"storytime" poems
There was once a sheep and a dragon. The dragon loved the sheep very much, more than she loved herself, but the dragon could never express her love because she was afraid she might hurt the sheep. You see, sheep and dragons don't belong together. If the dragon were to breathe fire on the sheep's wool by accident the sheep would die. If the dragon accidentally stepped on her sheep, she would never see his handsome smiling face again, and what good would that be? So the dragon cried and cried.
Then there was the sheep. Sheep loved dragon too, but none of his sheep friends thought that he would be cool if he married a dragon. They would make fun of him, call him names and his parents would shun him. The sheep knew that the dragon could hurt him but he wasn't worried, he would wrap himself in something that wasn't flammable and he would be sure never to walk underneath the beautiful dragon. The problem was, the sheep couldn't figure out if he loved his family or Dragon more. So he went to seek help from the wise Turtle.
Turtle lived very far from sheep, but sheep thought that the walk was worth it to find out what he should do. When he arrived at Turtle's house, he was invited in for tea and Oreos. After the small snack, Sheep got right to business and he told Turtle his predicament. Turtle laughed and shook his tiny, Turtle head. "My child," Turtle said "If you really loved Dragon, everyone else's thoughts wouldn't be important. Prove to her that she matters." Sheep shook his head. Turtle hadn't solved his problem at all! "You are NO help you crazy old turtle," yelled Sheep. And he stormed out.
A day or so later Dragon went to see wise old Turtle too. She told Turtle about how she felt about sheep. Again, the wise (and now crazy) Turtle laughed. He thought that young kids didn't understand true love. "Let go of your insecurities Dragon. Sheep loves you and he accepts everything about you, he loves the fire that you breathe, even though it can burn him sometimes and he loves your big feet even though they can stomp him sometimes." The Dragon went home thinking about what Turtle had told her.
A week later Sheep and Dragon went together to see Turtle. Sheep apologized for being so rude before and said that he thought about what Turtle said and realized that he was right. Sheep loved Dragon and that was all that mattered. Dragon blushed red, like the fire she breathed. Turtle turned toward Dragon and asked her what she had learned. Dragon said she learned that even though she may be insecure about some things, she shouldn't let that get in the way of being happy with someone that she loves. Turtle laughed for that last time in this story and said, "Love is a funny thing, sometimes we don't always see what is there" with that being said, Dragon and Sheep ran away to live happily ever after.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
i.
She, the Filipino rose
That sit's in a vase, gilded in Filipino gold;
Builded by seraph's and cherub soul's
Structured by the hand of God, in mansion's of old.
ii.
She, the archangel, of storytime mode
She, the one mother's and father's hast a book of on their shelves;
She, the tunnel to the third heaven, the messenger of Christ's help
She, the light, she, yellow majesty bedight, she; mine jane: wife.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose dedication)
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
Hey remember that night when we chased the burglars in the front and back yard
and you almost kissed me?
God, I wanted you to.
I submitted a Post Secret of two young French lovers kissing in the rain
and I wrote “This will never be me” over the woman.
******* Parisians.
Once upon a time,
I bought flowers for myself just because I wanted to.
It was the most empowering thing I could have done.
But for the two weeks they sat on my window sill,
I was constantly reminded no one bought them for me.
Long ago, in a land far, far away,
I used to believe in miracles.
This one time, We sat at the Spanish Arch,
the one the Conquistadors built,
comprised of ancient old stone that caught the tears of the heartbroken,
heard the tales of the old salty men coming home from the bar,
and saw the transformation of an old Irish city into a new, artsy town.
We looked up, saw a shooting star, and wished on it I would be with him forever.
I was 19 once, and he sat on the beach with his flicky blonde hair
and a Corona and his oversized tee shirt hanging off his body
and we sat on that beach for hours, in the eye of the storm, soaking it all in.
It was the first time I realized I could love.
We were 22 and he was in love with somebody else and I loved his soul,
but I wasn’t in love with him and we found out we’re in the same boat.
We will always love each other but we can never be together
because we cannot give each other what we need.
He’s the only man who has never let me down.
As a child, I thought I could fly.
Not physically fly, but Peter and Wendy inspired me,
and I knew I could fly as a dreamer, and soar through the skies
like the hawk or the raven or the finch or the ******* pterodactyl if I wanted to.
And I wanted to. And I did.
I wrote a story once about a girl who ran several miles at two am when she couldn’t sleep
and the personal demons kept haunting her and taunting her
and the whiskey wouldn’t shut them up.
Every once in a while, I clean the house naked.
Sometimes, I kinda wish the UPS guy would catch me.
Every day, my life is filled with sullen, sunken, exposed regret.
I wish I did what I didn’t do.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:14 AM UTC
Last night I had a memory, they come and go you know, of the boy on the fallen bicycle. We were in my car, feeding on each other's lips, when I happen to check my surroundings. I saw a boy beside the road, beside a fallen bike. Oh no! I exclaimed and you jumped out of my car immediately to rescue the poor lad. I yanked on my shirt and hurried after you with my pocket knife in hand. I was awkward, and you were perfect; helping him free from the entanglement with gentleness and grace. You stood him back up, directed him home, and I fell even deeper in love.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
In bed by eight and then storytime
Lots of time
Just enough time and a short enough memory to know there was a tomorrow
Just enough time and a short enough memory to not understand aging
Until I had plucked all the hairs off my chinny chin chin
And discovered if the big bad wolf was real that he lived inside of me
He ate my years
My dad's pocketwatch was in sync with the grandfather clock
Its tiny hands resonating louder than
The protesting silver cogs
The screaming mahogany treads
"Tik tok...
Tik tok...
Ding. Ding."
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
Honest Cruelty
I talked to this kid earlier today.
He was walking down the street and I asked him where he was going, he said to Blaine, me and this kid both live about 2 cities away from Blaine, so I asked him why he was going all the way there. He said his dad ****** him off, so he was going to see his mom.
Now, I've known this kid for at least 4 years and when we first met he told me his mom died in Columbia when he was yound and he moved to America with his step-dad around age 5. Today I found out that he was lying.
His father sold him for 3 grand when he was a baby. "My pops doesn't even want me" he said. His mom left him with his step-father for years, which led him to think she was dead when she just couldn't handle the pressures of a child. "My mom doesn't either" he said. "And this son of a ***** that has me now is pretty much a stranger who always yells and fusses and doesn't want me either"
What do you say to something like that? I don't know.. But he looked so down and so I forced him to look at me and I said "Josh, I love you. And I want you." I know it's something he needed to hear and I meant every word. He lives a few doors down from me and I know he beeded something besides a basketball. So I gave him that. It was all I could think to give him.
I just hope I did the right thing.
And I pray to God he's okay.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
She flows in strange vessels, dripping out of her pores like music notes drunk on the moonlight debris. She heaves like a thousand seas and rips apart the patriarch with purple fingernails and cadaver bones. Her breathes are colored with the taint of regret, as if every inhale is a worry and every exhale is a doubt. Yet she speaks in soft shelled stutters with a trip of the tongue here and a pitch of the poem there. Her hair encircles galaxies with its twist and in each braid has surfaced such ships as Titanic could’ve dreamed of. Her hips sway in time to each blink that surveys her, staring at the endless wasteful energy she pours forth from her ****** innuendo wink and her children’s storytime simper.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
held up in gutterwork masterpieces,
half a shard of torn and ragged paper edged on,
where once it bore, proud and in eager definition,
a reminder of little importance or,
a note of sweet insincerity or,
the last refuge of an eviscerated mind;
and, lost to entropic freedom,
no-body would care to ever even want to begin deciphering those smears.
not that they could, anyway.
the death of parking lot culture,
they say,
is all down to the skin on the teeth,
of a couple earthquake-gowned security wardens,
and the irresistible clamour
of city lights:
"just gotta get away, get outta this place" you say,
when you haven't slept
a real night
in three or so months, at last count, in the best-case,
whereas the real tragedy
is the drizzle,
that you're sure
will never,
ever,
cease to fall,
inside of you,
even though you keep telling yourself,
it's still just a lie.
it's all just a storytime fabrication.
it's all just waiting to fall apart.
and you're just hoping it's sometime soon.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:52 AM UTC
Tell me a story.
I want to know something incredible about you
and something boring about you, too.
Tell me about the time you broke your arm
impersonating a superhero.
Can I hear about the first time you fell in love?
Does that story have a happy ending?
You could tell me what you thought about
as you fell asleep last night.
I'll listen to what you thought
As you lay awake the night before.
Hell, I'd listen to you tell me
How you tie your shoes.
I don't care what we're talking about.
I just want to hear your voice.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
Storytime: I have long worn this body as a mask, pinning my cravings on the easily dismissible "primal urges" shared collectively. And though I revel in the smooth, lithe curves and motions of *** it is my mind that is racing. My climactic tears have always sprung from a deeper well of sensation than the physical.
The buoyancy and depth of my spirit is directly proportional to the clarity and frequency of my Aha! Moments, and the duration and spells of radical trust and honesty shared in body and in soul. These laser beams of clarity or steady washes of electric buzzing seem the only true reason to be conscious of life at all.
I always wish to be worshipping at the altar of the stars, whatever form they manifest themselves in. A view, a meal, a lesson, a conversation, a work of art, or a companion. I feel love as less the solid, quantifiable particle, and more the ethereal wave of euphoric wonder, pulling like gravity. In a reason-less world, this is the best one to exist.
I want to share, "I Wonder You," with the humans that amplify the buzz of this wavelength. I want to go without the stretches in between where I must disguise the stirrings within where I feel the minutes of my life slipping away.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
When my friend asked me to enumerate reasons why other people shouldn't date him, instead of answering, I paused. Then I replied with the reasons why people should.
Why would I say such ******** to someone I care for? Why would I tell him things that he would most probably overthink later? After all, my thoughts would only be biased to my experiences -- my answer is a very very small piece of the bigger puzzle. However small that piece may be, I would never give him the damaged version of it. That is my precious contribution to him.
I realized that a pause can make everything nicer. Words are powerful; it can either destroy or heal. Why does it feel like saying good things is so underrated and boycotted. That when you simply say, "You are such a gentleman" it can make a man cry for he became extra appreciative of himself.
May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 6:43 AM UTC
A little prose
“Dear you, I don’t really know where to start and I also don’t really know where I want to head to. But I’ll try, since in the end, it is all I’ve ever done with you, isn’t it?”
So ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you a story. It isn’t a story about love, or grieve, or passion, or death. It won’t make you feel better, or sadder, or fuller, or emptier.
This is just a way for me to communicate. With you. With the person in the story. With me.
So this is a story about a girl. A bit broken, a bit fragile, but very deep, and hopeful. And caring, loving for the world about her.
Just as it happens every day, this girl fell for someone.
Just a simple
Little
act.
A crush at first. And just like all crushes, there was hope, and the excitement that added up with it,
But there was also fear and pain, that, in a way,
this flame shall be wrongfully turned off.
Not to mention it,
but that is what happened.
More or less.
Because as this girl, as fragile as she was, thought that she would find in him the strength she was looking for, the protection she had long lost and the safety she needed,
Little did she know,
That this boy was nothing
But a similar
Different
Copy of her.
He was a bit
Fragile
And a bit
broken
And still very deep
[like her]
But,
[as opposed to her]
He was hopeless.
That was their difference.
So when the girl thought that he might finally accept her for who she was
that we would find in her the dream he was looking for
he struggled to do so, not because she wasn't enough
or wasn't good enough for him
not because he didn't fancy her
just
because
he thought she would end up hurting him.
You see,
Just like her
He too needed protection
Sometimes, somehow,
he thought
She might have been the one
For him
The one who’d stand with him
No matter what, the one who’d support him and his ideas and
take care of his monsters
He never thought she’d bring him down
never.
He just thought,
that just as simply,
He wasn’t going to be good for her.
That she deserved better.
And so,
Just as simply
What she thought instead
Was that he wasn’t going to want her,
That she deserved better.
Hence!
The girl
And the boy
Moved on.
Without having a memory of them together
Without taking the time to create any memory
frankly
Without developing more profound feelings
Without
learning to fall in love.
Without
Loving.
So now they are parted.
A passive smile or a hello when they cross each other
but they
Stopped talking about the other to friends
Stopped believing in the idea that somehow,
They were the soulmate they were looking for.
Thus as one of them now thinks
“Maybe he just didn’t want me”
the other thinks
“Maybe I should have told her I needed her when I had the chance”.
One is convinced
He’ll never want her back
And the other that
She doesn’t want him anymore.
And both of them,
Without even knowing it
Were meant for each other,
But lost it.
So this is my story. I was the girl. I still think he never really wanted me in the end. That I was never what he needed. After all, he always knew that I was ready to commit to him
And be there for him
And stand by him
I don’t know what he believes
If the things I think he thinks
Are really there
Or just in a dream of my mind.
But whoever you are,
If you need someone,
Please let them know,
If they tell you they need you,
If they prove it in every way they can to you,
Please believe them.
Please
Please
please.
I feel there is nothing more painful;
Than watching your effort
Go to waste.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 9:53 AM UTC
Grab my face,
Turn me away from the light
"Ten more minutes.
They're coming
I promise,
Just stay awake please."
You beg as crimson seems to
Cover the night
I am walking, wearing
A pink dress with ribbons
Blonde hair striped with
Milk and honey
Blushing rose cheeks and you
Are laughing
In your suit with
A yellow bow tie
And your teeth are so white
There's a man with brow sweat
And a face like a pig
Illuminated
By street light
I'll never forget this
Purple blue blood
Taking over my dress
Momma's gonna be so upset
So upset
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
She has a story, one that has never been told
but would one listen if it were read aloud
It's a never-ending book, pages and pages, go on and on..
like the night sky and the twinkling stars
like a red rose, beautiful yet as painful as those stinging thorns
like the shining sun with it's glimmering rays, yet burns if you linger too long
like the sea, vibrant blues and soothing waves, vast and deep, easy to drift away
like the feeling of love, but the word that is tossed around like confetti
like the taste of sweet sugar, however, sickening if consumed way too much
like a cool summer breeze, or a sting of a bee, like a simple shade of pink, or the force of a blow
Her story is beautiful, but is filled with great pain
She has a story, one that has never been told
but would one listen if were read aloud
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
Walking in the grocery aisle today
A shan't little place called ( aldi's)
Cheaper food I must say
I saw a man
An older man
Maby seventies or so
Well whatever age
This man I could tell
Could tell the wildest stories
As in his time
Maby he fought in a hellish hideous war
Maby world war two
Maby Korean war
Maby no war at all
The sleeves on his button up shirt said to me quietly
They whispered
MARINE!!!!!!
As I didint know why his sleeves were rolled up
Maby because he was just hot
I mean
The sun is blazing today like hell at night
Well anyways
Back to storytime
This man's harsh look told me
He hast seen a world of things
Us younger ones couldn't fathom or want to
I thought his sleeves rolled up showed he was a man
Who didint give two craps on what others had thought of him
And for that grocery shopping cool man
Kodos to thou dear sir
Kodos to thou!!!
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
once upon a time there was a girl named love
and she danced through the town
with hearts in her eyes and hearts on her sleeves
but all the boys destroyed them one by one
so she replaced them with diamonds so they wouldn't break
but the boys stole them and traded them for pretty girls
then the girl replaced the diamonds with stars
so the boys would burn if they got too close
the girl named love changed her name to afraid because she was
and one day a boy named chance approached her slowly
but she was already on fire and there was nothing he could do
he walked away and she was sorry
the girl named afraid never saw chance again
eventually all of her stars died except for one
and she named it love to remember him.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC
Just here on the verge of tears.
Wondering when it'll go away.
If it'll ever go away.
I don't need it.
I want it.
Will I survive?
Probably.
Do I want to?
That's a different story.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC
He banged on the door.
He spoke to me with gentle tongue.
All dressed up in his Sunday best suit.
Looked so smart, he left me mute.
He held out to me a fetching hand.
Could I really resist temptations demand.
I invited him in.
I made him sweet tea.
However did he hear about me.
I went to my room and put on a frock.
A pretty floral number.
I thought I rocked.
Together we left the realm of my house.
Outside of my castle, became such a mouse.
He led me tenderly by the hand to the house of God just over the road.
I thought.
What have I to lose, the hymn writers present such powerful muse.
I sat and I listened to the words of the bible.
Made a little sense, but I'm a rebel.
My God is my word, and I'm sure God don't mind.
After a nice cup of tea the visit was done.
He was gone.
Maybe en-route to my own kingdom come.
I never saw him again.
An atheist I remain.
But I so love the verse of my favourite hymns.
(C) Livvi
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC
The ******* get bitchier by the year,
The most common insult is "that fag's queer"
I ignore the threats, laugh at the bets
And I'm still laughing when I smash in their head
Some don't believe, others try to deceive
They think I'm weak but that's what they see
Looks can be deceiving, the only quote I'm reciting
Hope they think the same when they're beaten and bleeding
My father told me not to start ****
But honestly, they just keep going at it
One day I'll snap, fall into the trap
And bust my way out as if I had a secret map
High-school horrors, mocking me
Taunting me, make me bleed
My heart is bursting full of rage and hate
You better give it up before it's too late
Fate and chance, holding hands
Slowly waltzing, eternal dance
So I'll bide my time, and spring the opportunity
Leap at it with both hands and fulfil my destiny
I know how to fight, hoping you're getting this right
I try not to overkill but I can show you lights
Showtime, centre stage, playtime, anytime
Storytime, finalised, tell it to your kids
About that one kid who took them all down
Grabbed his neck, forced him back, slammed his *** into the ground
Smiled and laughed at their pathetic attempts
The worst thing for your business is when you mess with the best!
High-school horrors, mocking me
Taunting me, make me bleed
My heart is bursting full of rage and hate
You better give it up before it's too late
I've decided, this isn't worth listening to
So what you gonna do?
I hope this gets through to you
I've decided, I now know what I'm gonna do
So what you gonna do?
When my fist meets your head and it bursts right through!
Blood on the ground and a beautiful sound
Finally, silence, paralysed by shock and horror
Didn't expect this? Didn't think of the consequence?
Should'a thought it through now let me just finish this!
High-school horrors, mocking me
Taunting me, make me bleed
My heart is bursting full of rage and hate
You better give it up before it's too late
High-school horrors, mocking me
Taunting me, make me bleed
My heart is bursting full of rage and hate
You better give it up before it's too late
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 12:53 AM UTC
Sat upon the river bank.
Watching the rippling river tumbling over the stepping stones.
We can't go stepping on them, they're slippery.
Right hand touched the grass, a strange sensation.
A painful one,
A fellow in a striped vest, is attached to my finger.
He's joined onto the end of my fourth finger.
Hell.
I flicked him off with my thumb.
I think I hurt him more than he did me.
Next time I looked he'd gone.
No idea where.
My finger's still sore.
He's probably nursing a headache.
I really dislike wasps.
They always seem to pick on me.
(C)LIVVI
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 11:24 AM UTC
We are beautifully ordinary
Like pancakes on a Saturday morning
Like faint winds on a sunny afternoon
Like letters on forgotten books
Like pillows and bedroom nooks
All forming this beautiful ordinary story we now live in
Singing poetry
Dancing to tunes
Writing love on our books
One page at a time
Aug 15, 2020
Aug 15, 2020 at 1:38 AM UTC