stories, stuff old people tell, or maybe just tails spelled incorrectly. Don´t really know what to say. Space odysseys would be fitting for tales. Stories of star travellers would be amazing.
tales remind me of the bedtime stories my mom and my grandma used to tell me when I was young. I have always loved them… and I still love them much…. i even love it when until now my sister would come and tell me tales and stories till I sleep.
There is an evil force bedded down in the heart of the eastern suburbs of Sydney. A wealthy villain who can’t stop himself from telling tales and twisting the law with the almighty weight of his wallet. Until now his storytelling has served him so well. He puts on a convincing show. Who wouldn’t believe a Chairman after all? Particularly one known to hand out brown paper bags full of cash.
Corporate corruption is never seen as such until it unravels in a putrid, lumpy mess of lies and greed. And his time will come.
Sit down, little lad, let me tell you a tale. It starts in the days of my glorious youth. I will show you the path, I will lead you to truth; let nothing of what you’ve heard before stifle your curiosity. Let me sit you here, in front of my knee, where you may see what has become of me.
Tales of heroic deeds and fighting. Tales of loss and woe. Tales of truth and love and death. Tales to grow old to. Tales to inspire. Tales that get you up and punching the air. It’s what it’s all about: storytelling; the human instinct to stand up and hold their attention as you weave an imaginary kingdom that transcends the here and now and speaks to eternity.
There were no tales. No stories ever written about what had happened to their family thousands of years ago. All that is known is that they survived. They made it through the harshest of days and have overcome all obstacles. No tales were needed to show just how fortunate they were to be able to carry on their family legacy.
She was quite fond of his stories. Stories which he chose to tell her at very particular times, as if he had been planning it for months. That is what makes a person. A person consists of his stories, if nothing else.
He always told stories. It wasn’t that he was a liar or that the tales he told were untruthful – his imagination was just too wild and unruly to be contained to one person. He threw his own spin on Greek legends and crafted his own epic fantasies, yet there was always one problem: He could never find the right person to listen.
Tall tales had sprouted about the land beyond the mountains. Tales of dragons, and fairies, and trolls. Things that were dark and powerful, small but deadly, dangerous but utterly irresistible. It was these tales that start my story. I was drawn to them, and an inexplicable bond formed.
E pa ja neću da pišem na engleskom, jer ne razmišljam na engleskom, bar ne brzo. Volim svakakve priče, kao što volim svakakve stvari. Ali većinom moraju da budu kvalitetne, na bilo koji način.
Oh how I love tales!
Short and funny, long and… and epic, tales of adventure and survival. I like a tall tale, a good one, one that you really truly want to believe, so much so that one day. You do.
Tales of tales or tales without tails I remember when we used to share both or none but sitting in perfect silence could always be a tale of a kind even if it’s blue like watercolor stained sky and as a bowl of sand covered with sea that matches your eyes while sad or happy or everything else…
Tales of the Grizzly Cat! And oh, what tales they are. The puma’s eerie scream against the bristly fields of corn. The Grizzly Cat stalks lovers, yes, when they are pigeon-holed among large haystacks, sucking straw while kissing with strings of seasoned saliva. The Grizzy Cat was shafted, you see, but a similarly grizzly lover. And the lover had more claws!
born broken in torn tales and tall stories
vague remembrances of nothing in particular
a flash a light a flickr account
a curved smile somehow sideways upside-down
a deep breath spelled breathe
because you didn’t know better back then
a memory of a photo of a pretend truth
which was never quite as great as you wanted it to be.
i’ve written about this before and i feel like i didn’t do it right.
i know there is no wrong or right way to write. each of us has our own way but the beauty was lost in my rambling words as they are in this tale as well. i don’t know what else to say here but i wish i had a different word.
tales are a simple thing. they come in many shapes and forms from many different voices. each culture has their own and each subculture within, their own. it’s hard to tell one’s own tale even if it’s the one we know the best. sharing your tale is difficult and will always be so, but it will always be yours, even if you never tell it. i wish i could share my tale with the world and so does everyone else.
Somehow it was real
Somehow the tales you told me
enveloped my brain, sent rapture
down my spine and through my toes
under the earth and to the beyond
What was beyond there?
Do your tales speak of this too?
No one alive will ever know.
My elders always enchanted me with their stories. It seemed like they had lived through every myth, fable, and origin pertaining to everything I knew. Wit such fancies and roles already played out, I often wondered when it would be time for me to weave my own tales.
When I’m older, I will tell my children and their children and their children tales of our love; I will tell them how we were inseparable and how I loved you with every fiber of my being. Then, I’ll tell them that love like that is hard to find and even harder to keep. “Don’t get your hopes up because the worst pain someone can feel is loving someone who doesn’t love you back,” I’ll tell them.
Tales of the past and the future. The children sat and listened with rapt attention to words they could barely understand and visions beyond anything they could comprehend. Not the most glorified and noble trade for one of his ancestry, perhaps, but it was enough. It was those who listened and tell his stories in turn that would grow to be the ones creating what he spoke of.
fairy tales you know. those big tall tales you were told as a child. Dragon Tales, now that tv show was the shit. I wish I wish with all my heart to fly with Dragons in a world apart. I think that’s how it went.
Tell me the tale of the talisman that grandma wore around her neck. I remember the opal, that glittering gem, the stone that matched her grey blue eyes when she stood next to the river bank.
So when I was but a young lad, I heard many tales that intrigued me. My father told me many of them and I always listened intently. Whatever happened to the ease of childhood.
I like tales. Shark tale. Tail. Cat tail. I love cats. I have 3 jobs to support my collection of kitties. I dress them up. Is it weird that I am a 30 year old African American male? Tale rhymes with male.
The Scotts jeered at the new bloke from over the hill. His tales were reminiscent of those told repeatedly throughout the highlands, but he was impervious.
tales of love tales of hope tales of forgiveness tales of righteousness tales of trust
why are there never tales of loss of pain of distrust of hopelessness
They smiled at the memory. Many years had passed since those happy days when the whole family used to sit together in the garden, daylight slowly surrendering to darkness, and shared jokes and tales. Granny Mary had always had a penchant for tales, and a great sense of humor. How many laughs, how much happiness.
They would never forget those great nights, the peace, the quiet, the family love.
Now, both Jake and Lily had their own families: partners, children, homes. Their lives had taken different paths, and they had grown increasingly apart in the last years. Jake suddenly looked up, his eyes bright in the dim lit room. “Why don’t we have a BBQ at my house tomorrow evening? ”
Granny Mary had long gone, their old house sold. But he was sure the magic of those starry nights was still hiding somewhere, waiting. All they had to do was get the family, and the new members, together under the blue sky.
many tales have led to beliefs, many tales like old-wifes tales are meant to stay tales but some have become urban legends and beliefs. in apartheid south africa we were led to believe the most amazing lies about the africans, they are going to come for us! guys would go to school with belts around their waists with strings of knives in them, ready for the “Black Danger”
the tales were told and woven with care. He likes tales with twists and turns that take him into new lands and skies and seas. Missing tales is a catastrophe. Tales used to be common.
Didn’t your mother teach you not to tell tales? Evidently not. Except these tales are a little more damaging than whether or not it was you who took that last chocolate chip cookie. So, yes, ouch. Thank you, I appreciated that. Feel free to take your inconsiderate, lying mouth out of here now.
fingers extend their tendrils
like stems on an overgrown vine
threatening flowers every hour of the day
but producing only thorns
and a handful of poorly constructed excesses
each swimming by to send their regards
tales convulsing rhythmically
because, in the end
even monsters have a heartbeat
tales- tales are told of princesses and princes. of dragons and fairies. they are made up of magic. tales are told to children because they can see them.
tales, tails, tales. In my life, my tales are of tails; elephants tails, dog tails, cat tails, mouse tails, liazrds tails. You can tell a lot from a tail.
stories, stuff old people tell, or maybe just tails spelled incorrectly. Don´t really know what to say. Space odysseys would be fitting for tales. Stories of star travellers would be amazing.
tales remind me of the bedtime stories my mom and my grandma used to tell me when I was young. I have always loved them… and I still love them much…. i even love it when until now my sister would come and tell me tales and stories till I sleep.
There is an evil force bedded down in the heart of the eastern suburbs of Sydney. A wealthy villain who can’t stop himself from telling tales and twisting the law with the almighty weight of his wallet. Until now his storytelling has served him so well. He puts on a convincing show. Who wouldn’t believe a Chairman after all? Particularly one known to hand out brown paper bags full of cash.
Corporate corruption is never seen as such until it unravels in a putrid, lumpy mess of lies and greed. And his time will come.
Sit down, little lad, let me tell you a tale. It starts in the days of my glorious youth. I will show you the path, I will lead you to truth; let nothing of what you’ve heard before stifle your curiosity. Let me sit you here, in front of my knee, where you may see what has become of me.
don’t tell me your stupid tales of why you are late.
I have heard them all and still I wait for you.
so which one of us is the foolish one?
Tales of heroic deeds and fighting. Tales of loss and woe. Tales of truth and love and death. Tales to grow old to. Tales to inspire. Tales that get you up and punching the air. It’s what it’s all about: storytelling; the human instinct to stand up and hold their attention as you weave an imaginary kingdom that transcends the here and now and speaks to eternity.
There were no tales. No stories ever written about what had happened to their family thousands of years ago. All that is known is that they survived. They made it through the harshest of days and have overcome all obstacles. No tales were needed to show just how fortunate they were to be able to carry on their family legacy.
She was quite fond of his stories. Stories which he chose to tell her at very particular times, as if he had been planning it for months. That is what makes a person. A person consists of his stories, if nothing else.
He always told stories. It wasn’t that he was a liar or that the tales he told were untruthful – his imagination was just too wild and unruly to be contained to one person. He threw his own spin on Greek legends and crafted his own epic fantasies, yet there was always one problem: He could never find the right person to listen.
Tall tales had sprouted about the land beyond the mountains. Tales of dragons, and fairies, and trolls. Things that were dark and powerful, small but deadly, dangerous but utterly irresistible. It was these tales that start my story. I was drawn to them, and an inexplicable bond formed.
stories
folk lores. farytales. a lie. Something that has a happy ending, a fantasy versus the cruel, desireous, manipulating reality of the world.
E pa ja neću da pišem na engleskom, jer ne razmišljam na engleskom, bar ne brzo. Volim svakakve priče, kao što volim svakakve stvari. Ali većinom moraju da budu kvalitetne, na bilo koji način.
Tales of wails indicating bales of fails in the trails make their way through the gales.
Oh how I love tales!
Short and funny, long and… and epic, tales of adventure and survival. I like a tall tale, a good one, one that you really truly want to believe, so much so that one day. You do.
Tales of tales or tales without tails I remember when we used to share both or none but sitting in perfect silence could always be a tale of a kind even if it’s blue like watercolor stained sky and as a bowl of sand covered with sea that matches your eyes while sad or happy or everything else…
Tales can be a part of an animal or a story of happiness, tragedy, love, or adventure. Either way they are wonderful.
Tales of the Grizzly Cat! And oh, what tales they are. The puma’s eerie scream against the bristly fields of corn. The Grizzly Cat stalks lovers, yes, when they are pigeon-holed among large haystacks, sucking straw while kissing with strings of seasoned saliva. The Grizzy Cat was shafted, you see, but a similarly grizzly lover. And the lover had more claws!
born broken in torn tales and tall stories
vague remembrances of nothing in particular
a flash a light a flickr account
a curved smile somehow sideways upside-down
a deep breath spelled breathe
because you didn’t know better back then
a memory of a photo of a pretend truth
which was never quite as great as you wanted it to be.
i’ve written about this before and i feel like i didn’t do it right.
i know there is no wrong or right way to write. each of us has our own way but the beauty was lost in my rambling words as they are in this tale as well. i don’t know what else to say here but i wish i had a different word.
tales are a simple thing. they come in many shapes and forms from many different voices. each culture has their own and each subculture within, their own. it’s hard to tell one’s own tale even if it’s the one we know the best. sharing your tale is difficult and will always be so, but it will always be yours, even if you never tell it. i wish i could share my tale with the world and so does everyone else.
Somehow it was real
Somehow the tales you told me
enveloped my brain, sent rapture
down my spine and through my toes
under the earth and to the beyond
What was beyond there?
Do your tales speak of this too?
No one alive will ever know.
My elders always enchanted me with their stories. It seemed like they had lived through every myth, fable, and origin pertaining to everything I knew. Wit such fancies and roles already played out, I often wondered when it would be time for me to weave my own tales.
When I’m older, I will tell my children and their children and their children tales of our love; I will tell them how we were inseparable and how I loved you with every fiber of my being. Then, I’ll tell them that love like that is hard to find and even harder to keep. “Don’t get your hopes up because the worst pain someone can feel is loving someone who doesn’t love you back,” I’ll tell them.
Tales of the past and the future. The children sat and listened with rapt attention to words they could barely understand and visions beyond anything they could comprehend. Not the most glorified and noble trade for one of his ancestry, perhaps, but it was enough. It was those who listened and tell his stories in turn that would grow to be the ones creating what he spoke of.
fairy tales you know. those big tall tales you were told as a child. Dragon Tales, now that tv show was the shit. I wish I wish with all my heart to fly with Dragons in a world apart. I think that’s how it went.
Tell me the tale of the talisman that grandma wore around her neck. I remember the opal, that glittering gem, the stone that matched her grey blue eyes when she stood next to the river bank.
So when I was but a young lad, I heard many tales that intrigued me. My father told me many of them and I always listened intently. Whatever happened to the ease of childhood.
tales and snails and puppy dog tails
tales of a town, of a life, of a child
tales of woe and tales of wonder
to read tales is great
to write them is better
to live them is the best
I like tales. Shark tale. Tail. Cat tail. I love cats. I have 3 jobs to support my collection of kitties. I dress them up. Is it weird that I am a 30 year old African American male? Tale rhymes with male.
The Scotts jeered at the new bloke from over the hill. His tales were reminiscent of those told repeatedly throughout the highlands, but he was impervious.
tales of love tales of hope tales of forgiveness tales of righteousness tales of trust
why are there never tales of loss of pain of distrust of hopelessness
to save us
probably
They smiled at the memory. Many years had passed since those happy days when the whole family used to sit together in the garden, daylight slowly surrendering to darkness, and shared jokes and tales. Granny Mary had always had a penchant for tales, and a great sense of humor. How many laughs, how much happiness.
They would never forget those great nights, the peace, the quiet, the family love.
Now, both Jake and Lily had their own families: partners, children, homes. Their lives had taken different paths, and they had grown increasingly apart in the last years. Jake suddenly looked up, his eyes bright in the dim lit room. “Why don’t we have a BBQ at my house tomorrow evening? ”
Granny Mary had long gone, their old house sold. But he was sure the magic of those starry nights was still hiding somewhere, waiting. All they had to do was get the family, and the new members, together under the blue sky.
I know this one has come up before, because I used it as the bio on my deviantART for a while. Done with these recycled words.
many tales have led to beliefs, many tales like old-wifes tales are meant to stay tales but some have become urban legends and beliefs. in apartheid south africa we were led to believe the most amazing lies about the africans, they are going to come for us! guys would go to school with belts around their waists with strings of knives in them, ready for the “Black Danger”
the tales were told and woven with care. He likes tales with twists and turns that take him into new lands and skies and seas. Missing tales is a catastrophe. Tales used to be common.
Didn’t your mother teach you not to tell tales? Evidently not. Except these tales are a little more damaging than whether or not it was you who took that last chocolate chip cookie. So, yes, ouch. Thank you, I appreciated that. Feel free to take your inconsiderate, lying mouth out of here now.
fingers extend their tendrils
like stems on an overgrown vine
threatening flowers every hour of the day
but producing only thorns
and a handful of poorly constructed excesses
each swimming by to send their regards
tales convulsing rhythmically
because, in the end
even monsters have a heartbeat
tales- tales are told of princesses and princes. of dragons and fairies. they are made up of magic. tales are told to children because they can see them.
tales, tails, tales. In my life, my tales are of tails; elephants tails, dog tails, cat tails, mouse tails, liazrds tails. You can tell a lot from a tail.