Day Of Thanks

Thanksgiving Day, I had eleven visitors with the sunrise.

I’ve never seen these creatures before, and they have not returned since.

I’m trying to get in the habit of posting stuff I may not be comfortable with sharing, because it’s what I should be doing — and I’ve avoided posting poetry because the WordPress interface doesn’t give itself to keeping the structure.  This time it seems to be working, if the excessive spacing is a bit distracting.



Day Of Thanks


Come from the mountain,

behind the house,

eleven turkeys arrive in the yard.




they come to feast.


the day of thanks.



Eleven visitors,

come with the sun’s rising

to celebrate themselves

and their ancestors,

the ones who taught

this land’s first dwellers.




Under my windows

they parade and strut,

owning the landscape

as once before,

royal plumage mat

against their grand bodies.



Eleven visitors

reminding me of their

heritage.  Revered by this

land’s first dwellers,

before those people lost their tales, their stories,

a history in which these eleven masters

held a sacrosanct position.




They’ve come today

to tell me that tale:

they are revered incarnations,

of pride,





life in its magnificence and glory,

the unashamed dance of life

and all its hallowed moments.




With the sun’s rising,

they’ve descended from the mountain,

in a ceremonious mystical progression.


Eleven masters come to teach,

holy beings reminding me

of life’s luminous endurance,

and the perfect play pulsing

radiant behind existence.


















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