could tell
Coda:
Yes, I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Listen to the stories it could tell
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truth And Lies
Honesty flying around
The stories inconsistent
You tell me one thing
Another tells me different
Is there any truth left?
Are your words true words?
I know a lie's alive
I've been assured and reassured
Truth and lies
Fake or real
Messin' with my mind
Just take and steal
I'm not seeing straight
Literally, no lie
My eye for truth
Has been shot down, died
No mistakes and yet regret
Comes here and there and then
But when I step back
The situations a win-win
If your story is but true
I will believe it so
I will have made up my mind
Eyesight no longer blind
If only your mouth speaks truth
And your words are lies
I will pay attention & mention
And your story, you will revise
Ill mention your flawed words
Ill bring to notice:
Your story, you told it
My poem, I wrote this
Never in an ever
Fall for a clear lie
I see much much more
There's truth in my eye
poem by Jared Bradford
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Stories We Could Tell
Talkin to myself again
Wondering if this travelin is good
Is there something better wed be doing if we could
And oh the stories we could tell
And if this all blows up and goes to hell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
Remember that guitar in a museum in tennessee
And the nameplate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
And the scratches on the face
Told of all the times he fell
Singin every story he could tell
And oh the stories it could tell
And I bet you it still rings like a bell
And I wish we could sit back on the bed in some motel
And listen to the stories we could tell
So if youre on the road tracking down here every night
And youre singin for a livin neath the brightly colored lights
And if you ever wonder why you ride this carousel
You did it for the stories you could tell
And oh the stories we could tell
And if this all blows up and goes to hell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories
Every year has its own stories in this life,
Every month has its own stories in this life,
Every week has its own stories in this life,
Every day has its own stories in this life,
Every hour has its own stories in this life,
Every minute has its own stories in this life,
And like the muse of the mind as we grow up;
So, we are all with stories to tell in this world.
As white as snow,
As red as blood,
As balck as charcoal,
As green as the grass,
As blue as the sky;
But everybody has stories to tell in this world!
And like the muse o love in the land of beauty,
For each year has its own story.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Truth Or Consequence
you ask me to choose
between truth
and consequence,
i rather have
all the consequences.
you are the truth
and you begin
to hurt. I face you
again, i have no more
tears
attuned am i
to these blunders
and sorrows
and pains, , , ,
to all these
redundancies
a thesaurus of
lamentations,
i open a page
of this truth,
i still hope to find
this word....
happiness,
i still have faith, that this word
is not lost, among the pages
of your stories,
some bookmarks
are thrown under the bed,
i remember reading this page.
there is this fingerprint
of my laughter,
it is still alive and
smiling at me.
I still believe, what mother
said: keep the marriage
there are always threads
and needles for whatever
is torn.
Father was lucky.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Truth Are Lies.. Lies Are Truth..
speak your truth from your quivering lips
but also your lies comes through them..
your half lies are also your half truths
yet your half truths are also your half lies
what shall you talk about them if your thruth are your lies
and your lieas are your truths
then this world would be filled of noise
being lies and being the truth
until all of us will be lost
what to believe and follow
will it be the half lies
or the half truths?
which one is to choice
the truth is yours but also are the lies..
so let us all live with he truths and the lies
within our hearts within our minds
till we are lost in a maze of half lies and half truths
poem by Villiamor Calventas
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The Matriarchs
The greatest battles since days of old,
We hear the stories now and then,
As down the centuries their echoes are told.
They're fought by the mothers of men.
The strongest armour their truth will pierce,
A mother's love raised to such height,
That there's nothing exists on earth so fierce.
For him to the death she will fight.
With no hesitation, she will strike his foe,
With him standing next to her tall.
She will teach him to exact justice, as through life they go.
For to balance situations, one and all.
Then she stands back in pride with a smile,
As he forward in battle steps out.
She's taught him to always go just one more mile,
For his foe to seek and rout out.
She'll always be there, on each level exist
For no warrior is e'er so strong.
She will guide his way forward through life's every twist,
Whatever it takes, or how long.
So please never doubt the stories you've heard.
The truth is the same now as then.
The greatest battles there are in this world,
Are fought by the mothers of men!
poem by Rosi Caswell
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New Younger Brother
Brother from another mother
Says the living in us
I say welcome to my family
I've missed you
We can catch up on stories of old
Stories of new
Your people take the world seriously
Mine just take it
I must apologize the atrocities
Of the race of humanity
As we all suffer ultimately
No matter the age we live
Brother far away distance knows
Not the heart we bare or the cross
So join knowledge as hands
And come across borders unknown
To gather with The Lord today
Teaching unfortunates what we
Presume as truth from our hearts
Convinced as truth from Him
Gladly I say he's my brother
I look to his guidance
As he looks to mine
God bless us all
poem by Rick Elpers
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I Do Not Wish To Hear Your War Stories
Do not wish to hear your war stories of battles fought and won
Since I saw on t v this evening a mother grieve for her dead son
Her son murdered by a sniper with a bullet in his back
And I could only feel pity for this poor mother in Iraq
Of war and stories of it I do not wish to hear
Men who declare war on other people are those who rule by fear
Tell me some happy story or otherwise let me be
Your stories of war and war heroes only bore and sadden me,
Of war and it's brutality so much written and said
And in the news headlines on radio I hear of more war dead,
Tell me some happy story laughter in me provoke
Today I need a break from your war stories instead tell me a good joke
Today a mother in Iraq grieves for her murdered son
And I've heard enough of war from you of battles fought and won.
poem by Francis Duggan
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These Walls
If these walls could talk,
I wonder what what would they say
Would they thank me for being painted
Or will they ask me, to wash the paint away.
Would they tell me of the pictures
That once hung upon them their
Pictures that once adorn those walls
Or I wonder would they even care.
Would they speak upon the stories
That was heard within these walls
That no one else even knows about,
That is if the stories these walls could recall.
Was there children laughter all about
Or any secrets heard and being told
I wonder what have they listened to
And I wonder if anyone will ever know.
These walls inside this house
That for years have stood alone
With the stories that was told and heard
While this house had became a home.
The Sadness that they might had seen
And the worries and sorrow that they felt
Maybe they don't want to remember it at all
And maybe they too keep it bottled upon their self.
Were they painted to cover up secrets
Was they battered as to protect someone's lies
Or were they wallpapered to cover up the truth
And did they hear the whispers and the cries.
These walls they are still standing
Through the years of the days and nights
While listening and knowing all done and said
In the darkness and also in the light.
I look at these walls just one last time
As I head home from my walk,
How I wish I knew what they heard and know,
But that is, if these walls could only talk.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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I would not know how I am supposed to feel about many stories if not for the fact that the TV news personalities make sad faces for sad stories and happy faces for happy stories.
quote by Dave Barry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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