Category Archives: Inspired by fable

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 118, #SynonymsOnly

life-is-likea-cup-of-tea

Gaily colored flags

festoon the arena,

chargers, knights and squires.

Battles to be joined anew

as the tournaments commence

 

 

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Filed under Alternative history, As you read it, Inspired by fable, Self compositions, Tanka

COLLEEN’S WEEKLY #TANKA TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGES NO. 116 Belief & Joy #SYNONYMSONLY

Strong Penelope

who kept faith to the return

of her brave husband,

and her sense of elation

on their day of reckoning

 

 

 

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Alphabet haiku #LetterY

Yucky yetis yowl,

yodelling yeomen yoke yaks

yields yellow yoghurt.

 

 

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Filed under Haiku, Inspired by fable, nature inspired, Self compositions, Whimsical

RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #225 Strike&Hunger

ronovan-writes-haiku-poertry-challenge-image-20161

Let the clocks strike twelve

then the hunger will begin

that the hordes may feed

 

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Sue Vincent’s wonderful Thursday photo prompt #Writephoto #Haibun

 

stone-in-the-wood

Beautiful bower,

Stained marble stones hide bleached bones.

A place  of sadness.

 

From his raised throne at the head of the hall, the Compte LaReine turned to his master chevalier.

“I’ll see them now, my three guests.”

The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall swung back and three white robed knights were invited into the long, wood-panelled hall. They had surrendered their swords and shields, distinctively marked with the red long-halted cross.

The three approached the dais and bowed low before the Count. Dubois, their spokesman started to introduce himself and his companions but was rudely interrupted by a loud, bellowing voice demanding the reason for their apparent desertion from the Templar order.

Unbeknown to them the Count was dismayed that they had not been willing to divulge the whereabouts of the legendary famed Templar treasure. He knew that the Order had lost favour and wished to curry favour with King Phillip. After secret negotiations he had agreed that the three, accused of heresy, although falsely, would be confined for two days and without trial, put to death as ordered by the King.

“Take them below,” he thundered and roughly, without ceremony, they were lead away. Two days later they were unceremoniously put to death and their bodies taken and placed in a shallow grave in the forest to be forgotten.

So they remained for the next two centuries until the Pope was persuaded to grant a pardon to all the French Templars and throughout the country, the bodies were exhumed where known and re-interred beneath marker stones in the territories where they were once revered for their piety and fighting prowess.

These stones remain a place of pilgrimage, although more often  a destination for treasure hunters and the curious.

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Filed under Alternative history, As you read it, Christian, Flash fiction, Haibun, History, Inspired by fable, Self compositions

RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #223 Rise&Fall

 

As the waters rise.

the civilisations fall

fables of the Flood

.

T

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Filed under As you read it, Factual, faith, Haiku, History, Inspired by fable, nature inspired, Old knowledge, Self compositions

Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Bone #writephoto

skull

Over the western hills the sparse, silver clouds are tinged with  red. The sun, not yet set gives up it’s daily battle with the revolving Earth.

A slight breeze starts vibrations in the tall grass heads previously still  in  the heat of the day as the first chill wind from the shore  heralds the onset of evening.

The rain-washed,  sun-bleached skull lies on the path of low foot-worn grass between the heather tussocks.

Tonight there will be no moon to cast it’s glow over the silent tors. The evening air remains curiously warm, almost sultry.

Imperceptibly, as if guided by some gentle, unseen hand the skullbone is turne to face the darkening  Eastern sky. d

In the distance,  a low unearthly sound as of the moaning of the wind in the mast of a storm-tossed sailing vessel can just be heard. The skull shudders and begins to roll to the side of the path.  Like the growth of moss but vastly accelerated, a black downy growth begins to form a shadow on the stark, white surface. The black down grows longer until it resembles the short, thick fur of a dog. An impression helped by the impression of long limbs and thickset body of a hound which appear  to be forming around the single skull.

At last there stands a large hound. Saliva drips from the muzzle as the jaws open showing a row of strong teeth where once were just sockets. Red, unblinking eyes like cinders stare out as snorting nostrils flare and a snarl escapes the shaking head.

Darkness reigns but the black fur is embued with a dull, green lustre. If anyone was near they would start to sense a foetid smell,  increasing in strength with each shake of the thick flanks.

While out over the darkening hills the previous low moaning is now distinguishable as the baying of  a pack of hounds.

The newly reborn beast raises it’s head turning to the right and left. Upraised newly grown ears point straight up, cocked, listening.

With a snarl and a huge leap the beast  runs off in the direction of the approaching pack.

Across the moor a dark-cloaked rider sits atop a heavy black steed. His hood rolls back  allowing a glimpse of a white, gaunt cadaver-like grin. He frowns. he struggles to control his rearing horse, while in his free hand he holds a horse-whip which with every flick emits a stream  of red and gold sparks. Around the horse’s  feet a pack  of identical black hounds snarl, circle and fight, cowering  at every crack.

Soon the pack will be complete again and the Heath hounds will start their nightly hunt seeking out the souls of the wicked.

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Filed under As you read it, Flash fiction, Inspired by fable, Old knowledge, Otherworldly, Self compositions

Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Faraway #writephoto

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I walked back down to the slipway at first light. As expected there was only one reminder of our work from the night before, at the last low tide. Of course none of us could be sure if the Gods had smiled favourably upon Ulrika and allowed her to escape ready to rejoin the world of men.

Not that she could come back into our community. The prejudice of the villagers was too great. Many of the young men would be unhappy that she had been taken from us before she had given her acceptance of a marriage proposal.

Apart from the memory of her long, flowing, red hair nothing was allowed to remain in the minds of men. Her name could not  be spoken. Her supposed crime never again mentioned unless as a warning to naughty children who failed to eat their meals or refused to carry out their chores.

Elder brothers and sisters would frighten their younger siblings by telling them she was hiding under the beds, as older children do.

I was saddened for I did not believe the tales they told of her. That is why I had returned to the place of the crabs. I was not disappointed. if the Gods had not intervened then overnight the crabs and fish had done their work.

The white rock which had been  so carefully  placed upon her bare chest sat lonely in it’s place. No scrap of flesh or bone remained. Picked clean by snapping claws and teeth.

Ulrika was now far away, either in the hands of Gods or men and I would be the only one who would feel remorse.

 

 

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Filed under Alternative history, As you read it, Flash fiction, Inspired by fable, Old knowledge, Self compositions

MLMM’s #First Line Friday: August 31st, 2018

Summer died that night. It was a time of celebration, the deep fire-pit, filled to the height of a man with peat, brush, bracken and branches ready to be lit. The cattle, pigs, sheep and fowl driven in to the central enclosure ready for the elders to carry out their grisly task,

The children had asked the usual questions which we had asked when we were young. The answer was always the same throughout the years. “This is the way it has always  been.”

“The beasts we have nurtured lovingly throughout the year must repay our kindness. There will be feasting for everyone before the dark days come as they surely will. There is not enough goodness in the fields to keep and sustain our flocks and herds. Only the necessary  few will be kept for our daily needs.”

“The offering  we make now will be noted by the sky-dwellers and if pleased they will  send the bright sun back to lighten our days once more when the time is right. This is as it has always been.”

As we watched the great fire was lit. Bright scarlet and yellow tongues of flame leaped into the not yet dark sky. Our animal’s eyes rolled at the sight. As each one was led through the narrow entrance between the stakes into the very heart of the village the remainder started to grow restless and were snorting, bleating and clucking wildly. We could hear the loud cries of pain from within and panic started to spread through the now terrified animals. We beat them furiously to  try and stop the by then dangerous mayhem.

A greasy cloud of dark smoke hung motionless in the air above the cluster of thatched dwellings and the smell of animal fat was strong in ours and the remaining animal’s nostrils. The addition of the animal fat helped the flames to reach high above the height of the palisade for all to see.

The last beast was lead through the opening, their  dark, deadly destiny assured. Gradually we heard the sound of drums performing an increasingly louder, rhythmic, hypnotic beat.  It was hard to stop our feet from stamping and dancing in time to the music.

Finally the last of the sun’s rays died and only then were we able to pass through the portal to join the great feast marking the change of the seasons.

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Filed under Alternative history, Flash fiction, Inspired by fable, Old knowledge, Seasons, Self compositions

Sue Vincent’s #Thursday photo prompt: Watcher #writephoto

waiting

We look upon a mournful scene,

is it mist or just the sheen

of sadness in the eyes downcast.

With folded arms and child at breast

she realises that no more

on lapping wave her paramour,

will reappear on rising tide

but now departs for the last time,

her clifftop vigil will soon end as

arms outstretched she will descend.

No-one will mourn, nothing to keep

her from making this fateful leap.

 

 

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Filed under As you read it, From the heart, Inspired by fable, Self compositions