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Sydney Oct 4
In those times of old

I was told

There was a tale of gold

People say

Once a day

You could see Heaven’s ray

In the rain

Dirt and grain

They fought from Heaven’s rein

People bold

Looking for gold

Went to the time of old

All who died

Wept and cried

And in the end, sighed

There was gold

I was told

In those times of old.
Dereaux Sep 30
My mother-in-law,
said I must read fairy tales.
Fly on! you **** witch.
Paige White Aug 15
But in truth I ran
I wouldn’t look details in the eye
I glanced under my eyelashes
Out of the corners
To gaze at reflections in the windows
On both sunny and rainy days
Planning for snow
I scratched illegible notes
Readable only to me
                And counted pain - not mine
I made bubbly conversation that got nowhere
Steering it away from deep water
Answer? Send a meme!
Yes, probably not
No, very likely

But you never know!

Please revise
Just like this.... I wasn’t going here when I started this, only incidentally...  
A symphony for Baghdad:
Words in crimson
On flimsy placards
Held high with anger
Frustration writ
On their ragged features.
The law is hard but it is the law
Says the hypocritical politician
Who bends them all
“Enough is enough”, the people said
Teargas and bullets will not make us sway
Release your bombs and fire your bullets,
Let our blood water this holy ground
Our motherland
But we will not let you stay.
Centuries have passed
Since Sheherezade told her tale
Years have passed since Aladdin’s magic lamp
First touched the minds of the young ones.
Is it a surprise that the young are dead?
Baghdad has fallen
Prey to the hands of those
Who support murdering their brethren and children.
The sun rose and set
The numbers went from thirty to three hundred
And no one cared.
Winners in Baghdad these days are those
Who returns home from the protests
Wearing a necklace of half a metal heart for a pendant
Knowing the other half was lost to the bullets.
They share stories of passion and fury
To hide the void within
Their hope, their faith, lost.
Their sacrifices in vain.
The protests grow old
With news, numbers and names of the players
Of this sick, faux patriotic game.

The Chaos has affected them far too long
They now out there looking for peace and hope to now spread out more
Havoc almost birthed, they circle and stop the creation
Letting the higher-ups know
Who brings the forth the negatives and hurt
Food and shelter provided
Streets cleaned and maintained for use by all
Wish the world could learn how to function together like this
Imagine a world where
Little children are smiling, greeting other children from different countries and cultures
Living and playing together without a worry in the world
Men and women living in harmony and happiness
Peace an actuality in the world
But that’s only in your head
In reality
Little children are bombed and interrupted by death
Men rather **** the women and **** or shoot down the men that don’t agree with or are against them
Peace is being held on a leash by Chaos
That’s happening in front of your eyes
And right now, you’re probably just gonna read it, like it and move on, but nope.
I see people sharing
More is needed to be done
As I said, I and my friends are bringing the tools
All you have to do is use them properly
If you really want to see peace, you’ll know what to do
I know what I’m doing
Perspective I gained
And now I’m making sure it happens.
LRF Jun 15
If believing is
hearing truth in
what we cannot see,
then tell me tales
of turreted castles
and pears turned to gold,
of fish-scaled sirens
and bejeweled Arabian princes.

Conjure a new
reality for me
out of a blue ocean: a purple sky.
June 2020

Inspired by an impossibly expansive purple sky.
Nicole May 30
Never forget
People sell fairy tales
Fairy tales don't exist.
Meysa Apr 29
I feel
less volatile
less awake.
I've been biting my lip
Wearing my own blood as lipstick,
tears as mascara.
Whilst solidarity whispers dark words into my ears.
the crowds
they tell tales
of how pretty
I look.
- please see the definition of toska, as no single word in the English dictionary has the ability to encompass the depth of the word
Small Tales
by Michael R. Burch

When Artur and Cai and Bedwyr
were but scrawny lads
they had many a ***** adventure
in the still glades
of Gwynedd.
When the sun beat down like an oven
upon the kiln-hot hills
and the scorched shores of Carmarthen,
they went searching
and found Manawydan, the son of Llyr.
They fought a day and a night
with Cath Pulag (or a screeching kitten),
rousted Pen Palach, then drank a beer
and told quite a talltale or two,
"till thems wasn’t so shore which’un’s tails wus true."

And these have been passed down to me, and to you.

According to legend, Arthur and Kay grew up together in Ector’s court, Kay being a few years older than Arthur. Borrowing from Mary Stewart, I am assuming that Bedwyr (later Anglicized to Bedivere) might have befriended Arthur at an early age. By some accounts, Bedwyr was the original Lancelot. In any case, imagine the adventures these young heroes might have pursued (or dreamed up, to excuse tardiness or “lost” homework assignments). Manawydan and Llyr were ancient Welsh gods. Cath Pulag was a monstrous, clawing cat. (“Sorry teach! My theme paper on Homer was torn up by a cat bigger than a dragon! And meaner, too!”) Pen Palach is more or less a mystery, or perhaps just another old drinking buddy with a few good beery-bleary tales of his own. This poem assumes that many of the more outlandish Arthurian legends began more or less as “small tales,” little white lies which simply got larger and larger with each retelling. It also assumes that most of these tales came about just as the lads reached that age when boys fancy themselves men, and spend much of their free time drinking and puking! Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, boy, boyhood, *****, drinking, beer, ale, tall tales, Wales
Romaisa Abbas Mar 16
I wonder whether all these marvels are handwritten or soul-woven?
I wonder whether all these marvels are a matter of skill or vision?
Because life is fair to us in such an ironic way that it's unjust with all,
Then what is it that keeps most of us back amongst the audience,
And make us watch our life play?
Is it that we don't want to take hold of the script,
For we're too afraid what others would say?
Or is it that we're just waiting for the perfect moment to hop in and lay claim?

And shall I dare say, that very moment, we all know;

It's just not ever coming
It is 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 tale.
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