The Friday Fling Formulates Fabulous Fables!
Friday Fling #207, for November 23rd 2012
Thanksgiving is a time when we commemorate the Pilgrims’ achievement in beginning a successful colony in Massachusetts by following their lead at this time of year by more or less recreating the feast they held celebrating their survival and success. In the process of getting to that point and beyond, they taught us by their example valuable lessons in courage and perseverance which can always inspire.
So we thought it would be appropriate to write about some lesson you learned or one which which you believe can teach a valuable lesson.
There is a format which is specifically designed to teach lessons by telling a story with a “moral.” It’s called the Fable. It can be any length, and rhyme, flow or not. The only requirement is that it tells a story and ends with a “moral” or summarizes the lesson the storytelling was intended to teach.
This week the Friday Fling writes fables about life lessons!
Be sure to save time to read and comment thankfully on your fellow Pals’ fabulous fables. Then go shopping or whatever and see if it teaches you a valuable lesson!
Fickle Finger of Fate Award for November 16th
Congratulations Tony!
Welcome everyone to the Thanksgiving edition of the Friday Fling! This year we are suggesting you try to write a fable (see the explanation in the intro above), especially if the lesson relates to courage or perseverance such as the Pilgrims displayed in the time leading up to the first Thanksgiving. So pull your full stomach up to the keyboard and see what your muse suggests!
Awesome topic! Will give this some serious thought… :love:
Hope did this right š
Tony congratulations on the Friday Fling Award š
Congratulations, Tony! Was a wonderful poem and very deserving of the FF award! š :love: :love: :love:
Not the best of story but me tried .. Giggles .. Hugs :love: :love:
~
THE END ARE NOT
~
Once upon a time there was a baby turkey
Not yet fully grown
On its way
To be marketed
But had to grow into pickin size
Mother turkey guarded with care over baby turkey
Showin it the way to grow and be strong
They lived on a big farm
With many others of their kind
A place of plenty
Where they wanted for nothing
All they could eat
And drink
Grow very big and so fat
Till came
Thanksgiving time
Are even on a special day of
Talk of the yard was
Off with their heads this scar little turkey so it stay close to mommy
Till one day mommy was no more
Little turkey grew and grew
On its own
Till one day saw farmer cum with ax in hand
He knew it was his time to go
Yet it run deep into the forest there it stay
Till the ripe ole age of a hundred and one and kept his head
The End
~
Written By: Bettie Davis ————————– Ā© November 22 , 2o12
Congratulations Tony on The Fickle Finger of Fate Award .. :love: :love:
**
Well, the muse wasn’t able
to come up with a fable
Wouldn’t go with a label
So this is what’s on the table…lol
~
Tonight I had the radio on and a young sounding guy was talking all sorts of what on the street might be referred to as “trash” about the Pilgrims. That inspired this poem, more a commentary perhaps than a story, but with a definite moral.
PILGRIMS’ PROGRESS
I hear it said that the Pilgrims weren’t so great
because Jamestown was settled at an earlier date.
More important, Puritan Pilgrims could not agree
about how authoritarian and communal their society should be.
Then there is how they robbed the natives of land
(though the victims had no notion of ownership at hand).
Wars were provoked to justify murder and thieving,
while innocent native tribes were left grieving.
But such negatives show a basic unwillingness
to give any doubt benefit, to see no good in their business,
which makes one suspect there are motives ulterior
or at least a jaundiced view of life lies in their interior.
For it cannot be denied that the Pilgrims were brave
to travel so far while risking a damp ocean grave.
Once they had finally arrived over here,
each one and all had plenty to fear.
That was a main purpose of giving their thanks
for all the live bodies which remained in their ranks;
and for all of the bounty they had managed to make
or find, it was time to share rather than take.
The moral of their story should inspire not depress,
for it took courage and perseverance at its best,
both to make the long journey to unknown locations,
then stake their very lives in brand new situations.
Copyright November 22nd 2012 RGD
Dealing with Unbelievers
What a special package we each comprise.
Yet we can be seen with critical eyes.
Don’t be immune to words that are wise.
But what about bad faith, envy, and lies?
In our hearts we sense we are good.
It’s not always certain we are understood.
Everyone, it seems, has a better way.
What is our truth? – only we can say.
Don’t be afraid to look deep inside,
not just ourselves but at those who deride.
Who’s fault is it we are misunderstood?
Give us the ability to turn it all good.
We can’t help we were born in this skin,
and in good faith we let others in.
As long as we function in tolerance and grace,
we will make this life a better place.
Tony Hansen
(c) 2012
So true, we are who we are and it’s best to except others for who they are and not let differences in beliefs get in the way to make a better place. Great poem, Tony!
Wonderful challenge and pieces posted. Will have to ponder and return . . . . Happy Friday and SoCal Hugs. :love: :love: :love:
And CONGRATULATIONS to Tony!!!
THE EDGE OF NIGHT
Welcomed you with an open heart
Open arms from the very start
Invited us to a bountiful feast
A cornucopia, to say the least
~
Gain our trust then stab our back
Stolen land and under attack
Sinister motives, shame on you
Cherokee, Blackfoot, even Sioux
~
Heathen, savage or wild beast
No respect to say the least
Marching us up the āTrail of Tearsā
Unknown certainty causing fears
~
You tried to break us, steal our light
Proud people on the edge of night
Broken promises, fractured trust
No matter what, we would not rust
~
Beware of wolves dressed as sheep
Keep one eye open in your sleep
Whatever happens, guard your heart
Donāt put horses behind the cartā¦
DORI WHEELER 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This was posted late on the Magic Monday challenge, so few may have read it. I added a subtitle and moral to make the story in it work as a fable.
SURPRISE PARTY
or
BETTER LOVING THROUGH CHEMISTRY
It was somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas eve
when of my sanity I took temporary leave.
A Christmas party where I wanted to believe
I’d be introduced to the method used to conceive.
“It all starts with one kiss,” I’d heard it said.
All you have to do is get out the lead
and take the lead while shedding all dread.
It’s not that far from mistletoe to bed.
I’d received the invite slid under my door.
What it said excited my virginal core:
“Miss L. Toe will have refreshments galore”
Just the right spot to begin keeping score.
But there at the party I found so much more:
friendship and laughter, reverse of a bore
I ended up staying till quarter past four,
moving and grooving upon the dance floor.
Miss Toe brought a wishbone. We broke it, I won.
So under the mistletoe I was granted some fun.
But one kiss did nothing, so we were both done.
I took home my bone piece until bedtime for one.
Copyright November 20th 2012 RGD
MORAL: Courage is necessary, and charms and social traditions can be helpful, but in the end there is no substitute for chemistry.
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WHAT HAPPENS AFTER MIDNIGHT . . . .
The hands of the clock
wound ever so close
to the moment of truth,
the hour of midnight,
and Dad paced the floor,
the same path well worn,
wringing his hands
and his heart
as the dark of the night
inched ever closer
toward morn.
On pins and needles
was Dad as he paced
back and forth,
those āwild and crazyā boys,
my brothers alas,
very close to missing curfew,
that magical midnight hour,
AGAIN.
Of course my sisters and I
never gave him cause to fret,
we knew the rules
so much better,
and havenāt forgotten
even yet.
But the brothers
(the eight of them),
not quite so.
Back in the day,
life so much simpler then,
nothing good,
my father always said,
ever, ever, ever
happened after
that sacred midnight hour;
they only happened before.
A simple rule,
not hard to take,
when the lights went out
in our town right around eight.
Or so it seemed
as I look back on it now,
and smile at the antics
my sweet brothers pulled
as they always cut it so close,
Dad pacing the floor
wringing his hands,
waiting for them
to sneak through
the front door
as midnight approached.
And they did.
And Dad to this day
would be so glad to know
and proud of his sons
who remember to this day
those wise words
heād say.
And they know
and we know
that he knew
of what he spoke ā
that nothing,
or almost nothing good
happens outside the front door
after the clock strikes
that sacred hour
of midnight
and that
Father does know best.
(c) barbara kausteklis 11-23-12