PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

From the moment we are born…when we first open our eyes to see

we begin writing a book…an album…our autobiography.

As we grow…as each minute, hour and day goes by

our book gets filled with our joys…our sorrows…our laughter…and our cries.

Just look at all our families…from the moment a new family dawns

think of all the writing every minute that goes on.

The funny thing is as each new day…out upon the world we look

we are also being written into other people’s books.

The good news is as we grow up, make new friends perhaps start a family of our own

since we are in the pages of so many books…we need never feel alone.

However…as our family has new experiences and have new people whom they meet

there is a part of this whole process I find a little bittersweet.

When our children are young…at a very early stage…

when we look into their book…I can be found on every page.

But as they grow up…move away…and continue writing on their own… 

as they’re meant to do

I find myself relegated to an occasional mention…

in a page…or in a chapter…maybe two.

But I’m okay with this…which is why…on this Thanksgiving day

as I think about our son who long ago…

and now our grandson and his wife…who recently moved away.

I’m thankful and it makes me smile remembering a time 

where everywhere I looked

I could be found on almost every page…certainly every chapter in their books. 

And though I may not show up in their books as often now…

I smile and am still thankful when….

I am mentioned on a page or in a chapter…

every now and then.

(A Poetic Ode)

Beneath the amber skies of fall, we gather near the hearth,

A season's whisper beckons us, to honour what has worth.

The bounty spread upon the table gleams with autumn's hue,

Yet richer still, the wealth of hearts, in gratitude made true.

Oh, Thanksgiving, sacred pause, a hymn to life's delight,

You teach us how to cherish dawns and praise the velvet night.

The golden grains, the ripened fruit, the earth's abundant yield,

Remind us of the laboured hands that tilled each cherished field.

Not just the feast of sustenance, but nourishment of soul,

In giving thanks, our spirits bloom, becoming strong and whole.

We bow to love's eternal flame, to friendships forged in fire,

To dreams that rise like phoenix wings, ignited with desire.

The laughter of the young resounds, the wisdom of the old,

Together weaving memories, more precious than fine gold.

The stories shared around the flame, the blessings softly sung,

Bind us in a tender thread, no matter where we're flung.

Oh, gratitude, a gentle seed that blossoms into grace,

Transforming every moment into something we embrace.

Even in the shadows, there's a light that softly glows,

A quiet joy, a whispered peace that every heart bestows.

Thanksgiving is a sacred gift, a time to truly see,

The beauty in the simple things, the power of "we."

So let us raise our voices high, our thanks to heaven send,

For life, for love, for one another, gifts that never end.