Archive for November, 2019

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THANKSGIVING’S STAIN
By David Allen

Like many holidays,
Thanksgiving has a dark side.
Much like Columbus Day.
Don’t get me wrong,
I love the idea of getting family 
and friends together for an Autumnal feast 
to celebrate surviving another year.
That was the reason for the gathering
of Indians and pilgrims that day
some 398 years ago.
The Pilgrims had survived a horrendous year.

Of the 102 who survived the Mayflower’s trip,
only 51 survived the first winter — 
22 men, 25 children, and 4 women. 
75 percent of the women had died.
The local Indian tribe, the Wampanoag,
helped that first year, showing the Pilgrims
how to farm the New World and 90 of them joined
in the English tradition of celebrating the Fall harvest. 

The tribe was repaid over the next 50 years
With murders and massacres.
In 1675, their situation was so dire,
many of them joined in an uprising
called King Philip’s War
The Colonists were too strong by then
And another 40 percent of the tribe were killed.
Many of the Male Indian survivors
were sold into slavery in the Caribbean,
their women and children became farm 
and house slaves in New England.

I doubt many of their descendants
Think of this holiday as very thankful.

 

THANKS, NO THANKS

Posted: November 22, 2019 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

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THANKS, NO THANKS
By David Allen

It’s late November again
Thanksgiving’s at hand
A time to feast with family and friends;
Time to reflect and to give thanks.

I’m giving thanks that my spine
Survived another knifeless year,
Though my back, racked by rods
And pins, bent my back a bit
and stole inches from my height. 

I am thankful for my muse, my wife,
We’ve survived another year –
Twenty-nine more than the two she promised
When we first exchanged our vows.

“I’ll give you two years, Allen, “she said
The day she agreed to marry me.
“So you better straighten up!” she warned.”
I never did and yet, she still stands by my side.

And let’s not forget to thank
My Hoosier poet friends
For giving me an outlet for 
My observations on life. 
Open mics and scribe gatherings 
Fill my nights, hopefully
Encouraging new poets 
To follow this path.

But this season also leaves me
Thinking of things I am not thankful for.
Mass deaths in shootings in schools and churches,
The rise of White Nationalism.
And attacks on our rights
In “The Land of the Free.”
Children torn from their parents
And thrown in cages because
They were born in some other country.
Soldiers and sailors discharged 
And flown to exile in countries
Even though they served us honorably.
A presidential liar whose graft knows no limits
Who daily commits crimes
His followers just brush away.

But I’m hopeful next year
Will overflow with thanks
To new faces who erase
Trump and his thugs from our ranks.

House of Lies