Another challenge on our message board. If you would like to participate, come to the board. I post a challenge every weekend and you'll find the link HERE. When you get there, click 'General Board' and the topics will appear.

I put a list of things, or items, that must appear in the poem. Each item must have its own stanza and the poem must have a theme. Participants must use at least 5 words from the list, or they may use all.

They don't see a picture until the page is published.



This is the list for this weekend (11-17-07)


*


gravy boat

gratitude


window


kitchen


cranberries


"It's a family tradition."


grandpa


The poems are very imaginative and quite different from each other. I thought the results were very good and if you like what you read, let the poet know. They love feedback.


 

 

BOBBY STOLE THE GRAVY BOAT
SAT OUTSIDE AND ATE IT ALL
HE FOUND A SPOT QUITE REMOTE
WATCHED PRETTY LEAVES IN THE FALL


WITH GRATITUDE HE HAD A SMILE
AS HE DIPPED HIS FINGERS IN
NOT REALIZING WHEN FOUND OUT
GRANDMA WOULD RAISE A DIN


GRANDPA WAS IN THE KITCHEN
MAKING PUNCH FOR THE PARTY TO BE
ANYONE DRINKING TOO MUCH
WOULD FIND IT HARD TO SEE


GRANDMA WAS MAKING ORANGE CRANBERRIES
OH THIS WAS A FAVORITE DISH
TURKEY WAS IN THE OVEN TO ROAST
SALLY WANTS A BONE ON WHICH TO WISH


THANKSGIVING DINNER AND MANY CAME
A FAMILY TRADITION IT WAS EACH YEAR
RELATIVES BROUGHT THEIR FAVORITE FOOD
UNCLE JOE BROUGHT LOTS OF BEER


GRANDMA CHANCED TO LOOK OUT
THE WINDOW TO SEE BOBBY'S MISDEED
AND BOY OH BOY DID SHE GET MAD
HER TEMPER WAS EVER SO TEED


Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)










”Careful with that gravy boat,”
Grandma said as she sat the table,
“Sherman’s men did not that one break,
It has been in the family since before the war.”


Gratitude for the family way, gratitude in every way,
Thanksgiving was when the family gathered round,
The good, the bad and those out of jail,
Family means a lot to my grandma.


Uncle Bill sat out the window looking,
As his head is all screwed up,
Nam really messed him up,
But it was drugs that were his undoing.


The kitchen did have that aroma,
As seven women scurried about,
Grandma on her cane,
Directed the group with stern orders.


Cousin Sarah sat on the floor,
Eating cranberries and a frowning,
Grandma picked her up and
After a hug and kiss, she was OK.


Aunt Sue said it was a farce,
Grandma ran her from the kitchen,
Grandma stopped it all and explained,
“it’s a family tradition.”


Grandpa Bill on his crutches,
Sipped bourbon from a cup,
Lost his leg on Iwo Jima,
Needs a nip to settle his nerves.


Cousin Clara just got out of prison,
Selling drugs and prostitution,
But she is family too,
Along with her seven kids.


Quite a mélange and odd bunch we were,
But it is our family thing.
For one day each year,
We all act like we love each other.


By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)











Momma got down her old gravy boat that used to belong to great grandma Bess.
Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, a time to say grace and everyone to bless.


Gratitude should be for everyday of the year,
But Thanksgiving makes us recall the good things for which we are thankful crystal clear.


The dining room window was frosted with a lacy pattern that looked pretty with the setting sun.
Tomorrow was looked forward to with the anticipation of camaraderie and fun.


In the kitchen, we got the best china down from the top shelf of the cupboard,
Not much else up there, not even a bone for old Mother Hubbard.


Sister Carrie put the cranberries on to cook,
And ever so often we all stopped doing our chores to look.


We were busy cleaning celery and making pumpkin pies,
While Momma kept saying, "it's a family tradition", I tell no lies.


Down at the woodshed, grandpa was cutting some firewood for the fireplace so everyone would be warm.
The sky looked like snow, maybe a storm.


The big day finally arrived, and the kitchen was full of good smells, bustling skirts and busy hands.
We surely must be the most blessed of all the lands.


By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@comcast.net)










That gravy boat is priceless
Momma did declare
I got it at the dollar store
So use it with great care.


You must be ever grateful
For the food upon the table
Eat it all and do not waste
And say prayers if you're able.


The autumn leaves are falling
I see them from my window
Rake them up real quickly
Before it starts to snow.


Cranberries grow on bushes
They do not grow in cans
Buy the fresh ones only
When making Thanksgiving plans.


"It's a family tradition"
Momma used to say
We cannot eat the turkey
Until we stop and pray.


The kitchen smells spicy and wonderful
The aroma of turkey entices
Eat up everything quickly
Before we attract hungry mices. (sorry about that)


Hurry and finish eating
The game's ready to begin
Grandpa's getting fidgety
To miss it would be a sin.








Looking out the window
I see my family and friends
Coming up our walk --- and today
Guess we'll all have to pretend!


In comes Sally, Benny and them
Four moochers who eat like pigs
Let's not forget ole Matty
Wearing one of her gosh awful wigs!


Into the kitchen we all do sit, with
Grandpa flopping in the nearest chair
Everyone dig on in, we need'n
Wait for me to say a prayer !


But Grandma insists on a blessing
And points to Brother Pete
'Lord thank you for this food
And all that I'll be forced to eat!'


By Connie (CSThomas@aol.com)











Turkey Day Ballad



Myrtle is just so grandiose,
(Spends big money on expandy-hose)
So it's a family tradition that Myrtle cooks,
The family fancy feast from the best cookbooks.


She's strange but wears a heart of gratitude,
Likes knowin' about her kinfolks' attitude;
She truly believes her very own press,
Before the food she bought a pea purple dress.


Grandpa can't wait for his Myrtle's big dinner.
In his old bald head, she's his life's one winner.
She's kept him well fed in so many ways,
Why not this day of all turkey days?


Through his window he watches for the first winter snow,
When he and Myrtle will roll in their throw;
Clint and Bobby and their own little cuties
Will park by the fire, all their babies in bootees.


You'll smell the old gobbler and sage in the dressing;
Grandpa'll be called on to say a sweet blessing.
He'll drink up the sauce, eat the cranberry kind, too.
They'll all stuff and laugh ‘til their faces turn blue.


While later in the kitchen the dishes get washed,
The animals purr and bark; the pigs get slopped.
Grandpa's snores embarrass poor Myrtle,
So she sneaks upstairs and comes out of her girdle.


So all in all you could safely say
Grandpa and his progeny had plenty come their way
From the day when pilgrims bring gravy boats came,
Until 2007 when they're riding the gravy train.


By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)










She looks out the window
And sees them coming up the lane,
Four car-loads of family:
Aunts, uncles, cousins.
All coming for Thanksgiving dinner,
And a chance to be together again.


The old, two-story house
With its tin roof and add-on rooms
Will be noisy all day...
Because it always is when family comes.


Mama has been in the kitchen all week, baking,
And Papa has kept a fire going in the fireplace.
Uncle Henry will ask Mama
If she made her famous smashed sweet-potatoes...
Because he always does,
And grandpa will give his yearly toast,
Ending with, 'It's a family tradition."


When no one is looking
Aunt Beck will rearrange the place cards...
Because she always does,
And Mama will smile because Mama isn't one to complain.


Last week Papa bought fresh cranberries for Mama's relish,
But held some back to string for the Christmas tree.
Grandma will comment on
How much each of the cousins has grown...
Because she always does.


Papa's hard cider will be gone before noontime...
Because it always is,
And Mama will be hoping that someone will notice
Her needlepoint sampler that says 'Gratitude'.
The gravy boat can't help but be noticed
Because it's new.
Grandpa drank too much hard cider last year
And broke the old one.


The first car is right now coming through the gate,
And here come the others...
The old mantle clock slowly chimes the hour,


And the memories fade....




By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)










"Where's Aunt Peggy's Gravy Boat?"
I yelled across the table.
The screeching starts to hurt my throat,
"Move it! As soon as you are able!"


I know I have a poor attitude.
For this thanksgiving feast.
My relatives have no gratitude,
They swarm from West to East.


As I pass by the window,
I hear a mighty roar!
Good Lord, Let my heartbeat slow,
Here comes 20 more!


My kitchen's packed from front to back,
Cousins are a-bounding.
My nerves are shot, I can't keep track.
A headache is really pounding!


Now I can't find the cranberries!
Fourteen cans I had right here.
One of those ex-wives of Terry's
Probably traded it for beer.


"It's a family tradition" They all said.
"Nervous Breakdown this time of year."
I've got to get these hogs all fed,
Then swill them down with beer.


Grandpa was the only one,
Who bothered to say "Thank You"...
But after all was said and done,
I was happy it was through!




By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)





 

 

 

 

         

 

 

 

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Grieving

Drops of Her Voice

Autumn Melancholy

Once Upon A November ( 4 Authors )

Haiku: Low Place

Wanderings ( 6 Authors )

A Touch of Her Hand

The Old Wraparound

Waters' Journey

Life's Seasons

A Touch of Her Hand



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