901

A BAG OF NAILS
Spiritual Story
by
Unknown

There once was a young boy with a very bad temper. The boy's father wanted to teach him a lesson, so he gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper he must hammer a nail into their wooden fence.

On the first day of this lesson, the little boy had driven thirty-six nails into the fence. Yes, he was really mad!

Over the course of the next few weeks, the boy began to control his temper, so the number of nails that were hammered into the fence dramatically decreased.

It wasn't long before the boy discovered it was far easier to hold his temper than to have to drive those nails into the fence.

Then, the day finally came when the boy didn't lose his temper once, and he became so proud of himself, he couldn't wait to tell his father. Pleased, his father suggested that he now pull out one nail for each day that he could hold his temper.

Several weeks went by and the day finally came when the young boy was able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.

Very gently, the father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. "You've done very well, son," he smiled, "but look at those holes in the fence. That fence will never be the same again."

The little boy listened carefully as his father continued to speak. "When you say things in anger, they leave permanent scars just like these. And no matter how many times you say you're sorry, the wounds will still be there."

A CAN OF WORMS
A Poem
by
One Jolly Huffy Fellow (anon)

At Christmas time, most every year,
Convention chooses that we show
Family love, with festive cheer,
And Yuletide gifts we shall bestow.

We'll watch the children in delight,
Then eat until we're set to burst,
We'll deck the tree with twinkly lights,
Imbibe much wine to slake the thirst.

Yet, there'll be no nativity plays,
They've all been cancelled for they could
Offend some people so they say,
Though there's no reason why they should.

I hear that Santa has been banned,
Because some meanie soul has proof
His sleigh is too unsafe to land
With reindeers on the snowy roofs.

In fact, the reindeers have all strayed,
Released into the icy void,
By some mean animal rights brigade.
The reindeers? They're now unemployed!

As for presents, such emotion!
Leather's banned, and also fur,
Here, this Christmas, I've a notion,
It's nylon for him and for her!

The fairy tales? They're obsolete,
Although they've not yet been forbidden,
And children's chewy toffee treats,
Like Ken and Barbie, should be hidden!

The toffees make ones teeth decay
And oh, the children may get fat!
So mum won't let them eat or play,
And that is the extent of that!

Has Santa set a bad example,
With that hefty, obese belly?
True enough, the girth is ample,
Hey, do we care? Not on your nelly!

The only gift that we can give,
That has some value and some worth,
Is hope that all mankind may live
With laughter, love and Peace on Earth.

902

Christmas is coming,
The goose is getting fat;
Please put a penny
In the old man's hat.
If you haven't got a penny,
A ha'penny will do;
If you haven't got a ha'penny
God bless you.

Hey! Donald Trump appals,
In tweeting plenty of shit!
Egomaniac annoys,
Haughty guy's a nit!
An evil type! Nuts!
Mighty headache too!
Offensive gent pongs!
An asshole I boo!

903

[One version (of many) of Woody Guthrie's famous American folk song 'This Land Is Your Land' is anagrammed into an allegorical poem that also contains a couple of constraints:]

This land is your land, this land is my land,
From California to the New York island;
From the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters,
This land was made for you and me.

As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.

I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.

There was a big high wall there that tried to stop me;
Sign was painted, it said private property -
But on the back side it didn't say nothing;
That side was made for you and me.

In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I'd seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?

Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back.
This land was made for you and me.

How To Unify Against A Notable Malady

The Legion - that walked in that vast, savage land -
Has suddenly stopped on that damn scalding sand;
Each gaped at a lad that was flat on his back
Unmoving and voiceless, his body all slack.
None knew which sad malady petrified him;
It was simply known that his odds were now grim.
Their mission was key, and among that brave lot
Emerged that big issue of "ditch him or not?"
Dear kin, it's all pointless and we should move on,
Said one candid fellow. Our comrade's now gone
To faraway realms bundled in that warped mind
And sadly, I'd say we must leave him behind!
The Legion's most massive guy added, If so,
End all of his suffering, with my staff's blow!
So, woeful and weary, they sought the wise aid
Of their savvy leader, that sat in the shade;
For minutes, he frowned, disappointed and tense,
And finally, formed this straightforward defense:
My boys, we may build a field gurney, for one,
Evoking team spirit and strength when it's done.
Real Legions, I'd wager, make that right away;
I'd say there's a more fearsome problem today.
Combined, we might triumph; apart, we may rot;
And now, you fools, choose: ARE we Legion, or not?

[While the acrostic down the anagram's left hand side reveals the Legion's suffering member in this allegory, its right hand side also reveals its current malady, in a reversed silhouette. In case you haven't spotted it yet, here's a smaller display:]