I was a young woman 
fortunate to be surrounded
by brilliant, striving people
pushing themselves through life
high achievers
amassing status and wealth

they taught me
the way to greatness
is sacrifice and suffering
never giving up
until the finish line is crossed
until the prize is won

but they were wrong
they realized it too 
after decades of discipline
their victory was lonely
their prize was hollow
their life felt empty

I am an old woman now
we would all tell you
the real prize is this very day
filled with its own purpose and meaning
its own loves and joys
surprises and wonders

the way to greatness
is not reaching the summit
it’s loving the climb

Noble spuds of fluff and cream
you are the star of dinner dreams
with the gravy or without
you make my taste buds twist and shout

sausage stuffing on that plate
the apple salad that I ate
not carrots, corn, nor dinner roll
none fill this hole inside my soul

only you my tater god
can make the guests not seem so odd

mashed potatoes this is true
you’re the best and I love you

although the turkey's golden brown
it’s you, who wear Thanksgiving’s crown

We lay nestled in the cradle of our well-loved bed
both of us weathered by the storms of life
it is a familiar embrace honed over decades
our bodies perfectly interwoven
this is our sanctuary and the center of our universe

as the night wraps us in its quiet cocoon
we speak in a language of reverence
sharing memories of beautiful yesterdays
basking in waves of gratitude
savoring a love that has endured

Mathematicians tell us
the probability of you
emerging from the cosmic dust
is the number 10
followed by 2,640,000 zeroes

it mirrors 2.5 million souls
playing a game of chance
with trillion sided dice
each making their toss
and each rolling the exact same number

a miracle is something so elusive
as to be nearly impossible
yet here you are
manifested from stardust
a celestial miracle 

During the reign
of a King named David
it’s said 100 people a day
were dying from the plague

the legend goes
the wise Sages believed
the misfortune had a spiritual cause
which needed to be offset

they deemed the people
would each day count
100 blessings
to restore balance

the sunshine
the healing cut on a finger
the gift from a friend
the soughing of the wind

the ripe apple
soft candlelight
the warm hug of a husband
93 more to go

may we we all live in gratitude
counting our blessings
and when we die
may our last breath
be a whispered
“THANK YOU”

They turned off the cable
they shut off the heat
you’ve got plenty of buns
but not one piece of meat
yet millions of people
think your life is sweet

Your cat ran away
you can’t find your shoe
you got laid off from work
and have nothing to do
yet millions of people
would trade spots with you

when you’re down on your luck
or under a curse
you’re riding a bus
but it could be a hearse
life may be bad
but it sure could be worse

this is your story
it’s up and it’s down
but that is no reason
to wear that sad frown
don’t grab all those thorns
and fashion a crown

stand up real straight
then here’s the hard part
put a smile on your face
and thanks in your heart
then take a deep breath
and make a fresh start

I stand on the precipice of eternity
awed by the sacred gift of life

as I dance with time
I feel its fleeting seconds

wrapped in the warmth
of infinite gratitude

I inhale existence
and exhale love

In a tiny bog where cranberries lay
a little berry dreamed one day
of joining the feast on Thanksgiving night
to be savored by someone - a fleeting delight
he'd be on the table, as part of the spread
wrapped in a relish, or baked in the bread

The berry was prepped as the feast day drew near
but this turn of events filled Ada with fear
the cranberry's fate - a plight so absurd
riled Ada to protest and demand to be heard

"To end the torment the cruelty and gore
let the berries live free forevermore!
no more on the table for this cruel feast
no more to be eaten a fate like a beast
I stand with the berries right by their side
let cranberries live in sweet bogs of pride”

Her rallying cry for a kinder fate
spared the cranberry from Thanksgiving’s plate
but christmas is next filling Ada with dread
a terrible fate now loomed straight ahead
to be stabbed, impaled, on a string so tight
hung on a tree, in the cold winter's night

“In the spirit of love and goodwill to all
let the cranberries roam and let them stand tall
for the holiday season let’s see the light
let’s celebrate life not a fruit's final night
let all berries dance in their bogs so grand
our symbol of freedom throughout the land
and while we’re at it let’s not cut down trees
may freedom for cranberries forever be!”

For decades
our family’s thanksgiving prayer
has been a mad-lib
assembled just before dinner

over the years
we’ve been thankful
for furry ears
for magical farts
for curly fingers
and flying butts

countless assorted oddities
have taught us two things

everything
is worthy of gratitude

and the best prayer
is always a thank you

Psychologists measure thinking

their scientific studies
inform us about our hard wiring
so we can jump the circuits
when they don’t serve us

I like the pie test
where doctor shows us a big circle
with a cut out of a little wedge
every time every person’s eyes
move first to the missing piece

we notice first the loss
we notice first the hurt
we notice first the missing piece

jump your circuits
keep looking
there’s still so much pie
to appreciate

see the blessings

If you’re wondering what got me started writing poems, you’ll find the story here. Or, if you’re wondering why this collection is called Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read the past issues of Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read more of my poems, check out my website: Life at 240.

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