The Nevada Appeal asked reader’s to submit poems for Thanksgiving; below are the submissions:
Unknown Author’s Thanksgiving poem
The following, a wee bit reworked Thanksgiving verse found amid the pages of an old family poetry book, the verse composed by that famous author, Author Unknown.
Author Unknown is credited with the composition of more prolific and wonderful poetry than any known author (sadly). Then, along came Carson City poet, Thane, to the rescue and caringly redress in readiness for the most sharing time of the year:
What we share
When we share laughter, there is twice the fun;
When we share success, we’ve surpassed what we’ve done.
When we share problems, there’s half the pain;
When we share our tears, a rainbow’s the gain.
When we share our dreams, they become more real;
When we share secretes, our hearts we reveal.
If we share a smile, that is when our love shows,
If we share a hug, that’s when our love grows.
If we share with someone on whom we depend,
That someone can always be counted a friend.
And now with Thanksgiving coming around,
We’re reminded that sharing will always abound;
For what draws us closer can make us all care,
It’s not what we have, but the things that we share!
Thane Cornell
Carson City
Thanksgiving
I am thankful for desert and mountains beautiful
Providing life and nature so bountiful.
I am thankful for clean water to drink
For baths, laundry and to wash dishes in the sink
I’m thankful for love from friends and family
Coming from far away and locally
I’m thankful for neighbors helpful and kind
Who see my need, don’t turn away blind
Mostly I’m thankful to have reached my senior years
Through work and love and many tears.
Jan Martinez
Dayton
Are we thankful?
Are we thankful?
Yes, indeed
Our health our safety
And all our needs
If you don’t think so
Throw your cares in the air
You’ll want them back
Rather than trade them there.
Sometimes it’s so hard to see
But when we become grateful
It’s humbling indeed.
Thank you, yes, thank you,
For love so divine
Our family, our friends
Our neighbors so fine.
If you’re not thankful
On any given day,
Remember, the love in your heart
Wasn’t put there to stay.
Love and thankfulness
Must be given away.
Jenny Schnabel
Carson City
Autumn
The leaves of autumn gently fall
Upon the chilling earth,
And sparrows dart through
Crisp, sharp air in frenzied flight,
While ghosts of snowmen stir.
The roots begin the long, dark sleep,
And slender fingers of the sun
Retreat behind the Northern Sky
To rest until the seeds awake
And call for warmth again.
The autumn gods, whose touches
Set the trees to blaze, splash colors
Here and there upon the dying leaves
So that they die with dignity.
These gods resume their roaming
Through the woods,
Until the winter snow consumes
Their marks behind a mask of white.
Gene J. Giudice
Carson City
Thanksgiving Day
The wind was chilling to the bone
It whipped the cape about him.
The tiny waif, clinging to his hand,
Hid her reddened face,
Wiped the tears best she can.
Her skin was chaffed
All red and cracked.
And how her cold hands stung!
Shoes clung to her tiny feet,
What was left, coming all undone.
And he, not really better off,
Just a scarf upon his chest.
A shirt with long, worn-out sleeves,
A cap upon his head,
And holes in his pants at both knees.
His shoes, too, had seen better days.
To many a door they tread
Seeking work to feed child and self,
Maybe somewhere to stay,
Something to eat, what others left.
As they trudged on, the old man thought
Of the rich in houses so fine,
Of the warmth of their fires,
Tables spilling with food,
A musician fingering a lyre.
It was oh, so cold. They were weary, too.
Soon the rain would be coming down.
The child would get sick
Without some little heat
Even that of a slow-burning wick.
At last, a place, though out of the way,
Was a warm light greeting them.
They tapped at the door hoping,
Waiting for what might come,
When slowly, the door began opening.
A young boy stood beside the door
Peering into the black of night.
He smiled when he saw them standing there
To his father he spoke,
“A man and a child on their fare.”
The father stood up and went to the door,
Smoke rising from his pipe.
Then, he opened the door wide,
“Come in, come in,” he called,
“It’s nice and warm inside.”
They had something to eat
And stayed the night.
In the morning, pipe in hand,
“Need you hurry on so fast?
It’s Thanksgiving Day, my man.”
“But are you sure? We could move on.”
“Now, I’ll not hear any of that,”
The plump wife wiped her hands,
“The child is tired, and if you don’t mind,
She could use a mother’s help.”
“Thanking you very kindly, madame,
The child has never known one.
She’ll be delighted, I’m sure. As for me,
I confess, it’s been a long time.”
“Then for sure, it’s staying, you’ll be!”
So they warmed themselves
By the glow of the fire
And the goodness of their hosts.
The girl and boy playing,
Laughed at each corn kernel roasts.
And when the table was set,
“Come now, all. Up to the table.”
Sweet-smelling food filled the air.
A quiet moment, they bowed their heads
And joined together in prayer.
”God bless this food we have this day,
And all things, all year long.
Bless these, who sit and sup with us,
For their journey, may they be well,
And in You find their trust.”
As that Thanksgiving Day declined
And night fell softly down,
That house was filled with joy and peace
For the fortunate wayfarers
And their kindly host, each.
Mary Santomauro
Stagecoach
