2415. Same old story

Christabel wanted to write a story for her blog but she couldn’t think of anything to write about so she watched a video instead and it didn’t have much of a story either.

A friend asked Christabel, “What’s the story about you not writing a story today?” and she said it was a long story.

“I’m not into tall stories for no reason,” said Christabel. “To make a long story short, some bloggers resort to a shaggy-dog story when they’re hard put to post a story. I’m not going to tell some cock-and-bull story just because some readers want a breaking story.  End of story.”

“A likely story. Sounds like a hard-luck story to me,” said Christabel’s friend. 

“That’s another story,” said Christabel. “It’s always the same old story. It’s the story of my life. A sob story here, a fishy story there.”

“Yes,” said Christabel’s friend. “There are always two sides to a story. I like the way that today’s accompanying picture is simply a white blank. What’s the story there?”

“Every picture tells a story,” said Christabel.

Poem 70: Into nothing

All the empires of this world will crumble into nothing.
Strident protests of our time will tumble into nothing.

The homeless in the byways, in makeshift cardboard boxes,
hold out their hands in pleas for bread, fumble into nothing.

Young men in search of meaning in empty, shallow hangouts,
find all their courage dashed as they stumble into nothing.

Vibrant women, scarce seen and rarely heard from day to day,
are told to cook, knit, and sew, and humble into nothing.

Growing boys play in the park; they tussle, combat, battle.
Boys! Don’t fight! and watch your manhood rumble into nothing.

Captured girls sold abroad as slaves are going cheap this year;
their hopes, dreams, and aspirations jumble into nothing.

And Bruce? I know my words won’t echo far in time’s good hands.
I hope a crumb or two might not mumble into nothing.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.