Thanksgiving

Pour out your heart, for a moments praise, you of selfless thanks. Did you know that we made up this holiday? No celebrations, no gathering, no swapping of jovial thanks over full plates. Just another day to be merry over conquered days and hardships softened. Whatever the real story, for they are plenty, we can not pin-point precisely. Today, nonetheless, is Thanksgiving. We have made it a day for families. A day to recall the year and spill our thanks onto each other. "I'm thankful for family." "I'm thankful for my health." "I'm thankful for my freedom." We gush, with glowing eyes and genuine smiles as the table agrees with us. You're praised as if you were the first to give thanks, for such things, even though, they're the same cliches that everyone else in the country fumbles out, in an attempt to dodge any sort of creative, genuinely thought out answer. What are you thankful for? Think carefully, thoughtfully and quickly. It's not the SATs. There is no right answer. Eat your food, if you must, engorge your self with pumpkin spiced everything and gravy's galore, but, be thankful for something, please. If you're of the millions who drudge to airports out of duty to the holiday's name and place, carry on, I'm not speaking to you. To you 'Puritans', (ignorant, by the way, to any sort of history of such, who could not celebrate the simple birthday, let alone, this holiday), take part in the festivities and tell me; Why give name to this holiday? Why once a year are you forced to rack your brain for mundane everyday answers. Give lightly, people, everyday be thankful. You've so much to say for it. Not only on Thanksgiving.

Winter

Angry spite brewing all summer.
Flourishing fury, pinching at the seams of autumn.
Breaking the canvas, unable to contain all chaos.

Crystal splinters devouring my face,
pulling my hair, tripping my feet.
Whistling wind whipping through skeleton branches,
no chance to rest in peace.
Burying every trace of Summer,
sealing it in an icy grave.

There's an eerie fit of silence;
stillness unexplained.
The sky sewn shut by blankets,
warming us for the show.
They dance with no purpose,
float with ease, plummeting with urgency.

I embrace what's left of my nonage,
shoving all nubile prospects aside .
Dancing like a child, lapping the silver flakes,
rolling in it's powdered bliss.
The best gifts are ones intended for the worst,
that you've happened to make better;
Moments just like this.

Not That But This

Did you know that I can hear through cracks,
make memories grow like weeds,
burrowing your brain, dropping little seeds?

Have you ever given it a thought; perhaps it isn't words,
it isn't voice, it isn't lips, it's utterly absurd.
You'll flap your mouth and gush and goo,
yip and yelp and gawk and coo,
all against the world and only about you.

Could you breathe against the window please'
look and search for truth,
blowing kisses to the skeleton trees,
drawing hearts and stars and other signs of youth?

Don't tell a lie to gain a truth, don't give a hug to gain a kiss,
you'll break a bond and break a heart, then left alone, un-missed.

I killed a bird without a stone,
I crushed his wings with my fist,
then I smoothed it's wrinkled parts and on it's papered wings a list:
"When folding origami cranes, don't  think of that but this."