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 3

First Thanksgiving
Venison for stew and roasting,
Oysters in the ashes toasting,
Geese done to a turn,
Berries (dried) and wild grapes (seeded)
Mixed with dough and gently kneaded~
What a feast to earn! Indian corn in strange disguises,
Ash cakes, hoe cakes (many sizes),
Kernels roasted brown...
After months of frugal living
What a welcome first Thanksgiving
There in Plymouth town.

~By Aileen Fisher

~~~~~~~~

Giving Thanks
For the hay and the corn and the wheat that is reaped,
For the labor well done, and the barns that are heaped,
For the sun and the dew and the sweet honeycomb,
For the rose and the song and the harvest brought home --
Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!

For the trade and the skill and the wealth in our land,
For the cunning and strength of the workingman's hand,
For the good that our artists and poets have taught,
For the friendship that hope and affection have brought --
Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!

For the homes that with purest affection are blest,
For the season of plenty and well-deserved rest,
For our country extending from sea unto sea;
The land that is known as the "Land of the Free" --
Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!

~Author Unknown

~~~~~~~~

Heroes of Faith
by Edgar De Witt Jones

By faith the voyaging Mayflower embarked
from Old England and found harbor off the
bleak New England shores.

By faith the Pilgrim Fathers set up a government
on a new continent dedicated to God and
inspired by a desire to do his will on earth as it is
done in heaven.

By faith Thomas Jefferson was stirred to strike a
blow for political independence and wrote the
thrilling document that declared that all men are
created equal and endowed with certain
inalienable rights.

By faith he said, "Love your neighbor as
yourself and your country more than yourself."

By faith George Washington left his spacious
mansion at Mount Vernon and espoused the
cause of the tax-burdened colonists.

By faith he forsook ease and comfort, choosing
rather to suffer hardship with his men at Valley
Forge than to enjoy the favor of a king.

By faith he became the President of the newly
born republic and endured as seeing Him who is
invisible.

By faith Alexander Hamilton established the
financial credit of the nation. In the eloquent
words of Daniel Webster: "He touched the
corpse of public credit and it sprang into life.
He smote the rock of national resources and
abundant streams of revenue flowed."

By faith James Madison gave richly of his
scholarly mind to form the Federal Constitution.

By faith Andrew Jackson fought the battle of the
impoverished and underprivileged many against
the privileged few.

By faith Abraham Lincoln bore the awful burden
of four purgatorial years seeking to preserve the
Federal Union.

By faith he carried a dreadful war to its
conclusion without hate in his heart, saying, "I
have not only suffered for the South, I have
suffered with the South."

By faith Woodrow Wilson in the dreadful
heartbreak of a world war dreamed a dream of a
war less world in which the nations should be
leagued together to keep the peace.

By faith he glimpsed that promised land which,
like Moses, he might not enter. And what shall I more say?

For time would fail me if I should tell of that unnumbered host,
the unnamed and obscure citizens who bore
unimagined burdens, sacrificed in silence and
endured nobly, that a government of the people,
for the people, and by the people might not
perish from the earth.

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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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Bereft by Robert Frost

Where had I heard this wind before
Change like this to a deeper roar?
What would it take my standing there for,
Holding open a restive door,
Looking down hill to a frothy shore?
Summer was past and the day was past.
Sombre clouds in the west were massed.
Out on the porch's sagging floor,
Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,
Blindly striking at my knee and missed.
Something sinister in the tone
Told me my secret my be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God.

by Robert Frost

More by Robert Frost

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Halloween Poetry PART 1

Pumpkin Picking

Let's go picking in the pumpkin patch.
Now we're jiggling the old gate latch.
Gate swings wide and we step inside
Pumpkins spread like an ocean tide.
You take the one like a fat balloon
I'll take the one like an orange moon.
Hike to the house in fifty paces
Then we'll carve out the pumpkin faces.

Sandra Liatsos

---

Halloween Past
I recall the Halloween past
Some forty years ago, I think
Be grateful they have past
Behavior then was evil

Children made costumes then
Dressed in what they made
Becoming hobos, Indians, Fat men
Witches, a big baby in a diaper,
Or a squaw with her braids

Children carried an arsenal
Soap for windows
Corn for throwing
Toilet paper for trees
Eggs for combat
Dung in a paper bag
For lighting on the teachers lawn
(Of course they stomped it out)

Mischief was the claim to fame
Outhouse's were overturned
Volkswagens were set on porches
Hay was set ablaze
If a house set empty this night
It was likely to find combustion

The children of the world today
They're not so bad it seems
If you will remember then
Children now should dress
In Angel themes

© 2000, John Stewart

---

THE HAUNTED HOUSE
It stands neglected, silent, far from the ways of men,
A lonely little cottage beside a lonely glen;
And, dreaming there, I saw it when sunset's golden rays
Had touched it with the glory of other, sweeter days.

They say the house is haunted, and -- well, it is, I guess,
For every empty window just aches with loneliness;
With loneliness that tortures and memory that flays;
Ah, yes, the house is haunted with ghosts of other days.

The ghost of childish laughter rings on the narrow stair,
And, from a silent corner, the murmur of a prayer
Steals out, and then a love song, and then a bugle call,
And steps that do not falter along the quiet hall.

The story of the old house that stands beside the glen?
That story is forgotten by every one; but when
The house is touched and softened by sunset's golden rays,
I know that ghosts must haunt it, the ghosts of sweeter days.

Margaret E. Sangster

---

Happy Halloween
Horror terror fright and fear,
All these words that we may hear.
Keep inside to be let out,
Just to make us scream and shout.
Set aside for just one fright,
To bring the eve hollows night.
On all hollows eve the moon is round,
All ghosts and goblins roam the ground.
Seeking souls for later rests,
Put our fears to the tests.
Shallow moans and groans of the dead,
Spooky spectres overhead.
A witch on her broom flies the skies,
The werewolf stalks with howling cries.
My vampire freind doomed with eternal life,
Our senses shattered surviving our strife.
We carve our pumpkins and give them light,
Jackolanterns glow all through the night.
Hearing voices "Trick or Treat",
And gave them something great to eat.
Childish fun and practical jokes,
Dressing up like all sorts of blokes.
What is it about this one night,
It gives all the same sweet fright.
When the doorbell rings you answer quick,
With your candy or your trick.
To give the monsters treats galore,
For this one night they'll be at your door.
So these words exclaimed by everyone seen,
They all will tell you "Happy Holloween!!!"


© 2002, Lady Syndra

Check out the Book of Shadows

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!


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Sonnet 4 by William Shakespeare

SONNET 4
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
   Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
   Which, used, lives th' executor to be.


by William Shakespeare

i like this pic

Notes
Unthrifty (1): wasteful or unprofitable.
beauty's legacy (2): the beauty passed down to you (that should extend to your children). Your beauty is but a loan from nature: you must not hoard it.
frank (4): generous.
free (4): liberal/generous.
niggard (5): miser.
usurer (7): moneylender.
traffic with thyself alone (9): A moneylender would not turn a profit if he lent only to himself.
th' executor to be (14): the child he would bear.

More Shakespear Sonnets

• Sonnet 5
• Sonnet 4
• Sonnet 3
• Sonnet 2

Other Shakespear Poetry

• Love
• Dirge
• Fairyland I

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Sonnet 2 by William Shakespeare

When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

by William Shakespeare

serious face

• Fairy Land v by William Shakespeare
• Fairy land iii by William Shakespeare 
• Fairy land ii by William Shakespear
• Fairy land by William Shakespear

More Shakespear Sonnets

• Sonnet 5
• Sonnet 4
• Sonnet 3
• Sonnet 2

Other Shakespear Poetry

• Love
• Dirge

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Fairyland IV by william shakespear

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

by William Shakespear

More poetry:

• Fairy Land v by William Shakespeare
• Fairy land iii by William Shakespeare 
• Fairy land ii by William Shakespear
• Fairy land by William Shakespear

real fairy

Shakespear In books:

1. A Midsummer Night's Dream (Wordsworth Classics) (Wadsworth Collection)
2. A Midsummer Night's Dream
3. William Shakespeare Complete Works Ultimate Collection: 213 Plays, Poems, Sonnets, Poetry including the 16 rare, hard-to-get Apocryphal Plays PLUS Annotations, Commentaries of Works, Full Biography
4. Othello

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Messy Room by Shel Silverstein

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!

by Shel Silverstein

Review:
This sounds alot like my room at the moment. ^_^

Not my room, but similar!! ^_^

Word of the day:

bivouac

\ BIV-wak, BIV-uh-wak \  , noun;

1.

An encampment for the night, usually under little or no shelter.

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Life Is Fine by Langston Hughes

I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.

But it was High up there! It was high!

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

by Langston Hughes

Review:
I have been here a few times.. The pain of a lost love is ever so consuming, almost consuming enough to be an-Hero. Like Langston Hughes said, life is fine, fine as fine wine, so why not just drink the day away until the pain fades. Become an epicureanist. EAT DRINK BE MERRY!!! Because Space will partially mend wounds eventually. We will all die eventually, so why let love kill us, even though love is more internally devastating then air strikes in Libya. Tho im not sure if Gaddafi feels the same way ^_^.

We - Die - For - Love

More Poetry by Langston Huges:

1. The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes
2. The Ways of White Folks: Stories
3. The Mule-Bone: A Comedy of Negro Life in Three Acts
4. Not Without Laughter (Thrift Edition)
5. Poetry for Young People: Langston Hughes

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PERFECT WOMAN by William Wordsworth

HE was a phantom of delight

When first she gleam'd upon my sight;

A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;

Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful dawn;

A dancing shape, an image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

 

I saw her upon nearer view,

A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,

And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet

Sweet records, promises as sweet;

A creature not too bright or good

For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

 

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A being breathing thoughtful breath,

A traveller between life and death;

The reason firm, the temperate will,

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd,

To warn, to comfort, and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light. 

by William Wordsworth

Poetry of the day Review:
William wordsworth, aka, Bill Wordsmith. Is one of my favorite writers. This poem represents what its like for a man to be in love with a woman. I wonder if he recited this poem to the woman who inspired the poem.


Word of the Day:

puckish

\ PUHK-ish \  , adjective;

1.

Whimsical; mischievous; impish.

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Delayed till she had ceased to know by Emily Dickinson

DELAYED till she had ceased to know,
Delayed till in its vest of snow
Her loving bosom lay.
An hour behind the fleeting breath,
Later by just an hour than death,—	5
Oh, lagging yesterday!
Could she have guessed that it would be;
Could but a crier of the glee
Have climbed the distant hill;
Had not the bliss so slow a pace,—	10
Who knows but this surrendered face
Were undefeated still?
Oh, if there may departing be
Any forgot by victory
In her imperial round,	15
Show them this meek apparelled thing,
That could not stop to be a king,
Doubtful if it be crowned!

BY Emily Dickinson

This is emily dickinson as a younger girl.. 

How does this poem make you feel?!

This poem seems like its talking about a failed attempt at something in life. perhaps even someone. im not really sure how it makes me feel, how does it make you feel? Maybe even referencing not being appreciated until its too late?! 

The Word of the day IS!@!!!!

uxorious

   \ uk-SOR-ee-us; ug-ZOR- \  , adjective;

1.

Excessively fond of or submissive to a wife.