I felt the tug, the loosening air~
Oh joy! I drift without earthly care.
I popped free with a laughing spin,
a tiny pilgrim, born of wind.
My comrades joined—what giddy glee,
dancing like colorful confetti spiritually.
The autumn breeze nudged us in its stride,
we somersaulted, tumbling side by side.
We skimmed the lakes, pirouetting on our way~
a drifting troupe, an autumnal ballet.
We rode the rivers, wild and free,
a giggling, leaf-born odyssey.
The wind grew hushed; our laughter stilled~
as though some deeper call was filled.
We felt the earth’s slow pull begin~
God’s summons soft as whispered wind.
We settled down in muted grace~
content to fade, to feed this place.
teardrops are shape-shifters,
changing the instant
they slip free~
tiny pilgrims
already seeking
what they’ll become next.
spiders collect some of them,
drinking them delicately,
then spinning our sorrow
into silver webs
that glisten like forgiveness
in morning light.
some harden into marbles~
miniature worlds of color
swirled from emotion~
grief becoming something
you can hold
without breaking.
some rise as pixie dust
soft as breath,
bright as mischief~
the raw material
of small miracles.
some drift upward as moonbeams
their heaviness forgotten,
their ache turned silver
as they join the quiet
of the night sky.
some sew themselves into wings
effervescent, glowing~
the soft architecture
of angels
who know what it means
to fall and rise again.
and the rarest tears
vibrate together~
a trembling chorus
that becomes stardust,
then dreams,
then the gentle light
that guides us home.
The Puritans were persecuted for expressing their belief
These Dissenters in the New World worshiped, such divinely blessed relief
For the largesse of Native Peoples, on pheasant, squash, corn and beans they dined
As we fondly recall the first Thanksgiving, warmth and generosity come to mind
Yet these Pilgrims allowed no religious dissent
voice disagreement and poof! off you went
They erected their churches with iconic white steeples
As they turned on their new friends as savage peoples
But I shall file this unsavory history away
And thank my lucky stars for this most pleasant day
I am also thankful for kind folks I’ve known, both passed and living
As I wish all of you a genuinely happy Thanksgiving
She is declared a mental case
her legs are shackled tight
in the street she snails up and down
naked without food
she freezes in December
near the drain curls up
unnoticed by pavement dwellers
building a bonfire of twigs, papers
cast-off shoes and rags
under the bridge sipping tea
I hear the bell tolling at Rajghat
pilgrims make haste to catch train
--R K Singh
Funny but the true cure, sickness admires.
That embodies joy which environmental service inspires,
To continuing its selfless humanity upkeep...
Which birthed our artistry: pens weep.
Blushing worries silent babies' trials to speak.
Inner mutterings key, fear demands seek-
How hens never wish to travel high.
Aren't they truly born to fly?
Not until been tempted; hunting chicks
For foods to make eaglets eagles
That only resulted to sensational flying conflicts,
Sometimes out of many fearful chickens like seagulls.
Dare to be, may be for real.
Dare to see, not in sin or for deal.
Be thy own cover, for chilling breeze.
Be thy sunny night, heat heals at ease.
Progress of Pilgrims
David J Walker
Poverties refugees
In portions of wealth
for the making
Sunbaked promises
Cotton spun gold
Such are the
stories told
For the taking
In the slim shadows of
Mills that turn wind
into water
soil into fodder for
cattle
forgotten graves
mark the progress of
Pilgrims on a
Caliche highway to heaven
only in numbers
never in words
we send codes
no longer do we live in the modern world
yet and still we fail to ascend
we are branded insane
our lifestyle is featured in NoWhere Anonymous
only existing out of print
i guess i will fix the sink
i guess you will hand me the tools
the dusty cd no longer will play
the dual cassette boombox was made by aiwa,
so it has not been working since decorative day one
why not join the earthworms
i wonder if slimy is still alive
all thrones in the dirt are made of mildew, which is weird
does that not define us
please become defiant and refuse to believe
a question mark will be served to you tomorrow after your wake up call
i think i will have exactly the same
Pillage and plunder, have your fill
Indifference to my screams as you kill
Living with the guilt, though you forget
God hasn’t forgiven. No, oppressor. Not yet.
Realistically we had this land, it was already discovered.
I alone founded it. Leif found us uncovered.
Me and mine treated it well and the planet loved us.
Spanish crusaders, English invaders, now my land shrugs us.
The crowd shuffles
hands raised in vain attempt
to catch a windblown lottery ticket
If you spend 25 bucks
(not counting the price of the turkey)
You can get the turkey
for 89 cents a pound
If not….you’ll pay more
for the turkey than for
the entire dinner.
Took my grandkids to the park.
saw 32 wild turkeys crossing the street
without a crossing guard.
Never play checkers with a cat.
I made Rock Cornish Game Hen for supper.
My kids wanted to know what happened to the turkey?
I told them I washed it…..and it shrunk.
I once ate “Blood Pudding” and Parsnips with my father.
Don’t ask!
How long does it take to become “indigenous”?
I asked Mom: “how many jelly beans can I have?”
She answered: “how many is too many.”
If you factor in all the cleaning, shopping, arranging, set-up, preparation….
the Thanksgiving meal comes to about $89.73 per person..
More if you have a “kids” table.
John G. Lawless
11/23/2021
What are we, my friends,
But
Pilgrims to this ephemeral world of
Fleeting dreams
Where
No matter what we:
Think
Do, or
Say,
Pilgrims to the end of our sojourn
We, certainly, shall stay!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 September 2021
Aristocrats may have it in their blood.
It speaks of deeds both dark and heroic,
of evil villains and the truly good,
and markers left both kindly and despotic .
All were aware of centuries long gone,
of conflicts won and lost upon this shore
and loves and lives both humble and wellborn,
within these brooding walls in days of yore.
Majestic symbol in these northern lands,
inspiring those who tread the Pilgrims’ Way,
who gaze across these shining, shifting sands
and know that Bamburgh’s stories live today.
A tiny hamlet tucked away midst the mountains of New Hampshire
A chill in the air; frost on the windowpane, icicle-framed
A fresh snow blanketing the ground; the silence of the holiday broken
by the pealing of the late-afternoon bells atop the village church
Stores shuttered, roads empty, save the occasional out-of-towner
Pilgrims trekking through snowdrifts, puffs of breath suspended in the air
Hearty greetings ringing out, piercing the quiescence, warming the soul
Lights switched on house by house, lamps pointing the way to Prayer
Three hundred people now gathered together in the village Church
Some neighbors, others friends; some acquaintances, few strangers
Three hundred people, on that Thursday in late November, united in gratitude
for all the blessings of the day, the Holiday, Thanksgiving Day, 1971
I too was there that day, proud to call those Pilgrims my brothers, my sisters
Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men -- from a tiny New Hampshire glen. Amen.
Who knows who would
'true valiant be'
when you can't see
beyond the end of your nose?
who knows?
It has to be Sunday some day
and today is some day for some
hymns and hers (towels in the bathroom)
down the stairs
toast and preserves in the conservatory
not mandatory
but it's Sunday.
God must be reeling in shock
wondering what he has done
Jesus is getting the backlash
it's always a Sunday for some.
I'm going to queue up for my
holy wine and wafer
it's
safer not to sit upon the fence
and where else can you find this
kind of entertainment
for a pound or even less,
for fifty
pence?
beyond when I pass into
poets corner
where the monks and Friars
sort wheat from the chaff
I shall laugh
I shall rhyme
have a bloody marvellous time
Who knows who
'..would true valiant be..'
Individual souls orbiting the world
Stuck in our own bored routine
Pilgrims we are
the earth,
a temple
live quickly
die quickly
others waiting
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.