Poems up to 30 lines having to do with thanksgiving for the existence of America. (Possible subjects: conflict between Puritans and Indians at the first T-day, football watching on T-day, animal rights and T-day, beauty of T-day, family strains on T-day, T-day and American government [two chickens in every pot, as Hoover put it], buckles on hats, cranberry sauce, new dishes suggested for T-day, where America came from and where it's going, Obama and T-day versus Washington or Pierce in the White House on T-day, stuffing and its joys, stuffing yourself with stuffing on T-day, and how good that is, compared to starving in Biafra on T-day, etc.)
All poets who enter are invited to choose a winner (1 vote per entrant) by Thanksgiving midnight (night of the 26th, or 12:01 AM of the 27th).
Here's a chunk from Corso's Spontaneous Requiem for the American Indian:
"Pilgrim blunderbuss, buckles, high hat, Dutch, English, pat-
ent leather shoes, Bible, pray, snow, careful, careful, o but
feast, turkey, corn, pumpkin, sweet confused happy hosty
guests, Iriquois, Mohawk, Oneida, Onandaga, Thanksgiving!
O joy! o angels! o peace! o land! land land land" (Mind Field 138).
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
23 comments:
Some entries:
The Form of Thanksgiving
W.B. Picklesworth
Thanksgiving takes the form of a list,
Often if not always. "I am thankful
For A,B,C and a portion of grist!"
"Tick", "check", "yup" and "Oh, me too!" we answer.
List completed, we toss and move on.
Thanksgiving takes the form of reproach
For the pure who want you to know it,
Using words like, "really" and "truly" and
"You aren't thankful enough (you little shit)."
Pat, pat, pat on my back and move on.
Thanksgiving takes the form of a rite,
Genuflections before old recipes;
Some families make room for a fight,
Football and mass sofa napping.
Carve up the leftovers and move on.
Thanksgiving takes the form of a life,
Imperfect and American round here.
It shows like cranberry on white linen.
Or like the secret ingredient? "Dear
God, I hope so. Every day. Stand there.
11:35 AM
G. M. Palmer said...
The Fabulous First Thanksgiving
Asplendor in our sparkling, buckled caps
of deepest, coal-heart black, we watched them tread
from the wet fields; the Wampanoag chaps
were naked from the waist up to the head;
with feathers on their brows and corn in their grip
they stirred our hearts; half-dead for want of bread
we bent to them and held their ways, adrip
with solid knowledge. We survived widespread
pain through their careful hands, and so we sat
smartly together as the harvest feast
was set and hoped we could pay tit-for-tat.
We ate until our bellies all were greased
then like bonobos we practiced sodomy,
that ancient art of camaraderie.
7:48 AM
jh said...
found poem
do you want to rob a bank?
or a liqour store? or a pawn shop?
SMILE!
and fix your hair.
and get that lettuce
out of your teeth.
Bradford Gives Thanks on the Slaughter of The Old Men, Women, and Children of the Pequot
Those that scraped the fire
were slaine with the sword;
some hewed to peeces,
others rune throw with their rapiers,
so as they were quickly dispatchte,
and very few escapted.
It was conceived they thus destroyed about 400 at this time. It was a fearful sight to see them thus frying in the fyer,
and the streams of blood quenching the same, and horrible
was the stincke and sente
there of, but the victory seemed
a sweete sacrifice,
and they gave the prayers thereof to God, who had wrought
so wonderfully for them,
thus to inclose their enemise
in their hands, and give them
so speedy a victory over so proud and insulting an enimie.
gobble
gobble
gobble
what's a phantasy?
THANKSGIVING
Breaded turkeys, billions of eye-balls.
In order to eat delicacies,
We industrialize dinosaurs.
The horror of production.
Corporate aridity of the
Managerial elite.
Rats sometimes get into the jumble?
Poultry has to kept in walk-in
coolers, near the accordions.
"Can you pass the cranberries?"
The Cup of Kindness
California Chardonnay 2008
“How are you! So good to see you!
My god your new hair!
It looks great, you’ve got to tell me who’s your stylist
And wherever did you find someone to do hi-lites like that!”
“Are you still at Southeastern? What was it, economics?
Third year! God it’s been forever!”
Veneto Pinot Grigio 2007
“Yeah, I’m still trying to sell the house
But I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to get some renters in
To pay the bills.”
“God, that’s awful.
I’m really sorry, I’m sure you’ll find something
And everything’ll be fine.”
“I can’t find an apartment that’ll let me keep
All my cats. And Bigglesworth has diabetes.”
Chilean Merlot 2006
“Well I just tell ‘em, you can either have babies
Or you can have designer sofas not covered in
Chocolate pudding stains, am I right?”
“I wouldn’t mind the pudding, but
Who has $40,000 to spend on a Russian baby
These days, anyway?”
“You don’t want them Russian ones, honey,
All brain damaged ‘cause no one’ll hold ‘em.”
Napa Cab 2005?
“Where’s ‘the money?’
He’s supposed to be here by now.
Should’ve taken him for his pension too.
I never loved your father,
You know he was with Raquel, that waitress.
You know your brother’s a lesbian now, right?”
Aussie Zin, Whatever
“That’s filthy, shacking up and playing house
With a man three times her age!
Won’t last a year, I’m telling you.”
“Oh! We’re all so happy that you’re happy, really!
Age is just a number.
Anyone who’s telling you different’s selling you something.”
Folgers Coffee, 2009
“Honey, can we go home now?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Next year party of two, yeah?”
“Never again, honey, never again.”
California Chardonnay 2010
“So great to see you again, what’s it been?
A whole year? Still at Southwestern?”
“Eastern. Senior, yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. . .
I think I’ll sit at the kiddie table this year.”
Thanks for the Mammaries
Iris in her princess costume,
With sparkles on her cheeks
Sits across from sister Sophie
At a ‘lil Tyke’s piknik table
Little slices of turkey, dry
With mas tuhpaters! plain
A little hill of PEEZ!
With honeyed carrots each
Iris’s PEEZ! In neat lines,
Straight and orderly
Sophie’s mas tuhpaters!
Criss-cross hatched with care
Dirty, sticky fingers distress
And out comes a wet nap
To clean the flailing hands
Of Gabriel’s marshmallowed fingers
The princess’s PEEZ! smooshed in the carpet,
Kids running down the hall
Mama picks up patient, sleepy Ella
Who’s yet to have her feast.
A quiet time alone with mummy
Makes Ella’s tummy happy
No need for princess sparkles
ladybug antennas, or a squidgy fist of goop
Someday, there will be PEEZ!
And taters and carrots laced with honey
But for now, all one girl wants is a pink blankie
And her mummy.
Those ol' pilgrims,
sure were somethin'
didn't like christmas,
didn't like nothin'
even thanksgivin'
was too much like Mabon
but they done it anyhoo
cause once in a red moon
even puritans is behooved
to get their uptight grooves on.
autumn feast
still morning
alone with oscar peterson
while john sleeps
rinse and
pack the bird
sit to peel
apples potatoes
til the smells fill the house
as they do only once a year
it doesn't matter
that no one is coming
my heart is full
our table is open
Sally's out ahead again in my book.
People haven't voted!
I vote for Sally Mcgill. I liked the spirit of generosity in her poem, although I liked the hilarity of Gm's ending, and the bitterness of Luther's poem, and the bitterness and tightness of Picklesworth's. This time I couldn't follow Emmy's poems about wine and conversation.
Sally's poem was simple, and clear, and had the feeling I always hope for in T-day but find difficult to recover every year.
Thanks to Sally!
Any other voting or comments? I'll leave it open for votes and comments until this evening at midnight. Otherwise, Sally wins.
I'm happy to vote for Sally too on the strength of Oscar Peterson. Nice.
i thought jh's poem was clever
he found it
it expresses some of the
desperation in our culture
and the ridiculousness of it all
ed's pome too is good
it gets' right to the point
but
i agree with the assessment of sally's pome
it has my vote
gobble gobble
jh
I vote for Sally, too. That's lovely! The fact that no one is coming to the feast makes me cry. Although GM's bonobo sodomy is a totally awesome line!
As for my grouchy wino-poem:
Just so's you know, Kirby, it's what happens at some households when libations are involved on holidays where people see each other only once a year.
So the Cup of Kindness was a poem (just one! kinda hard to format it!) about one night at a family gathering where several different wines were consumed. It's all nice at first, but then the claws come out. The wines get heavier, more substantial as the conversation gets heavier, more personal. It's that nightmare gathering where you swear you're never going to do it again, but there you are next year in the same place because it's tradition.
This year was the first year I held my very own Thanksgiving feast for a crowd of three. Mostly to avoid the drama; holidays are supposed to be happy, and with just Jacques and his mum, we managed pretty well to have a good time.
I hope everyone had a delightful Thanksgiving, and partook in the blessings of God with their families in happiness.
Is Oscar Peterson someone I should know? I thought it was a friend of hers. Is that the name of a turkey brand?
I didn't get that.
At any rate, thanks to everyone again, all entrants. I did enjoy JH's wit, and Ed's bit, and all the others.
But there's nothing like straight-out kindness and openness, oh, it wins me over every time!
We still haven't got Brett's vote and I think Stu should get to vote too since he's a mensch.
But I think Sally's already won.
Hooray for Sally, winner of two of our half-dozen contests!!!
Oscar Peterson
and
Oscar Petiford
are not the same person!
both will "bring tears" to your I's give-a-listen!
oscar peterson was a canadian
pianist
i saw him live twice
one of the all time greats in jazz
there were those trios albums he did with joe pass and niels pedersen
those were really fine
he played with everybody
did some great things with ella
perhaps not as cerebral as bill evans (arguably amongst the greatest in any genre)
but he had the whole range of jazz at his fingertips
i'd be careful listening to him though
it could lead to further explorations into
a sort of cultural sophistication that only democrats seem to know about
i don't think republicans listen to jazz
unless it's kennyG
oscar petiford - great bassist
spent most of his days in minnesota
less iz more
jh
Republicans see jazz as having evolved from brothel music in New Orleans, and reject the good time it offers in lieu of the rising hymnody as feeling enthralled by God and Jesus via the Holy Spirit.
Jazz is a whorehouse phenomenon.
jesus hung out with whores
amen
... and revisionist editors of the Gospels
EDITED OUT
that May Magdalen was pregnant with Jesus' child when Jesus was killed...
let us sanitize everything and
act shocked
when 'shit' happens
But they didn't listen to jazz, amen.
thanks everyone for the votes
i guess i missed the voting deadline
but i was going to vote for
W.B. Picklesworth
it was the last stanza that got me
the cranberry stain on white linen
as a metaphor for the imperfection
of human life
that was great
and there is something going on
with each stanza ending with "move
on"
except the last which ends with
"stand there"
i'm not sure i understand
exactly what he is saying with that
but it seems important
i liked emmy's poems too
and don't worry emmy
that nobody came to the feast
it was kind of a relief
to not have to have
dinner ready at any particular time
just john and me
very relaxing
though we could use some help
eating up the left-overs
now jh's poem
well it was certainly surreal
and that probably ought to
count for something here
where did you "find" it?
Ed--
not that it would blow my faith
to have a pregnant mary magdalene
but what is the evidence
that this was once present in the gospels
and was edited out?
sally
track-back via Luke from here:
http://www.gotquestions.org/Mary-Magdalene.html
as
I am neither a biblical books scholar nor am interested in siting authorities who continually/continuously re-interpret, re-invent,re-vise, and 'spin' and foster fantasies and drivel about what they have no clue as to what happened... just some second-hand political mythology to control
not to say that faith in and rituals of systems/inventions ain't beautiful, comforting, etc..
nest thing u'll tell me is that Salome didn't dance ...explicitly!
why not just INCLUDE everybody.... without any joining-up "the one true religion"
sure would save us a lot of killings!
(pee est... I got my own phantasies to write/deal about:
such as they are and hopefully
just as they are.
Post a Comment