I’m sitting in my
muse-free zone
picturing the faces
of my family.
Surely there is
poetry there –
in those eyes and
those familiar smiles,
in the vision of
generations,
in love lost, love
regained, love found,
in the possibility
of persimmon pudding
and home grown green
beans.
There is poetry in
the familiar –
in the ritual of
rush and not enough time,
in the spectacle and
laughter,
in the empty places
for those we miss.
And there is
definitely poetry
in the hands we
grasp around our family circle,
in this annual waltz
of thanksgiving.
Dana Rhyne
Thanksgiving 2014
poetry or not they are wonderful sentiments.
ReplyDeleteYour poem really put me in the mood of the holiday. I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
ReplyDeleteI have been looking far and wide for a healthy dose of green beans. There are none to be found in this neck of the woods. They are all thin and wilting. Enjoy your home grown beans and the love. Your poem speaks to my heart and taste buds. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeletePersimmon pudding? What am I missing out on?
ReplyDeleteI think your poem is just fine. And since SWMBO is from Indiana, I guess I'd better inquire about persimmon pudding.
ReplyDeleteLoved it. A family tradition?
ReplyDeleteYes, there is poetry in all of those things. Have a great weekend.
ReplyDeleteI like it, Dana. It feels like what the day is supposed to be about.
ReplyDeleteNow you've gone and done it. You've got our curiosity up. You must tell us about persimmon pudding.