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Kitt Sep 2023
onslaughts of parasitic butterflies devour her liver each eve
sparing just enough to grow back the next day
her night clothes are torn under razor beaks
then mended each morning by the nimble-fingered Narcissi
who do not lament her predicament,
but sing mellow little tunes in C minor,
a statement: there is no latent compassion for Pandora
nor for her descendants in Greece or in Rome.
from a word usage prompt
A prophet once proffered a parable,
A wheatable teaching and tarable,
     Concerning the needs
     Of a sowers sown seeds
That require a soil that's arable.
Red Robregado Nov 2021
Once upon a time, a traveler was carrying seven big bags of pain. He went to a sanctuary, and people welcomed him—one waved at him, another smiled at him. But nobody offered to help him with his bags.

The people in the sanctuary were carrying their little bags, too. Besides, they were busy studying and talking about accommodation and companionship, so they couldn’t afford to waste time.

The traveler has traveled for seven years with no rest. He was tired and thirsty.

So despite being a stranger in the place, he immediately asked, “Can somebody give me a drink? I’m so thirsty!”

The people looked at him but ignored his inquiry. Nobody offered him a drink because they were busy identifying the ingredients for the perfect refreshment for travelers. They couldn’t afford to waste time.

While being exhausted and thirsty still, the traveler kept on walking around the sanctuary until he finally saw a pantry. He was happy and excited to taste food since he fed on some junk for years.

So with all his remaining strength, he grabbed the menu and asked for roasted beef, but the caterers offered him a roasted chicken instead.

The traveler didn’t take it. The people thought he was being prideful and demanding; little did they know that he's allergic to chicken meat.

The traveler was mindful of people’s business and busyness, so he thought it would be best for him to just keep the pain, hunger, and thirst to himself. And so he did.

Several days after, the people in the sanctuary remembered the traveler. They were finally done with their conversations; the refreshments and roasted beef were already available, too, so they looked for him.

They looked and looked, but the traveler was no more.
Far away, some years ago
A man sowed corn in his field
Confident, and hopeful too
Of the hearty crop he’d yield

Then birds flew in at sunset
And gobbled up many seeds
The farmer acted quickly
To provide his family’s needs

A woven net - to trap the birds
His precious seeds to preserve
He caught five geese and a stork
To get what they deserve

The stork said, “I am innocent
I’ve eaten none of your corn
Free me - I’ve done goodly deeds
Since the day that I was born”

The farmer said, “that may be so
But in this group you were caught
You receive the punishment
Of the company you’ve sought”

The same holds true for all of us
The rewards you choose to reap
Will likely be those given out
To the company you keep
This is Prosperity Poem 107 at and you can see it displayed on a beautiful background (copy and paste the link below).
You can sign up for free weekly delivery of poems at Prosperity Poems (.com)

This poem was inspired by a parable on my Mom's website.  I found out while writing the poem that the story is actually an Aesop's Fable.
Carlo C Gomez Aug 2020
The hill is alive

Marching soldier

Plugged into the hive

Follows the scent trail of the world before him

Winter is closing in

Food stores and Disney Plus

Take turns as kingpin

It's all about what's current

And holds a charge

Technological holdouts

Form an orderly line to the graveyard

The rest do their very best

To keep up with progress
Inspired by Philip K. ****'s short story, "The Electric Ant" (1969).
Dante Rocío Jun 2020
Sikorki tchnienie w locie musnęło ziemię,
Kresy, wrzosy, suche liście też na wietrze.
Na sykomorze dalekiej Arabii ustała,
skulonego u jej korzeni tego, co sonety
o Aleppo układał, wysłuchała,
i przeto myślami po raz pierwszy
swe osmolone smogiem skrzydełka przetarła:

"Ku czemu się wykluwałam? Ku czemu latałam?
Swym trelem, uwagi skinieniem, czego mam być wyrażeniem?"
Nagle poczuła w każdej małej kości:
"Odpowiedź jest jedna: Miłości"

Że ma ona twarz wszystkiego, niczego, spojrzenia naszego:
Dwóch samców złączonych łabędzia czarnego,
Smutku dla szczęścia innego znoszonego,
Sekretu czule z łzami deszczowi wyznanego
I drzewa z grzyba korzeniem splątanego.

Że ku temu radość innym daje, że tego jest formą,
Wszystkich uczuć, chwil i wrażeń zmową.

"Dziękuję", na tą myśl światu odpowiedziała,
z wdzięczności dla poety z dołu
korę drzewa pocałowała,
i z nową tęsknotą, ku niebu Syrii,
A poem for the children at heart (and not only) of a little *** that learnt on a faraway sycamore through a refuge’s sonnets that Love is all and nothing, with all facades, as revelations or any physical/****** manifestation.
Will translate into English if requested (haven’t yet due to many rhymes and figures of expression)
Devil Atticman Feb 2020
One hundred men gather to decide their king.

They bring their minds and gold together;
They weave a crown of rope with gilded string,
Then, quietly, it lay before them in the grass

The first man moves to seize the rope,
"See your king with rope in grasp!"
Another comes and yanks it back, "I brought more gold than you!"

Another comes, and another still, 'till every man has seized the rope,
Until it wrapped around the throat of someone in the feud.
"Hold! We've gone too far," said the man whose throat was caught.

The rabble of the hundred men ended as it came,
And each the golden rope held firm; one-hundred men had pulled the knots.
The man who brought the most gold said to the one who seized it first,

"I'd rather you, the first to take the rope, be king!"

The first to lift it said back,
"And I that it were any of you!"
Thoughts on kingdoms and leadership, translated in fun old-timey parable-speak :)
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