Thanksgiving poetry part 4

Holiday Letters

T is for turkey on Thanksgiving Day,
H is for "Hurry, I'm hungry!" we say.
A is for Auntie, she works and she mends,
N is for Native American friends.
K is for kitchen, the oven's on low,
S is for silverware, set in a row.
G is for Grandma, the one we love most,
I is for inside, where we're warm as toast.
V is for vegetables, eat them we try,
I is for icecream on top of the pie.
N is for never do we have enough dressing,
G is for Grandpa, who gives thanks for our blessings.

~~~~~~~~

The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers
The breaking waves dash'd high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches toss'd;

And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moor'd their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;-
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea:
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free!

The ocean eagle soar'd
From his nest by the white wave's foam
And the rocking pines of the forest roar'd-
This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:-
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trode.
They have left unstained, what there they found
Freedom to worship God.

~Felicia Dorothea Hemans
1826

~~~~~~~~
Nature XXVII, Autumn
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.

~Emily Dickinson 



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Thanksgiving poetry part 2

All in a Word

By Aileen Fisher

T for time to be together, turkey, talk, and tangy weather.
H for harvest stored away, home, and hearth, and holiday.
A for autumn's frosty art, and abundance in the heart.
N for neighbors, and November, nice things, new things to remember.
K for kitchen, kettles' croon, kith and kin expected soon.
S for sizzles, sights, and sounds, and something special that abounds.
That spells ~~~THANKS---for joy in living and a jolly good Thanksgiving.

~~~~~~~~

At Grandma's House

I like the taste of turkey
Any time throughout the year
But it never
seems to taste as good
As when Thanksgiving's here.

Could be it's all the trimmings
That are cooked with it to eat-
But I think it's
eating at Grandma's house
That makes it such a treat!

~Author Unknown

~~~~~~~~

A Turkey Speaks

I have never understood
why anyone would
roast the turkey
and shuck the clams
and crisp the croutons
and shell the peas
and candy the sweets
and compote the cranberries
and bake the pies
and clear the table
and wash the dishes
and fall into bed
when they could sit back
and enjoy a hamburger.

~Author Unknown

~~~~~~~~

Ballad of the Mayflower

By Linda G. Paulsen

There was a ship, Mayflower by name; Hey, Ho~
Took a trip, she crossed the main; Hey, Ho~
Full of people seeking peace,
Praying for freedom to increase;
Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o! The Pilgrims came to Plymouth Rock; Hey, Ho~
Simple people, strudy stock; Hey, Ho~
To be free they crossed the sea,
Thanked the Lord on bended knee; Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o!
How when the crops were gathered in; Hey, Ho~
A dinner party did begin; Hey, Ho~
Pilgrims, Indians, pumpkin pie, Turkey, venison, corn, oh my!
Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o! Bet you thought my song was done; Hey, Ho~
But I've really just begun; Hey, Ho~
Ever since that autumn day,
Thanksgiving has been here to stay, Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o!

~~~~~~~~
Thanksgiving VIDEO :D



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Thanksgiving poetry part 1

The Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving

(Edgar Albert Guest, 1881-1959)

It may be I am getting old and like too much to dwell
Upon the days of bygone years, the days I loved so well;
But thinking of them now I wish somehow that I could know
A simple old Thanksgiving Day, like those of long ago,
When all the family gathered round a table richly spread,
With little Jamie at the foot and grandpa at the head,
The youngest of us all to greet the oldest with a smile,
With mother running in and out and laughing all the while.

It may be I'm old-fashioned, but it seems to me to-day
We're too much bent on having fun to take the time to pray;
Each little family grows up with fashions of its own;
It lives within a world itself and wants to be alone.
It has its special pleasures, its circle, too, of friends;
There are no get-together days; each one his journey wends,
Pursuing what he likes the best in his particular way,
Letting the others do the same upon Thanksgiving Day.

I like the olden way the best, when relatives were glad
To meet the way they used to do when I was but a lad;
The old home was a rendezvous for all our kith and kin,
And whether living far or near they all came trooping in
With shouts of "Hello, daddy!" as they fairly stormed the place
And made a rush for mother, who would stop to wipe her face
Upon her gingham apron before she kissed them all,
Hugging them proudly to her breast, the grownups and the small.

Then laughter rang throughout the home, and, Oh, the jokes they told;
From Boston, Frank brought new ones, but father sprang the old;
All afternoon we chatted, telling what we hoped to do,
The struggles we were making and the hardships we'd gone through;
We gathered round the fireside. How fast the hours would fly--
It seemed before we'd settled down 'twas time to say good-bye.
Those were the glad Thanksgivings, the old-time families knew
When relatives could still be friends and every heart was true.

~~~~~~~~

Thanksgiving

The year has turned its circle,
The seasons come and go.
The harvest all is gathered in
And chilly north winds blow.
Orchards have shared their treasures,
The fields, their yellow grain,
So open wide the doorway~
Thanksgiving comes again!
~Old Rhyme







~~~~~~~~

Some apple picker..

After Apple-Picking

By Robert Frost 

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well

Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing dear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.





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As you all probably know, MyOwnVerse is the sponsor of Poetry of the day. What you probably dont know is, MyOwnVerse just released a series of great new functionality. You can now connect to MyOwnVerse with your facebook account, Connect your Twitter for instant twitter updates, and you Soundcloud, allowing you the ability to actually RECORD your Poem after posting it. Also we have recently updated the user interface of the Poetry of the day Android App to match the data on poetry of the day. :D

We have been focusing on the poet Robert Frost lately on the blog and will soon change that. Who would you like to see? Let us know!

You Dear Friend,

Miranda Horton

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A Fall Song by Ellen Robena Field

A Fall Song

Golden and red trees
Nod to the soft breeze,
As it whispers, "Winter is near;"
And the brown nuts fall
At the wind's loud call,
For this is the Fall of the year.

Good-by, sweet flowers!
Through bright Summer hours
You have filled our hearts with cheer
We shall miss you so,
And yet you must go,
For this is the Fall of the year.

Now the days grow cold,
As the year grows old,
And the meadows are brown and sere;
Brave robin redbreast
Has gone from his nest,
For this is the Fall of the year.

I do softly pray
At the close of day,
That the little children, so dear,
May as purely grow
As the fleecy snow
That follows the Fall of the year.

by Ellen Robena Field

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Halloween Poetry PART 2

A Celtic Ghost Recalls
Although my time is timeless on this earth,
I still recall when days of gold turned cold
and how we all believed this new year's birth
was eve that spirits roamed; bad ones grew bold!

We'd leave our homes unlit and uninviting
lest spirits might possess our souls this night.
We gathered round the fire our priests were lighting;
whooped like ghouls to give the ghosts a fright.

Through history came changes; then a drought.
I followed my descendants to the shore
of strange new land where kids with glee go out
this so-called "Halloween" from door to door.

My forebears wrongly feared the likes of me.
To think this night is mainly for the candy!

Andrea Dietrich Copywrite 2001

---

Jack-o-lanterns
Out in the fields where the cornstalks lie,
Some pumpkins are sleeping, but by and by
We'll pick them and bring them one by one
Into the house for Halloween fun.

We'll scoop out the middle and cut a hat,
Make 2 eyes and a nose, what do you think of that?
Put in a candle to shine right through,
Now they're Jack-o-lanterns, BOO!

- Christopher Franko

---

Funny Seed
What a funny seed I found,
I wondered what would grow?
So I planted it in the ground,
And now I know!

Little leaves were first to sprout,
Growing in a line,
Then golden blossoms opened out
Along the vine.

And then something grew-and grew and grew!
The biggest ever seen!
And now I have a pumpkin-
Just in time for HALLOWEEN!


- Christopher Franko

---

Come With Us Halloweening
Come with us Halloweening. We'll frolic in the streets.
We'll race from house to house to house spouting "Trick-or-Treats"
and eagerly we'll each collect confections in a bag.
Fellow ghouls, we'll abandon you if you even start to lag!
No slackers in OUR party as we dash from door to door.
Unlit locations and far-removed places instinctively we ignore.
Our goal: to gather all we can hold on this wickedly winsome night,
the "All Hallowed Eve" of children's dreams for fantasy and delight
when children's wild imaginings collectively take flight
in form of ensembles of diverse kinds- of whimsey and some of fright.
For me and Dale that's part of the fun, but even better yet
is what we've been counting the days off for- is the bounty we're going to get!
And through the dark we onward dart. Watch as we trespass
people's lawns, but ones with barking dogs we cleverly bypass.
And when we find to be bulging our Halloweening sacks,
we'll double back home to deposit them; then quickly head on back
until we've covered every block of every foreknown spot
that ever we have frequented and a few that we have not!
Then speed we homeward at the time expected with some dread
when darkened windows greet us and most folks have gone to bed
to throw our candies on the floor, our pleasured eyes to feed
on chocolate bars, on licorice, and scrumptious, chewy things,
tossing out the raisins, tiny suckers or silly fruit
or offering them to our sisters who got too little loot
and last off to bed , our day complete, to dream of how we'll feast
each day of the week remaining, savoring our treasury of sweets.

© 2002, Andrea Dietrich

MORE Halloween Poetry


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Longing by Matthew Arnold

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth,
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say, My love why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Longing by Matthew Arnold

Matthew Arnold wiki says:
Matthew Arnold (24 December 1822 – 15 April 1888) was a British poet and cultural critic who worked as an inspector of schools. He was the son of Thomas Arnold, the famed headmaster of Rugby School, and brother to both Tom Arnold, literary professor, and William Delafield Arnold, novelist and colonial administrator. Matthew Arnold has been characterized as a sage writer, a type of writer who chastises and instructs the reader on contemporary social issues.^[1]

 ^{Some books about Mathew Arnold}

1. Arnold: 'Culture and Anarchy' and Other Writings (Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought)
2. Matthew Arnold - Poetry Collection (Mattew Arnold - Poetry Collection)
3. Culture and Anarchy (Oxford World's Classics)
4. Selections from the Prose Works of Matthew Arnold

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Poetry by Sri Chinmoy

Poetry

O my poem,

You are the lotus of my heart.

You bring into my heart

Nectar-Light from Heaven.

When my life flows

With the river of sorrow

With its countless waves,

May your magic touch

Hide me in the waters of liberation-sea.

- O My Poem by Sri Chinmoy 

America the Beautiful

**** WORD OF THE DAY!
**** user it in the comment.
**** OH AND how bout some LEGIT support. jeez. 

elide

   \ ih-LAHYD \  , verb;

1.

To suppress; omit; ignore; pass over.

2.

To omit (a vowel, consonant, or syllable) in pronunciation.

3.

In law, to annul or quash.

On the Beach at Night Alone by Walt Whitman

ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE
by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

N the beach at night alone,

As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,

As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.

 

A vast similitude interlocks all,

All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,

All distances of place however wide,

All distances of time, all inanimate forms,

All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,

All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,

All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,

All identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,

All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,

This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd,

And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.

3000 yr old Love Poem from Egypt

Extract from a 3,000 year-old papyrus.

She is one girl, there is no one like her.
She is more beautiful than any other.
Look, she is like a star goddess arising
at the beginning of a happy new year;
brilliantly white, bright skinned;
with beautiful eyes for looking,
with sweet lips for speaking;
she has not one phrase too many.
With a long neck and white breast,
her hair of genuine lapis lazuli;
her arm more brilliant than gold;
her fingers like lotus flowers,
with heavy buttocks and girt waist.
Her thighs offer her beauty,
with a brisk step she treads on ground.
She has captured my heart in her embrace.
She makes all men turn their necks
to look at her.
One looks at her passing by,this one, the unique one.

More info here:

  *    The Art of Egypt the Time of the Pharoahs