The town of Plymouth has a rock.
Each buckled shoe must have its sock.
Each open door must first be shut,
and this bolt needs no other nut.
Just as all these things are true,
This ardent "me" must have a "you".
A Day of Thanksgiving
A
day of
Thanksgiving
and holiday
is celebrated
and observed on the fourth
Thursday of November in
the United States to honor
the Pilgrims, who colonized Plymouth,
Massachusetts in sixteen twenty-one.
***
Note: Thanksgiving Day became a federal holiday in 1863 during the presidency of Abraham Lincoln (1809–1865), the 16th POTUS who served from 1861 until his assassination in 1865.
Stop your balderdash and poppycock
You're the biggest windbag on the block
Everything that you've said
Must have gone to your head
Cuz your bean's the size of Plymouth Rock
* I'm a vegetarian, so this second limerick is not to be taken literally.
Whether or not you live in the States,
to my poet friends, wrought by the Fates,
I sure would like to convey,
a happy Thanksgiving Day,
to everyone, and my Australian mates.
Did they really land on Plymouth rock,
and when they hit it, was it a shock?
I don't know about you,
but I can't wait til two.
I want my turkey* at one o'clock.
Pilgrims aboard the Mayflower
As sails made the most of the breeze
Longed to make home in a brave new land
Enduring the most vicious seas
Finally, anchored they ‘trod’ Plymouth rock
And not one was in a bikini
Conflict with locals would rage on and on
Eventually there would be Chablis
there in plymouth, where the land kisses the ocean,
there is a sun, a sun that never sets, a sun called Cass.
a sun that shines on the free spirits of the Waterfronts,
in thousands of meetings between two worlds,
where the sea and the sun fall in love,
under the rain of stars that fall from the sky for people like us,
for the ships that with sailing wounds find rest in your rays,
there under the Smeaton Tower,
you are the light of hope
for the promised land,
for the stairways to heaven,
towards dreams and stars,
to touch the sun that never sets.
in the small port of Barbican,
you are the spirit of the night
after every drink,
after every dance,
after every smile of people,
Shine your rays,
the real treasury of the Treasury Bar,
the sleeping beauty of a city,
without sunrise and sunset,
under a sun that never sets
a sun named Cass.
I am the University of Yale
Opens its door.
I am the beginning of the
Revolutionary War.
I am one of the 13
Colonies.
I am the Sons of Liberty
Ideologies.
I am the Pilgrams at Plymouth
Rock.
I am the Boston Tea Party thrown
Off the dock.
I am the day the Navy was
Created.
I am Paul Revere the midnight
Ride awaited.
I am Ben Franklin and
Nathan Hale.
I am the Declaration of
Independence in detail.
I am the Bill of Rights and
Betsy Ross.
I am George Washington he
Is the boss.
I am the making of the U.S.
Marines.
I am a patriot breaking away
From the Queen.
I am the Bunker Hill
Battle.
I am Benedict Arnold and
His psychobabble.
I am Samuel Adams and
Thomas Payne.
I am the Boston massacre
Independence gained.
I am the colonial era and
The Sugar Act.
I am the Pilgrams and natives
Made a pact.
TURBO1904
Sometimes, we make our wishes on a chance
that folklore or traditions seem to work
and take that gamble using one of them
will make the longed-for wish for us come true.
We hold one side of the dried wishbone tight;
the other held by someone, wishing too.
Then silently express the wish in mind;
with intense hope, pray for the favored break.
And in a flash, that break decides our fate!
The shorter side tells us the wish is dead;
the side with, joint attached, brings utter joy-
the wish assigned to that will soon come true.
How old traditions seem to somehow last-
especially, a simple one like that!
From Roman times to Plymouth Rock, still now-
the larger piece of wishbones holds good luck!
September 10, 2022
~3rd Place~
Contest: Pick-A-Title, Vol 32
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Theme 4.) Broken Wishbone
Judged: 10/13/2022
Blown by Atlantic wind and sail in chains
once were ragged souls like chattels branded -
from the Guinea Coast to old Port of Spain
African herdsmen on slave ships landed.
From my father’s car I saw the canefields
where slaves cut from cyan-see to cyah-see.
Where broken men of burden stooped and kneeled
my father would stop to cut cane for me.
Now broke are those fetters of time and fate
in that dark and soulless age of tyranny,
and I in old plantation, horse ranch and estate
on his fold-out walking stick seat sat his knee.
In its powerdrive push-button auto as a lad
I rode the hills and streets of old Trinidad -
in that big pale grey Plymouth Fury I swear
I saw ghosts of the mills and the ploughshare.
Written: December 2009
snowflakes falling soon
precipitation a hop
away from ‘morrow
goosebumps like ice under sheets
might wear my sweater to sleep
12/25/2021
An old man in Plymouth with a set of false teeth
Was eating a piece of tough meat on Christmas feast
When he ate, his dentures with the meat fell off his mouth
His dog waiting below gobbled it and hastily ran south!
26 Dec 2021
A Funny Christmas Themed Poetry Contest
Sponsor. Tania Kitchin
Halloween Michigan
We aloft we believe not in superstitions
Are you calling your heart
My love is reminsed
My soul kisses
The rim of my mind
Is ever so inclined
Social services Massachusetts
Plymouth Rock confusion
Are you stalling
Your spirit jumping hoops
Basketball bouncing off your chest
L. A. Nick's didn't make any basket
I am calling your heart
Let us dance away all holidays
Stop, recieve the trust of God
Allow Him to invoke His love
INVOKING GOD'S LOVE-
11/30/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Quarry mine in the presents of His glory
Rocky mountain are the stairwell to the heaven
Key lime pie to the sky
Green light deep dark world
This be the story
Tumbleweed embracing Plymouth Rock laden
Sparkle wild huckleberry flies
The sparrow tours
I repented soul changed in mid Glory
Spirit risen rises to the Holy of Holies
11/21/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
I know why the caged bird sings
He sings to let us know
We are still here
That we will survive
I know why the caged bird sings
To tell our people
Don't let them get you down
Don't ever let them make you quit
Ever
He sings to show
The power of your heart
That no matter the pain and anguish
We will forge on
That we will cross that bridge of woe
From the day we were dropped on Plymouth rock
Until we saw Bro. Floyd and Sis. Taylor murdered
Our voices WILL continue to rise
We know why the caged bird sings
Thank you Mama Angelou
(c)kingpen2021
In 1588 Sir Francis Drake,
over a game of bowls, his time he did take.
Saying I’ll play my game before England’s fate.
So the Spanish will just have to wait!
There once was a young sailor named Drake,
who some thought was a bit of a flake.
On Plymouth Hoe he stood
while playing with his wood
not knowing that history he'd make.
Drake was from the Elizabethan era
finishing his game as Spain drew nearer.
A stubborn man and quite contrary
until he died of dysentery!
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