I don't understand Thanksgiving
I don't understand it at all
Instead of giving thanks for things
We sit and watch football
Americans give thanks each year
For the bounties in their life
Like freedom, food and housing
A loving family, little strife
But, in Canada, it's different
We give thanks, slightly the same
But, ours is a holiday from politicians
It's not held the day we came
We watch football, and eat turkey
Gorge ourselves and fall asleep
Leaving dishes till tomorrow
We know the mess will keep
but, if Thanksgiving has true meaning
And we give thanks, I want to know
Who are we truly thanking really
Is it God ? I need to know
Are we thanking God for loving us
Even though he can't be seen
Do we thank ourselves for what we've earned
It's not as easy as it seems
I mean, really when it comes down to it
What is Thanksgiving truly for?
Is it to gorge ourselves on turkey
So we can watch football some more
It's not something that I'm fond of
It's a day off work, that's all
I'm thankful for my bounty
But, I don't know who to call
To tell that I am thankful
I'm a transplant here you see
I don't understand Thanksgiving
It don't mean much to me
If a homeless man is thankful
Is it right that some are not
They just eat and watch their football
All the things that he has not
He's as thankful as the next man
In fact I'd say he's more
Because to him, a true thanksgiving
Doesn't need to have a score.

It was time for celebration
Thanksgiving weekend was now here
A time for food and football
A time for love and prayer

In front of old Gianni's
The parade was marching by
But, way back in the alley
Someone was singing to the sky

The Blues man sat and pondered
As he sometimes chose to do
Of his songs and of his music
That really reached too few

The parade was full of bluster
High School Bands and all that stuff
While out back of Old Gianni's
The Blues man had it rough

But, he sang songs of Thanksgiving
To the Lord, and to the sky
He was praising all worlds beings
Though no body did pass by

He sang "Glory, Glory, Glory"
He sang "Allehlujah " too
Even though he sat with no one
The Blues man wasn't blue

Back door opened slowly
As the parade was winding down
People from The Street
Were slowly coming round

The Blues man didn't notice
Singing on without a break
Singing songs of praise and glory
With just the sounds that he could make

Then all at once he looked out
Saw the quickly gathered throng
He changed what he was playing
And he broke into a song

The Blues man started Christmas
Singing of a Christmas Tree
And of a long ago soft Silent Night
And the entire show was free

He didn't sing of presents
He didn't sing of our excess
He sang Christmas Hymns of long ago
When we all gave thanks for less

The Blues man had his medcin'
Drank a bit, and sang some more
Then he started slowing down
When she came out from her back door

The woman with the used book place
Stood silent, listening with this cast
Of The Street owners and people
On who life had given up so fast

She walked up to The Blues man
Through the crowd to where he was
And she started singing with him
Which made the Blues man pause

He knew he'd heard this voice before
Back when people knew his name
It was older and some shaky
But, the voice it was the same

The woman looked down at him
Gave a smile, shed a tear
Then she said "It's me dad"
"It's no dream...I am here"

The Blues man kept on playing
For two hours more or so
When the weather, not the people
Put an end to this mans show

Another past Thanksgiving
Was still playing in his mind
But, The Blues man and his daughter
Had a life they had to find

No one heard her say it
Just The Blues man, as he sang
This was the start of a new story
As bells of Thanksgiving loudly rang

Heavenly Father,
Thank you for your grace,
Thank you for your forgiveness,
And for the peace you offer me;that which surpasses all human understanding,
Thank you for your protection from all dangers and for those I faced I say thank you because they've made me stronger,
Thank you for all my loved ones,
Lord thank you for everything,
Take over my life,for only you can,
May your name be glorified,
Forever and ever through Christ

Amen.

I AM FROM NORTH PHILLY
FROM SMALL STREETS, VACANT LOTS
AND PEOPLE WHO AREN'T THAT FRIENDLY.
I AM FROM THE WISE FAMILY
WHERE THANKSGIVING IS ALWAYS AT GRANDMAS
AND WATCH OUT FOR MOM ON YOUR BIRTHDAY
I'M FROM MOVIE NIGHTS
THE SCARY ONES THAT MADE YOU JUMP
AND THE SENTIMENTAL ONES THAT MADE YOU CRY
FROM SPANISH FOOD ONE NIGHT AND JAMAICAN THE OTHERS
I'M FROM LOUD MUSIC
AND "CLEAN YOUR ROOM!" SUNDAYS
I AM FROM WRESTLING WITH MOM
AND TRIPPING LITTLE BRO IN THE LIVING ROOM
I AM FROM RELIGIOUS ELDERS
AND GRANDPA BEING IN BED ALL DAY
I AM FROM MAGAZINES ON THE WALL, SHARED BEDS AND DARK CURTAINS
I AM FROM NORTH PHILLY

i thank my hands
for wiping my tears tonight
i thank my eyes
for crying releases the pain
i thank my skin
for being a scarred canvas

The flavor of the winter
on a cold morning after
a storm starts with a kitchen full
of busy hand making
while snow is flaking
a warm oven baking.

Steam laced with scents that
engage the heart in happiness while reawakening
childhood memories.

Mugs filled
with the warmth of coffee, tea, or cocoa
that soothes the throat when sipped.

Eyes smiling as
family members not together recently
give good company.

Thoughts of hope and
Happiness fill the soul and the mind
as the holidays usher the year’s end.

~Miguel

As I watched her cut the turkey. Her hands moving like a locomotive. All the drive with direct intentions. Wanting to do nothing more than to serve the present hearts. Wrists wrapped in forgiveness. Wrists that have bent backwards like iron boards melted into spinal chords. Giving light to the veins tangling up here telephone pole arm ensuring that each moment she makes is electrifying. Work horse working at the jaw bit. Feeling freedom elbow down. Fingernails maroon layered. Tattered with stories of long days between selfless moments. Her hands had touched more lives than god can count. We lose touch of ourselves. To find star points in the sky waiting on us to make the first move. Her fingers bolted through gods carpet creating stars, moving the moon, and painting constellations over our heads. I am thankful for her giving. Not that she gave her life for me, no that was taken, by medical books and dictionary definitions. It is that she gave me life, so I shall bleed life through my pours. My bones will tremble with her presence releasing all forms of earthquake. 2 years ago. She did not cut the turkey. Her hands too weak to hold the air above her lips. Two years and your name has still not left my lips.