In the beginning the words were nothing but prose when the old man spoke to the children of the heroes of long ago and their great deeds. He looked to the heavens and talked of the gods of the sky. Grasping the clay, he talked about the gods of earth. And as they camped by the sea, he told them about the gods of the great waters which surrounded the land.

One day a young boy began to beat his spear against a hollow tree as the old man spoke. The old man did not curse the boy but let his words and voice followed the rhythm of the young boy's beat. Soon all the boys and men of the tribe would beat their spears and sticks against hollow trees, whenever the old man spoke. It was the beginning of meter.

The old man wove his tales with images and sound, and saw the women smile and the young girls laugh whenever his words sounded the same. So he began to choose his words with care as he told them the tales and rhyme was born.

Now it is our time to beat the hollow trees and make young girls laugh as we tell the stories of yesterday, of today and tomorrow in perfect rhyme and perfect rhythm.  Come help us create a poetry storytelling community...

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