The Nevada Appeal asked readers to submit poems for Thanksgiving; following are the submissions:
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
A retail plot
Retail, retail, oh, what a plot!
To suck you into each shop and lot.
50 percent, 20 percent discounts galore,
Stretching your money
So you can buy more.
It’s mid-November
December to be
Thanksgiving not yet here
Christmas we’ll see.
Shopping and shopping
We will soon start
Looking for the perfect gift
Fore every small heart.
Shopping, shopping
A word to the wise
Wait til the last day
Huge discounts to surmise.
Christmas, Christmas, I do boast,
But the baby Christ child
I love the most.
The shepherds, the Wise Men,
The angels were there
Blessings of joy
And peace everywhere
Now, whether you believe this or not,
This wasn’t part of a retail plot ... Merry Christmas!
Jenny Schnabel
Carson City
