tales, fairytales do exists. tales might be legendary or fictional, but sometimes it’s just plain boring. tales are sometimes exciting and sometimes forgetful.
He use to tell me tales as I sat on his knee.
I was so young, and the stories were all about me and my fictional adventures.
I loved the attention, showered upon me by my favorite afro fuzzy-haired grandfather.
“The cuckoo-heads” he’d mention my imaginary friends as he thought the next sentence through, “walked into the grocery store and saw..”
The suspense would kill me, though I knew just what he was going to say.
“A Miss Little Brown Bear.”
“That’s me!” I’d exclaim, so excited – almost embarrassingly so.
I felt so special – his only granddaughter. His stories only for me.
Memories forever cherished.
we were told tales of a time long ago. a time before this stupid was. a time when everyone you knew wasn’t suspect and you could walk out into the sun and not cover your head. we saw this and it made life seem that much worse. the bombs, the raids, the bloodshed, and the knowledge that you might not make it through the night. that part somehow didn’t seem too different though
i told tall tales of how i was a magnificent hero in my youth. what else could i do? i was fifty years old and had never done a single thing worth talkin about, and here was my five year old grandson who thought the world of me. Tall tales was all i had.
Kids like to tell tales as they are often hidden as lies. Tales also make history and define many actions of people and their ideas. Tales can be spoken or written down. Cultures often have oral traditions to pass this down to the next generations. Tales can show magic or mystery.
Enchanted is a fairy tale where a magical world becomes a reality. It seems fake, an unbelievable idea about love and fate. But I know what it feels like for a dream to become a reality. I’m living a dream, a wish come true. Because I found you, my princess. And now my life is truly enchanted.
Tall tales, long tales, short tales, fairy tales. Worlds that that come alive as spoken, worlds that only exists and grow as told. Who knows we may be just another tale are selves.
They told tales of the brave girl and her adventures. The children were mesmerized by the enchanting stories and believed with all their hearts that the girl exist.
The grown-ups laughed at such naivety and knew that the children will believe that they were all myths. However, they were utterly wrong. The girl did exist, and she was in the midst of the woods and in their very presence, bringing the magic to the little ones… but not to those who didn’t believe in her.
I never told my stories anymore. I left that to whoever was left after I was done. They are tales best told by others; they wouldn’t be believed coming from me.
There are many tales I have to tell and I only hope that I will have enough time in my life to be able to get most of them down in one form or another. The first one begins with two lovers pushed together by gods
Fairytales
are said to be fiction.
A prince,
a knight in shining armor
saving
the damsel in distress
with a happily-ever-after
ending. But
dreams do come true.
So far,
I’m living a fairytale
with my prince. <3
most animals have tails. dogs shake their tales to show affection. some monkeys use tales for support and to hang from trees to trees. tales are of different sizes. majority of the tales has long hairs on the tip. t
There once was a man who was a wonderful weaver of tales. He liked to tell them to children all around the world. One day he was in a house in a village spinning a particularly interesting one. It was about a man and his sword. The man loved his sword very much and it was passed down from generation to generation through his fathers. He was walking on a forest path when a goblin appeared before him. He tried to talk to it but he couldn’t distinguish anything past the snarls and grunts that it was making in response to him. It was getting gradually angrier and eventually pulled out its own weapon, a cruel looking cutlass made of pig iron. It advanced towards the man and
She had a glorious habit of spewing out tall tales whenever silence capured the air. She loathed quiet, and splashed her stories of passion and courage and intrigue like paint throughout a conversation.
It is fun to hear about the adventures of others as they tell their tales of travel. the places they have been and the people they meet are all so interesting to me.
He spun wild tales of faraway lands, and she knew they could not be true, that they were just tales; and yet, there was that look in his eyes when he told them, that look that halfway made her believe that maybe, just maybe, what he said might be true. And what she didn’t realize was that the tales he spun were tales of her.
He began to tell stories as soon as he learned to speak. And as he grew, so did these stories, until his tall tales were as high as the sequoias over his head.
Many tales are told about the forest of the west. Horror stories that scare little children, and make them not venture out to far on their own. The children’s parents do not know if the tales are because their parents had also told them the same when they were younger. And everyone was frightened to venture out into the forest to debunk the tales.
He was known for his tall tales. Everyone loved to hear Henry talk about all of his adventures through the jungles of the Amazon and the treks across the Sahara.
Tales had been told about the forest that lies in the West. Horror stories that frightened little children and made them weary to venture out too far. The Children’s parents were not sure if the tales were true or not because their parents had also told them the horrors that happened in the forest in the West.
Stories that everyone loves to hear. They can be happy, sad, mean, cruel or sweet. Anyone can tell them. They can be made up or passed along. Whatever you decide that can become a tale. A Story for someone to enjoy. Like this, this could be a tale. So enjoy :)
my tales are all lies. i confess to hyperbole, and exaggeration, and stretching. my lies are all tales; adventures i never had but wish to, lives i never lived but wish to die from, magic i never possessed
Tales are a type of story. There are tall tale’s, long tales’ and many make believe tale’s. My personal favorite tale is the story of Snow White, and her story. Because of different culture’s many
The tales in this book are different. Different isn’t even the right word. More like unusual. I’ve never ran my hands across a book like this. It’s something special. I can’t ever let anyone read it, though. They wouldn’t understand it’s uniqueness. It’s my special book. My special book of tales.
They’ll come back and tell the tales.
Either in long, lugubrious sentences.
Or hollow eyes and empty mugs.
They’ll come back and tell us,
Or they won’t be coming back at all.
Dreaming of sitting around a campfire, words weaving in and out of my mind and mouth into the air. Spinning tall tales of unmatched bravery and limitless adventure. This was the life for me.
Tales is a character in Sonic the Hedgehog. Kidding, that’s a portmanteau. A poor’s man’s toes are less likely to be french pressed. That was another one. How do you like that? Anyway, Tails definitely wants Sonic’s D. That’s right. What happens to this parable? Doe!
tales of tails
of tail ends of cars
i remember the back of our car
our cars
one after another
leaving one behind at that jaguar dealership
where it was not welcome
i think i cried
to think of it’s future tales
when it was the first tale i remember
Tall?
Perhaps.
But probably not. Tales, as improbable as many will sound, do, in fact, have some basis in fact in some fashion or another.
I think.
Well, actually…, do they?
Maybe I am not as smart as I think that I am, at times…
Tall tales. I remember hearing that term and imagining stories written on very tall columns. People climbing up ladders to start reading at the top to follow it down to the bottom where the story would end with the on their bellies and chins on the ground to catch every last word. Maybe a spiral staircase around a larger column so you could follow the twists and turns as they literally led you around the story unfolding in the etched words. Magical.
I have a few stories about you
rolling around inside my mouth,
like the stale, orange tic tacs
I found beneath my friend’s car seat
in his sand-coloured pick-up truck
with the camper shell
and seats that smelled like cigarette
smoke and were dotted with ashy holes.
I want to spill my words
like I spilled my green peas
at his family’s dinner table
when I intended to laugh politely
but opened my jaw too far.
“Tell me the story, grandpa,” she said, curling up in the old man’s lap.
He chuckled, running a calloused hand over her golden curls. “I don’t tell stories, my girl. I tell tales,”
“Well, tell me the tale then,” she corrected diligently. “Tell me about HER, please grandpa,” she continued, eyes bright.
He chuckled once more. “Well, my dear, when you ask like that, how can I refuse?” he settled back into the chair and closed his eyes for a moment. “Well, the first thing you should know about your mother…”
tales, fairytales do exists. tales might be legendary or fictional, but sometimes it’s just plain boring. tales are sometimes exciting and sometimes forgetful.
In a world of fairy tales and adventure, the man with the big imagination is king.
The news gets around like a game of telephone. Changing. Distorting itself until it becomes nothing, but a tale. I wonder who started it.
He use to tell me tales as I sat on his knee.
I was so young, and the stories were all about me and my fictional adventures.
I loved the attention, showered upon me by my favorite afro fuzzy-haired grandfather.
“The cuckoo-heads” he’d mention my imaginary friends as he thought the next sentence through, “walked into the grocery store and saw..”
The suspense would kill me, though I knew just what he was going to say.
“A Miss Little Brown Bear.”
“That’s me!” I’d exclaim, so excited – almost embarrassingly so.
I felt so special – his only granddaughter. His stories only for me.
Memories forever cherished.
we were told tales of a time long ago. a time before this stupid was. a time when everyone you knew wasn’t suspect and you could walk out into the sun and not cover your head. we saw this and it made life seem that much worse. the bombs, the raids, the bloodshed, and the knowledge that you might not make it through the night. that part somehow didn’t seem too different though
i told tall tales of how i was a magnificent hero in my youth. what else could i do? i was fifty years old and had never done a single thing worth talkin about, and here was my five year old grandson who thought the world of me. Tall tales was all i had.
Kids like to tell tales as they are often hidden as lies. Tales also make history and define many actions of people and their ideas. Tales can be spoken or written down. Cultures often have oral traditions to pass this down to the next generations. Tales can show magic or mystery.
Enchanted is a fairy tale where a magical world becomes a reality. It seems fake, an unbelievable idea about love and fate. But I know what it feels like for a dream to become a reality. I’m living a dream, a wish come true. Because I found you, my princess. And now my life is truly enchanted.
Tall tales, long tales, short tales, fairy tales. Worlds that that come alive as spoken, worlds that only exists and grow as told. Who knows we may be just another tale are selves.
They told tales of the brave girl and her adventures. The children were mesmerized by the enchanting stories and believed with all their hearts that the girl exist.
The grown-ups laughed at such naivety and knew that the children will believe that they were all myths. However, they were utterly wrong. The girl did exist, and she was in the midst of the woods and in their very presence, bringing the magic to the little ones… but not to those who didn’t believe in her.
I never told my stories anymore. I left that to whoever was left after I was done. They are tales best told by others; they wouldn’t be believed coming from me.
There are many tales I have to tell and I only hope that I will have enough time in my life to be able to get most of them down in one form or another. The first one begins with two lovers pushed together by gods
Fairytales
are said to be fiction.
A prince,
a knight in shining armor
saving
the damsel in distress
with a happily-ever-after
ending. But
dreams do come true.
So far,
I’m living a fairytale
with my prince. <3
most animals have tails. dogs shake their tales to show affection. some monkeys use tales for support and to hang from trees to trees. tales are of different sizes. majority of the tales has long hairs on the tip. t
There once was a man who was a wonderful weaver of tales. He liked to tell them to children all around the world. One day he was in a house in a village spinning a particularly interesting one. It was about a man and his sword. The man loved his sword very much and it was passed down from generation to generation through his fathers. He was walking on a forest path when a goblin appeared before him. He tried to talk to it but he couldn’t distinguish anything past the snarls and grunts that it was making in response to him. It was getting gradually angrier and eventually pulled out its own weapon, a cruel looking cutlass made of pig iron. It advanced towards the man and
She shifted to the side, pausing her tale momentarily in order to get into a more comfortable position by the fire.
She had a glorious habit of spewing out tall tales whenever silence capured the air. She loathed quiet, and splashed her stories of passion and courage and intrigue like paint throughout a conversation.
It is fun to hear about the adventures of others as they tell their tales of travel. the places they have been and the people they meet are all so interesting to me.
Can you tell a tall tale that doesn’t start once upon a time ago? Can you tell a tall tale that’ll last the whole night long?
Words can take you far away, stories double up as wings. How far away can you soar and how far can you sink?
Tell the stories, spin the tales, never be afraid to fly.
He spun wild tales of faraway lands, and she knew they could not be true, that they were just tales; and yet, there was that look in his eyes when he told them, that look that halfway made her believe that maybe, just maybe, what he said might be true. And what she didn’t realize was that the tales he spun were tales of her.
He began to tell stories as soon as he learned to speak. And as he grew, so did these stories, until his tall tales were as high as the sequoias over his head.
Many tales are told about the forest of the west. Horror stories that scare little children, and make them not venture out to far on their own. The children’s parents do not know if the tales are because their parents had also told them the same when they were younger. And everyone was frightened to venture out into the forest to debunk the tales.
He was known for his tall tales. Everyone loved to hear Henry talk about all of his adventures through the jungles of the Amazon and the treks across the Sahara.
Tales had been told about the forest that lies in the West. Horror stories that frightened little children and made them weary to venture out too far. The Children’s parents were not sure if the tales were true or not because their parents had also told them the horrors that happened in the forest in the West.
Stories that everyone loves to hear. They can be happy, sad, mean, cruel or sweet. Anyone can tell them. They can be made up or passed along. Whatever you decide that can become a tale. A Story for someone to enjoy. Like this, this could be a tale. So enjoy :)
my tales are all lies. i confess to hyperbole, and exaggeration, and stretching. my lies are all tales; adventures i never had but wish to, lives i never lived but wish to die from, magic i never possessed
Tales are a type of story. There are tall tale’s, long tales’ and many make believe tale’s. My personal favorite tale is the story of Snow White, and her story. Because of different culture’s many
tales we tell and tales we live
one comes first and the other follows
reflect on the latter or life will be hollow
The tales in this book are different. Different isn’t even the right word. More like unusual. I’ve never ran my hands across a book like this. It’s something special. I can’t ever let anyone read it, though. They wouldn’t understand it’s uniqueness. It’s my special book. My special book of tales.
They’ll come back and tell the tales.
Either in long, lugubrious sentences.
Or hollow eyes and empty mugs.
They’ll come back and tell us,
Or they won’t be coming back at all.
Dreaming of sitting around a campfire, words weaving in and out of my mind and mouth into the air. Spinning tall tales of unmatched bravery and limitless adventure. This was the life for me.
Tales is a character in Sonic the Hedgehog. Kidding, that’s a portmanteau. A poor’s man’s toes are less likely to be french pressed. That was another one. How do you like that? Anyway, Tails definitely wants Sonic’s D. That’s right. What happens to this parable? Doe!
tales of tails
of tail ends of cars
i remember the back of our car
our cars
one after another
leaving one behind at that jaguar dealership
where it was not welcome
i think i cried
to think of it’s future tales
when it was the first tale i remember
Tall?
Perhaps.
But probably not. Tales, as improbable as many will sound, do, in fact, have some basis in fact in some fashion or another.
I think.
Well, actually…, do they?
Maybe I am not as smart as I think that I am, at times…
It’s storys .. Begins with fairy .. Love!
happy ever after !
Cinderella , Rapunzel.
the tales i’ll tell my children will be their bible on how to properly have a romantic relationship with Life.
Tall tales. I remember hearing that term and imagining stories written on very tall columns. People climbing up ladders to start reading at the top to follow it down to the bottom where the story would end with the on their bellies and chins on the ground to catch every last word. Maybe a spiral staircase around a larger column so you could follow the twists and turns as they literally led you around the story unfolding in the etched words. Magical.
I have a few stories about you
rolling around inside my mouth,
like the stale, orange tic tacs
I found beneath my friend’s car seat
in his sand-coloured pick-up truck
with the camper shell
and seats that smelled like cigarette
smoke and were dotted with ashy holes.
I want to spill my words
like I spilled my green peas
at his family’s dinner table
when I intended to laugh politely
but opened my jaw too far.
Good tales are to find. Great tales are to make. There’s always something special with what you can do.
“Tell me the story, grandpa,” she said, curling up in the old man’s lap.
He chuckled, running a calloused hand over her golden curls. “I don’t tell stories, my girl. I tell tales,”
“Well, tell me the tale then,” she corrected diligently. “Tell me about HER, please grandpa,” she continued, eyes bright.
He chuckled once more. “Well, my dear, when you ask like that, how can I refuse?” he settled back into the chair and closed his eyes for a moment. “Well, the first thing you should know about your mother…”