thestoryteller8 - Tumblr blog

[thestoryteller8]

The Quaint Town

The sky of my hometown,

Always glows pink,

There is a lady who walks in her white gown,

There lives a man here who constantly drinks.

The stars in my town,

Shine like silver,

But the child wearing blue always has a frown,

And the girl in pigtails turned out a killer.

There is a beautiful stream,

And blue it gleams,

Yet nobody touches the water,

As drowned here was found, somebody's daughter.

In this quaint town of mine,

Where Only People in despair reside,

The police found bodies nine,

The reason never declassified.

In this quaint town of mine,

A man once returned home,

From the gates of the divine,

Where he went from the streets he used to roam.

In this quaint town that's mine,

The dead visit every once in a while,

They bring with them blessings divine,

Their houses burn down as they smile.

In this quaint little town,

There was once an earthquake,

As the skies shake,

Thunder came down and broke the ground.

There was once a quaint little town,

With sad residents,

The town is now nowhere to be found,

The people have been lost for months.

The little town is now gone,

The sorrow still remains,

The people we mourn,

And yet the quaint fills another town's lanes.

[thestoryteller8]

All normal human beings are born with a powerful urge to learn. Almost all of them loose this urge, even before they have reached maturity. It is only few... who are so constituted that lack of learning becomes a nuisance. This is perhaps the insidious of human tragedies.

- Robert Gelatt in a review of Coraline Pratt's book 'I learn from children'

[thestoryteller8]

Paper boats

I am a paper boat,

Floating in a lonesome river,

I used to be true devout,

Now, I am an eternal sinner,

Who will house me,

With my ragged attire,

And my box of lies,

So now my life's a satire,

Written by a comic unwise,

Where I became the boat,

that once used to float.

She is a paper boat,

Floating in a desolate river,

She once wrote a note,

To her birth giver,

Now she roams the streets,

With her philosophical thoughts,

And all her reckless feats,

have brought in her a drought,

that she struggles to fulfill,

To pass her time,

Her spirits she kills,

She is an ironical poem, with no rhyme,

Floating in the abyss,

Of her youthful bliss.

He is a paper boat,

Floating in a dreary river,

He once wore a blue coat,

And his light could make you shiver,

Now he sits in a cell, like cubical,

Waiting for days to end,

His tasks have made him so cynical,

and his smile he fails to mend,

He is an antithesis,

Of his younger eternal optimistic self,

And all that's left of his times are pieces,

He foolishly hopes to regain himself,

He struggles to remain afloat; drowning,

In his shadow from eighteen.

I am a paper boat,

She is a paper boat,

He is a paper boat,

We are three paper boats,

Floating in the never-ending hope,

Provided by time,

It's not gaining us a single dime,

Yet tightly we hold on to the rope,

Of the river's flow,

All we have do is row,

With the million paper boats,

All floating, let's see where we go.

[thestoryteller8]

Once - as a child - you were an expert, an accomplished virtuoso, at learning new words.

Today, by comparison, you are a rank and bumbling amateur.

- Norman Lewis 'word power made easy'

The story of every young reader

[thestoryteller8]

The casket glows

With your ubiquitous light

Time went slow

left a chill down my spine, your face that night

I remember calling you that time

When I was on cloud nine

But now we all stand here dressed in white

And I can't recall your face - divine

I remember the story

That I wrote for you

And I'll forever be sorry

That there won't be a part two

I get flashes of your smile

In the dead of the night

And under my covers, I cry; while

In the room, presides your light

[thestoryteller8]

Idleness is a deeply underappreciated aspect of human life.

- Bertrand Russell 'In the praise of idleness'

[thestoryteller8]

I've been told that to get out of a creativity slump you need to do stop and take time to think and with time you'll create something you like.

But I've been doing that for years now and it's not really been working out ?!, I mean I feel like I am kind of comfortable in this slump like you're supposed to get out of this not drag your couch and blanket, I am camping in my slump people ! Help 😭

[thestoryteller8]

“La poésie, c’est le plus joli surnom donné à la vie”

(Poetry is the prettiest nickname for life)

“Le Cancre” BY Jacques Prévert

[thestoryteller8]

"But like most lazy people, he was intelligent. He was also a failure."

- Ruskin Bond 'Friends in small places'

[thestoryteller8]

"But how can you be discreet ?, you're a writer. "

"I can be discreet" I lied.

- Ruskin bond 'Friends in small places'

As a writer all I can say is anything you say may or can be written about in a book one day (If I actually got around to finishing one lol).

[thestoryteller8]

Teenage is nothing but a series of extremely poor choices that have little to no real life consequences in real life but continue to haunt your memories for the rest of your life.

[thestoryteller8]

They say "Dwelling on the past, is a foolish crime, these idiots are whisked away by the wind of time"

Well in this world of geniuses and intellectuals I am the fool, devouring my memories is the curse I behold, sinking in the ocean of my melancholy, mine is a cautionary tale often retold

"She was a slave to her own inhibition, a tool; artifactual"

[thestoryteller8]

[thestoryteller8]

[thestoryteller8]

AI art supporters across the globe when concerns of plagiarism (with evidence) are brought up

"it's called inspiration"

When the "inspired" subject in question doesn't even hold the ability to have an artist/writers' bloc 😂

[thestoryteller8]

[thestoryteller8]

The night that was lit with moonlight 

And echoed with the sound of laughter

The days that shone with your youth

And with the sweetness of tea

The summer that was train rides 

And ice cream by the river 

The winter that was walks to the river

And talks on the roof

The autumn of board games

And potatoes by the bonfire 

The moonsoon of dancing in the rain

And floating paper boats 

Where are you now ?

If I ask will you tell ?

I  look for you in every corner of the house

But I guess the years of hide and seek paid off

I look for fragments of your life in material life

And preserve every piece of your memory in a shrine 

I have peices of the boats with our names on it,  the warmth of the fire,  the board games' dice, the coldness of the ice cream, the seat we sat on the train, the sweet tea, the eternity of our youth, the traces of the smiles and the incandescent light of the moon

I looked for you everywhere 

And found you etched in my memory 

Stiched to my soul you reside in me

I finally know where to find you 

So... Where Are You ?

"Nowhere and Everywhere"