Thanksgiving Thoughts

Thanksgiving Thoughts

Time is marked by Thanksgiving dinners
who is at the holiday table changes
new additions are celebrated and enjoyed
but those who are not with us are missed.

Who is at the holiday table changes
but the constant is the holiday meal
turkey and fixings remain the same as

new additions are celebrated and enjoyed
bringing new life to the holiday table
fresh stories and smiles and laughter

but those who are not with us are missed
those deceased, estranged, or far away
but today we give thanks for our blessings.

We just celebrated Thanksgiving here.  Always nice to
celebrate with family, having the traditional foods!
I am having a hard time getting into writing again
after a few days off, so I wrote a Trimeric for Poetry
Pantry, which somehow makes my words flow...even
though not especially poetically.

To Live Is Such a Gift

Turks protest ISIL and Kurdistan Workers Party in Wasshington D.C.

To Live is Such a Gift

Angry or sad, rarely hopeful these days:
there is so much evil in the world
and I wonder who will survive
this battle of good and evil,
the rampant heartlessness evident
in much of today's world.

With bloodied hands, blackened hearts
jihadists wait for their opportunity
to blow themselves up along with
our illusions that life is safe and
people are basically good - no,
evidence does not support this.

But still I rise each morning,
face the day, watch the news
more hostages taken, terrorists
still at large, go through motions
of living today as if tomorrow will
necessarily be the same.


This poem is written for two prompts:  (1)  Claudia's prompt at Poetics over at dVerse!  She wanted us to write our OWN emotions. (2) Susan's prompt (which will go up Wednesday morning) at Poets United Midweek Motif!  She wanted us to write about Surrvival.  Please consider joining us at both of these sites!

Mercy?

Syrian Refugees at Budapest Railroad Station, September, 2015

Mercy?

Families turned away at the border
mothers and children need a home
and thirty state governors stand  firm
arms folded NO across their chest

With sanctimonious voices they say:
keep the refugees out, don't help them
they are not welcome in this state.

Where is the compassion, the mercy
how can they ignore the desperate pleas
has anyone asked these rejecting governors
'What would Jesus do?' or 'What if it was you?'

With sanctimonious voices they say:
keep the refuges out, don't help them;
they are not welcome in this state.

This is written for Susan's Midweek Motif, 
where the theme is 'Mercy.'  I am also posting
it for Poets United Poetry Pantry. This is the article
that caused me to write this poem:

Syrian Family Rejected by Indiana Welcomed by Connecticut.
Thankfully, there are states that do welcome refugees.

Vampire

Vampire - Edvard Munch - 1895

Vampire

She is a woman all despise
her malice shines from her cruel eyes
by light of moon her eyes do glare
so much evil in her  stare, a hateful guise.

What a seductress she can be
deceiver dressed as bourgeoisie
who uses all her artful wiles
with furtive flare and foxy guile, debauchery.


This is my attempt at a florette, which is the form Gayle will introduce at dVerse MTB today!

Old Family Thanksgivings

Old Family Thanksgivings

I still remember when
my aunt always started
passing the turkey to
her family first to the
irritation of my mother
who said by the time
the turkey reached our
family the best pieces
were gone from the plate.

I still remember when
one aunt was upset
about the tastings
that took place in the
kitchens before the
meal and decided to
leave......and how we
had to work so hard
to convince her to return.

I still remember when
my uncle was asked
to say the prayer
and every year he
prayed - father, son,
and holy ghost, who
eats the fastest
gets the most - and
he would laugh and laugh.

I still remember when
we used to play bridge
after dinner and how
we had two tables
and rotated according
to winners and losers
but the best players
are now all dead
but I see their faces!

I still remember
washing and drying
dishes after the meal
as I was always
a dryer and my aunt
was the washer
and my drying towel
was way too wet
to dry anything well.

I still remember
old Thanksgivings
with their characters
and with their stories
and wish there was a way
I could relieve them
one more time again!


This poem is shared with dVerse Poetics where we are writing about what we miss!  I remember these old days, would live to experience one of these Thanksgivings one more time!

I Miss

I Miss

I miss what once was
or maybe never was
but I believed it was.

I was safe then
nothing could hurt
no harm could touch.

I miss my naivety
that all meant well
that I was safe.

I miss happily ever after
and Leave it to Beaver
and faith in fellow man.

I miss predictable
simplicity of cold war
but we could talk

I miss what once was
or maybe never was
but I believed it was.

I wish it still was.

This poem was written for dVerse Poetics where my Tuesday prompt is What I Miss!  Please join us. For those of you who don't know anything about the photo, they are the main characters in the television program Leave it to Beaver (in the 60's) I mentioned above.

Imagine

Imagine

Imagine, yes imagine,
what it would be like
if we could live in peace!

Imagine, yes imagine
what it would be like
if we could have no fear.

Imagine, yes imagine..
imagine, yes imagine..
no I really cannot see

how it will ever be possible
for hateful killing to end
and evil to be controlled.

Imagine, yes imagine
I wish I could imagine
peace not drifting further away.


I am sharing this with Poets United Poetry Pantry!  It is written the day after the horrific terrorist attacks in the city of Paris.  I don't know if everyone heard the story of the anonymous man who carried his piano on his bike & set it up outside of the concert hall where 118 people had just been murdered & played John Lennon's "Imagine."  After he played, he left.  As far as I know they still do not know who he was.  I have shared his moving You Tube video above.  Let us all stand with France.   Let us all stand for peace.

(Afterword:  They have now identified the pianist....
Paris pianist identified as Davide Martello from Konstanz, Germany)

River

Snake River, USA

River

There is no journey like that of the river

beginning in the clouds & formed into rain

Flowing from mountains through valleys

across plains and under bridges mid-town.

Wider ever wider the river flows

carries old tires and lose branches,

discarded cans and bottles, carcasses of dead,

memories one wants to forget,

all hidden within, all part of the stream,

mixed with soil and sand, 

out to the sea which accepts all,

keeps its secrets

and asks no questions

and never will.

This is written for Poets United Midweek Motif, where Sumana prompted us to write about "river."

Current Weather Report

Current Weather Report

The still-green grass is crystalline now when I take the dogs out in the early morning. I leave my footprints on the fragile stiff blades as I walk, and they do not stand straight again after I pass.  Brave soldiers bend in defeat. The air is chilled, and neither I nor the dogs linger as we did in those warm summer days.  My breath, a cloud, floats before me. And, as I gaze at the now naked trees in the distance, I realize this is the best it is going to be for a while.  I must celebrate what IS. Soon the grass will be brown, then snow-covered. I pull my collar around my neck a little tighter to shield myself from the early-morning wind.  And, as I glance at the gray overcast skies, I doubt if the sun will glance through today.


fragile blades of grass
bow down in surrender
winter at the gate



This Haibun is written for dVerse Poetics ......where the theme is to write a poem on one's 'current weather report.

Reflection

Reflection

I don't remember when
I first thought of seasons as metaphor
childhood as spring
adulthood as summer
middle age as autumn
and then winter we don't
want to think about or name

but I do remember when
a hospice chaplain explained
in autumn he would bring
colored leaves to bedsides
of the dying which he used to weave
stories of the cycle of life
all part of God's intention

so when I think about weather
the wind rain and snow
the sun and the warm breeze
I can't help but reflect
that everything has a reason
and weather colors each season
and all is part of the plan.


This poem is shared with dVerse Open Link!

Chill

Chill

Chill moves in
so silently subtly
as silver frost
blankets the ground
turns green grass brittle
before brown

and I weep a bit for what was
and is no more and wonder
will the grass survive winter

and I cry for summer past
for all summers passed
and for everything passing

and

I realize
this is the way life is
the chill arrives
when least expected
autumn arrives
then winter
way too soon.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.


We had a week of glorious, unseasonably warm weather
here.  During that week it was hard to realize that it was
late autumn heading toward winter. But yesterday the
chill arrived again, and thus - this poem.

(En)jamb-Ment 2

(En)jamb-Ment 2

Some/times when I dream (scream)
        I think of you //too blue, me too

          and wonder//blunder if you dream
          of me too//three//four when you
          walk out the door
         and I (one)der/asunder

when I peer(cheer)  at the stars (mars?)
          and moon - soon//before noon
          whether (weather?) you are look-
                 KING at the sky-high at the same
                                 time//rhyme

and whether we share //do you care //
          these mo-
                   ments in time
despite our dis-tance/reti-
          (cents)

across the horizon of th(y)me
          and whether I will w(ache)/for(sake)
          and find the dream come true /t(oo)
                   anew or be blue
                for wh(oooooo)?
                                 you!!!

This is written for dVerse Meeting the Bar. The prompt is 'enjambment,'
and I had fun writing the first one so I wrote a second....again, just for fun@

(En)jamb-Ment

(En)jamb-Ment

In the blink of an eye
         (witness) the court re-
ported it was the handy-
man who come-mitted
the (mis) deed that made him
      an in-
              mate,

and at the hear-
ring (goldandsilver - all stolen)
he was found to be a (copy) cat
burglar who enjoyed the life-
        style to which he had be-

        come (ac)customed by
his thievery and his custom(airy)
   (weightless) way of escaping
        in a hot air ball-
                 loon(y) way

until his spree was (sus)pended in an up-
wind when the balloon was high-
          jacked by a (wind)storm and he was
                 left help-

                     lessly standing with his hack-
saw and screw (driver) screaming be-
 cause he knew it was all over now.

I wrote this (with tongue in cheek) for the prompt using en-
jambment (and a bit of other wordplay) at dVerse Meeting
the Bar!

Tranquility

Tranquility

There is that moment
just before sunrise
before the world goes bright
when I look out my window
as the stars share their last light
and know that life is good
and I lie for a while immersed
in the feelings of  tranquil peace
before rising to greet a new day.

This poem was written for Poets United Midweek Motif, where the theme is tranquility.

The Traveler

The Traveler

I wander in my mind these days
live with rich memories of adventure
not that I am finished traveling
I'm saving more journeys for tomorrow.

     She told me she wanted to travel young
     and she did see the world in a grand way
     was perhaps the envy of all she knew

     I often think about her when I think travel
     wish she had lived to take more journeys
     she loved life but died too young

     She'd wanted to store memories for future
     but never dreamed future was not to be
     memories departed with her life too soon

I wander in my mind these days
live with rich memories of adventure
not that I'm finished traveling
I hope for time for journeys tomorrow.

This is written for dVerse Poetics where we are writing about travel.

Hope, Give Me Hope

View of the Church of Saint-Paul-de-Mausole- Vincent van Gogh

Hope, Give Me Hope

From my window I see the village church and I think about the faith that I grew up with.  The God of my grandparents, parents, the God of my childhood faith.  I have wondered sometimes about its truth, its relevance in my life, whether I worship now because of belief or tradition.  It is a difficult question, one I struggle with daily.  I have come to realize that I do believe.   God is real to me.  Without faith, what future do I have?  From my window I see the village church, and I thank my grandparents and my parents for my faith, the faith I have passed on to my children as well.  The faith that gives me hope & a broader view.

Across the meadow

I am thankful for the church

forgive me my doubts.

This is written for dVerse Haibun Monday.  Bjorn has prompted us to use this painting by Vincent van Gogh & use it as inspiration for writing a Haibun!