Tag Archives: poetry

Street Fighter

For my first story of 2021, I present Nano: The Pure Warrior.

It is a story about a street fighter.

This story is part of my local history in the 1960s and ’70s.

I did not write this story to glorify violence; I often post stories and blog about the days of my youth.

I write to entertain, but also to document how things were when I was growing up.

It is important to know history, and I want young people to understand how we, the Baby Boomers, were shaped.

My generation spent a lot of time outside, and while outside, you met a lot of people, and you were in the grapevine; you heard the gossip.

So you knew some kids purely by reputation.

By far the most compelling reputations were those of the street fighters.

Kids were interested in who fought who, and who beat who.

The toughest fighters reached local-legend status.

These guys liked to fight, and they were good at it, and when the toughest guys met in combat, the grapevine buzzed.

This story is about one of those legends: Nano: The Pure Warrior.

Some fighters were mean and liked to inflict pain; those were the bullies you avoided.

Some were cocky and walked around with chips on their shoulders.

They wanted to fight, unless someone tougher came along, then the chips were tucked away.

The dangerous fighters were the regular guys.

Nice guys who got along just fine not fighting, until the fight came to them, and then suddenly they were honey badgers on the attack.

Nano was one of those legends who welcomed a competitive rumble.

There were plenty opponents; a fighter’s reputation was enough to elicit challenges from testosterone-soaked toughs.

Nano was my friend.

Read Nano: The Pure Warrior, a poem dedicated to my friend.

The End

By David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2021 FabulousFables.com

The Jaguar King

The jaguar

King of the jungle

A cat fierce and strong

Rules the trees and land

At the apex of the food chain

With crushing bite he feeds

All is his domain

 

The anaconda

A giant more fish than reptile

Some say

Rules the Amazon shallows

The swamps, the rivers, underbrush

His creed is ambush

Squeeze, drown and swallow

 

The tapir

Grazes unworried

Thoughts are miles away

Yet danger is all around

The rotund herbivore

(So think the jaguar and the snake)

Is prey and nothing more

 

The jungle

The all-knowing great equalizer

Rules both flora and fauna

It is the domain

When the rain forest decrees

Prey becomes hunter

Hunter becomes meat

 

The anaconda

Declares himself king

The jungle sighs

And all is lost for the beast

The serpent meets its fate

Snake becomes chum

Piranhas feast

By David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2020 FabulousFables.com

The “Jaguar King” is a poem about a fable titledKing of the Junglewritten in 2016. The fable’s teaches a moral that should be heeded today. Read King of the Jungle.

A Little Split of Rainbow

It was a little split of rainbow

That peeked from behind the clouds

Where was the rest of the rainbow?

Where was that giant arc?

Legs bowed across the sky

Feet straddling shiny pots of gold

 

That rainbow, I am taught,

Is nothing but

Reflection, refraction and dispersion

of light in water drops

 

It was just a little split of rainbow

That gave promise nonetheless

That God would not

Destroy the earth with flood

Again

The rainbow is his covenant with man

Or

Is the rainbow merely

Reflection, refraction and dispersion

of light in water drops?

 

Maybe I glimpsed a mighty angel’s

radiant rainbow crown

Did an angel watch from beyond the clouds?

Wielding fiery sword?

Fighting for my soul?

 

Or

Was the rainbow only

Reflection, refraction and dispersion

of light in water drops?

And nothing more

 

Maybe it was just a split of rainbow

Sent to blink a spectrum of light

Red, orange, yellow, green

Blue, Indigo, and violet

 

Or

Did the little split of rainbow

Sneak through to wink at me?

A miracle?

A gift from God?

I believe

Indeed!

 

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2020 FabulousFables.com

The Age of the Night Stalker

 

Growing up in bygone days, especially in the summertime, we were free and the outdoors held daily promise.

We greeted the world with our eyes wide open. We took nature in. We rolled in it, hid in it, fell in it, climbed it. We played, swam, biked, hiked.

We embraced life by going outside.

A mystery I’ve observed is that the more time you spend outdoors, the higher the probability that outdoor things will happen to you.

Things like acquiring a great horned owl in the dead of winter.

How many families can say they have owned one of these majestic creatures? A killer that stands almost 2 feet tall with a wing span of almost 4 1/2 feet. Not many families have had the privilege, I’m certain.

My family was blessed to have owned a great horned owl.

Keep in mind that when I say my family “owned” the owl, I am taking liberties with language, because can anyone really own a fierce predator? A killer of the night?

No. You cannot.

So I wrote the poem “The Great Horned Owl” to tell you my story of the full-grown night stalker and its relationship with my family.

When I was young, maybe 12 years old, the great horned owl lived in our shed. A shed my hound dog, a fearless canine, claimed as his own, until the arrival of the raptor.

So I share this story with you. It took place in another time, in an age of simplicity, innocence and minimal technology. In an age when we went outside. In an age when poems rhymed.

I hope you enjoy the “The Great Horned Owl”, a true story.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2019 FabulousFables.com

The Spider and the Fly

By Mary Howitt

“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly,
“‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there.”
“Oh no, no,” said the Fly, “to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in!”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “for I’ve often heard it said
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!”

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, “Dear friend, what can I do
To prove that warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome – will you please take a slice?”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “kind sir, that cannot be,
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!”

“Sweet creature,” said the Spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;
If you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say;
And bidding good morning now, I’ll call another day.”

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again;
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly.
then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
“Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple, there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, –
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head – poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den
Within his little parlor – but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er heed;
Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Mary Howitt, (1799–1888) published The Spider and the Fly in 1829. It is a cautionary tale about the use of flattery and charm to mask evil and unsavory intentions. Although written so long ago, the poem is as relevant today as the day it was written. That is why I have included the poem here in FabulousFables.com. The poem’s lesson is timeless.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid