Poems of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Poem on Card

We truly admire the skill of these poets, it amazes us how they express just
the right sentiment with so few words.


Funny Ode to Thanksgiving

May your stuffing be tasty
May your turkey plump,
May your potatoes
and gravy
Have nary a lump.
May your yams be delicious
And your
pies take the prize,
And may your Thanksgiving dinner
Stay off your
thighs!

A Poem for 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.

[Author: Unknown]

At Grandma's House Poems of Thanksgiving

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!

Another Funny Thanksgiving Poem

Turkey Warning

Tell me, Mr. Turkey,
Don't you feel afraid
When you hear us
talking
'Bout the plans we've made?

Can't you hear us telling
How we're going to eat
Cranberries
and stuffing
With our turkey meat?

Turkey, heed my warning:
Better fly away;
Or you will be
sorry
On Thanksgiving day.

A Lovely Thanksgiving Blessing

Thank You For Inviting Us

Thank you for inviting us
To your Thanksgiving dinner.
A day
spent in your company
Is invariably a winner.

Thank you for the time you spent
Preparing all the food;
For
making us feel welcome,
You have our gratitude!

Poem by Joanna Fuchs

Follow-up
It's not what we say about our blessings,
but how we use them, that is the true measure of our Thanksgiving. 
WT Purkiser

Remember Your Friends
This ThanksgivingThanksgiving poem

To: God.com

Dear Lord,
Every single evening
As I'm lying here in bed,
This
tiny little Prayer
Keeps running through my head:
God bless all my
family
Wherever they may be,
Keep them warm
and safe from harm
For they're so close to me.

And God, there is one more thing
I wish that you could do;
Hope you
don't mind me asking,
Please bless my computer too.

Now I know that it's unusual
To Bless a motherboard,
But listen
just a second
While I explain it to you, Lord.

You see, that little metal box
Holds more than odds and ends;
Inside those small compartments
Rest so many of my friends.

I know so much about them
By the kindness that they give,
And this
little scraps of metal
Takes me in to where they live.

By faith is how I know them
Much the same as you.
We share in what
life brings us
And from that our friendships grew.

Please take an extra minute
From your duties up above,
To bless
those in my address book
That's filled with so much love.

Wherever else this prayer may reach
To each and every friend,
Bless
each e-mail inbox
And each person who hits 'send'.

When you update your Heavenly list
On your own Great CD-ROM,
Bless
everyone who says this prayer
Sent up to God.com
Amen

Poem Kindly sent in by Annick Morris

I am Thankful - Poem Of Thanksgiving

Will and Guy have been sent this poem of Thanksgiving which reflects the positive spirit of
this celebration season:

I am thankful:

For the wife
Who says it's hot dogs tonight
Because she is home with me
And not out with someone else.

For the husband
Who is on the sofa
Being a couch potato
Because he is home with me
And not out at the bars.

For the teenager
Who is complaining about doing dishes
Because it means she is at home,
Not on the streets.

For the taxes I pay
Because it means
I am employed.

For the mess to clean after a party
Because it means I have
Been surrounded by friends

For the clothes that fit a little too snug
Because it means
I have enough to eat.

For my shadow that watches me work
Because it means
I am out in the sunshine.

For a lawn that needs mowing,
Windows that need cleaning,
And gutters that need fixing
Because it means I have a home.

For all the complaining
I hear about the government
Because it means
We have freedom of speech.

For the parking spot
I find at the far end of the parking lot
Because it means
I am capable of walking,
And I have been blessed with transportation.

For my huge heating bill
Because it means
I am warm.

For the lady behind me in church
Who sings off key
Because it means I can hear.

For the pile of laundry and ironing
Because it means
I have clothes to wear.

For weariness and aching muscles
At the end of the day
Because it means I have been
Capable of working.

For the alarm that goes off
In the early morning hours
Because it means
I am alive.

And finally, for too much e-mail
Because it means
I have friend who is thinking of me.

Footnote:
Please send us your Poems of Thanksgiving

First Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving poems

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.

Poem by Aileen Fisher

Thanksgiving Verse

Pilgrims
move among us.
Silent, their gray lips mouth
prayers for the bountiful fields of
autumn. Feathered
Indians
stand
tall in quiet corners
invoking harvest home in a
strange tongue. This is
our Thanksgiving.
Gathered together, we
are visited by the grace of
old guests.

Poem by Myra Cohn Livingston

The Ears of Wheat by The
Brothers Grimm
Thanksgiving Wheat Poem

Ages upon ages ago, says the German grandmother, when angels used to
wander on earth, the ground was more fruitful than it is now. Then the
stalks of wheat bore not fifty or sixty fold, but four times five hundred
fold. Then the wheat- ears grew from the bottom to the top of the stalk.

But the men of the earth forgot that this blessing came from God, and
they became idle and selfish.

One day a woman went through a wheat-field, and her little child, who
accompanied her, fell into a puddle and soiled her frock. The mother tore
off a handful of the wheat-ears and cleaned the child's dress with them.

Just then an angel passed by and saw her. Wrathfully he spoke, 'Wasteful
woman, no longer shall the wheat- stalks produce ears. You mortals are not
worthy of the gifts of Heaven!'
Some peasants who were gathering wheat
in the fields heard this, and falling on their knees, prayed and entreated
the angel to leave the wheat alone, not only on their account, but for the
sake of the little birds who otherwise must perish of hunger.

The angel pitied their distress, and granted a part of the prayer. And
from that day to this the ears of wheat have grown as they do now.

A Thanksgiving in France

The first Thanksgiving after moving overseas, I decided to treat my
family to a traditional turkey dinner.

I went to the closest store, which happened to be French-speaking, and
approached the area where a variety of meats were laid out. Not being fluent
in French, I looked and tried to determine on my own whether the large
poultry breasts I saw were turkey or goose.

The butcher indicated that he was ready to help me. I asked in broken
French if he spoke English; he replied, 'No.' I tried again, asking if he
spoke German; again, he replied, 'No.'

I pointed at the poultry breasts, then tucked my thumbs in my armpits,
flapped my arms, and said, 'Gobble, gobble?' The butcher broke into a smile
as he replied, 'Oui.'

Embarrassing, sure, but I ended up with a turkey and the butcher got a
laugh!

A tale by Monica Harris

Desiderata - A
Lovely Poem for Thanksgiving

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
And remember what peace
there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
Be on good terms with all
persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
And listen to others,
Even to the dull and the ignorant;
They too have their story.
Avoid
loud and aggressive persons;
They are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
You may become vain or bitter,
For always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy
your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own
career, however humble;
It is a real possession in the changing fortunes
of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
For the world is full of
trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
Many
persons strive for high ideals,
And everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about
love,
For in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
It is as
perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
Gracefully surrendering the
things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden
misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many
fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
Be gentle with yourself.
You are a
child of the universe
No less than the trees and the stars;
You have a
right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
No doubt the
universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
Whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
In the noisy confusion of life,
Keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
It is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Footnote:
This is one of Will and Guy's favourite
poems written by Max Ehrmann in 1927. We think it is applicable to all
Thanksgiving celebrations.

The Old-Fashioned
Thanksgiving

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.

Poem by Edgar Albert Guest, 1881-1959

Will and Guy were struck by the tiny word 'of' in Poems of Thanksgiving.
William Arthur Ward captured the thought with this sentence, 'Feeling
gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving
it.'

Footnote
Please send us your poem of Thanksgiving

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