In the United States, we have a holiday – the fourth Thursday of November called – Thanksgiving. Although some make it out to be a religious holiday or a patriotic holiday, it is neither. Thanksgiving is a regular day of the week dedicated to being grateful, that is, thankful. Thankful for where we are in life, wherever that may be. It has been the custom of this day to prepare a great feast for our family and friends. A secondary custom is to watch the Thanksgiving Day parades and football on TV. It is mostly an excuse to be with those we love, to break bread, and be happy for what we have in life.
However, this year it is different. For the sake of all, we are hunkering down in each of our bubbles. Sacrificing being with all those we love to keep us all safe from this terrible scourge – the COVID 19 virus. So this is a poem I wrote for the times.
Thanksgiving Day MemoriesIn the Days Before COVID 19
by Marie Staight
Thanksgiving memories in the Days before COVID 19
I awaken to talking and laughter
The rhythm of forks on plates beating like a tambourine
The sweet sound of people snoring after.
The smells gently waft through the house
Exciting my nose and palate
Accompanied by the pungent scent of Brussel sprouts
Whiffs – must be the shallots.
My mouth has the memory of the tastes
The outside crisp, the inside juicy
Mommy opening the oven to baste
How crispy and dark the top, you see?
The smooth whipped white potatoes
The salty taste of the olives and pickles
The crispy, crunchy bitter taste of Fried green tomatoes
The sweet, tart taste of cranberry sauce tickles.
The colors of the table set for a queen.
Blue plates, gold silverware
The yellow cornucopia of squash, cobbed corn, and beans
The freshly ironed green linen was laid with care.
Sometimes I am in a silly mood and have to write goofy stories. This is one of them. I suggest you read it out loud making the indicated noises – makes it even goofier than the written word.
The Strange Case of Tom and Tilly Turkey
The following is the Barnyard Investigation interviews’ actual transcripts concerning the disappearance of Tom and Tilly Turkey on November 25th. The lead BDI (Barnyard Detective Investigator) was Maxine Moo, helped by the special agent Billy Bull.
The first witness to be interviewed was Gilbert Goat.
Maxine Moo (MM): “Good afternoon, Mr. Goat. I’m sure you are aware of why you …”
Gilbert Goat (GG): “Oh, I am very aware of why I am here. Something Baaad had happened to Tom and Tilly. I knew as soon as I saw the blood on the stump in the barnyard later in the day that something very Baaad had happened to someone…”
MM: “Yes, well, Mr. Goat. What I’d like to know is when did you see Tom and Tilly last?”
GG: “Well, let me see. I guess it was the morning of the 25th. I’d noticed that there was a lot of activity going on at the Farmhouse. Mistress was even late feeding us, which isn’t like her. There were all sorts of wonderful smells wafting out from the Farmhouse kitchen – apples, which we got some scraps from when she did come to feed us.”
MM: “Yes, yes, go on, but when did you last see Tom and Tilly?”
GG: “Tom came out first from his nighttime coop. About ten minutes later, Tilly waddled out – between you and me – she had put on quite a few pounds recently. Of course, Tom was always a rather hefty guy, but he too looked a bit paunchy that day. If you ask me, I think it was because Mistress had been giving them extra corn in the last month. Anyway, Tom was strutting around muttering about how he had a baaad feeling about the coming days.”
Billy Bull: (Low voice) “A Bad feeling? Did he tell you why he felt like that?”
GG: (Looking at Billy Bull with surprise and then turned back to Detective Mooo.)” He said something about a platter and gravy, but I had no idea what he was talking about. Tilly was her usual silly self, searching the ground for any stray specks of corn that might still be eaten. She was clucking on about how Tom always thought the sky was falling.”
MM: “Go on – what happened after that?”
GG: “That was when Mistress came out to feed us goats. I don’t recall seeing Tom and Tilly after that.
MM: “Alright, thank you, Gilbert. You were very helpful.”
[Gilbert leaves muttering about the Baaad things that surely happened to the Turkeys.]
BB: “Well, boss, what did you think of that? Tom had a hunch that something terrible was going to happen that day.”
MM: “Let’s see if Peter Pony can shed some light on what happened to the Turkeys.”
[Peter Pony was led into the interrogation stall, and Billy Bull started his questioning]
BB: “How old are you, Peter?”
Peter Pony (PP): “Twenty- two years old. Lived here all my life. Know everyone, Seen everybody. Nothing gets by meeeh (neigh).”
BB: “What can you tell us about the disappearance of Tom and Tilly Turkey?’
PP: “I had slept in on the 25th because I … well … I was kicking up my heels the night before, so I was late going out to the corral. It was then that I saw the Master coming out with his ax. He stood there in the Turkey coop yard, sharpening his ax. I knew then that someone was in Big Trouble.” [PP paused here to shake his head. He gulped and began again.] “Anyway, the Mistress came out then and started nagging on him to ‘get it over with.’ She needed to get the ‘Birds de-feathered if the children were to have Thanksgiving Dinner tomorrow.’ Well, I had heard such talk before, and I decided to make a run for the pasture as I didn’t want to be around anymore. I took off for the pasture, and as I did, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom and Tilly rushing about in their enclosure looking very upset. I never saw them after that. They just disappeared.”
BB: “Thank you, Peter, for your eye-witness account.”
PP: “Like I said, nothing gets past Meeeh. [Neighs]”
MM says, “Things don’t look good for the Turkeys. We have one more eye-witness, Robbie Rooster. I’ll see if I can round him up.”
BB answers, “He’s probably strutting around the yard in front of his girls. He’s such a show- off.”
[The interrogation resumes after 10 minutes when BDI Moo returns with Robbie Rooster strutting proud as a peacock into the stall.]
RR: “I know what happened to those poor birds. I saw it with my own eyes,” he crowed Er-er- aroo as he paced back and forth in the room. [Er-er- aroo]
MM:” Please, could you sit down and tell us what you saw?”
RR: “Er-er-aroo, I saw the Master do it. I was sitting atop the barn watching out for Freddy Fox, who has been sneaking around this last week. I saw the whole thing happen! Er-er- aroo First, it was Silly Tilly. Took her by her feet and slammed her on the stump, then WHACK! Snapped her head right off with an ax. Just like that, he did! Terrible, it was … Er – er – aroo.”
MM: [Gasping.] “The Master cut off her head?”
RR: “YES! Er-er- aroo! He had a hard time catching Tom, though. Unlike his wife, he knew what was happening. He ran the Master ragged chasing after him, but in the end, he caught poor Tom and WHACK! The same fate for him as for Poor Tilly.” Er-er- aroo
MM: [Shaking his head] “Such a shame; Such a lovely couple.”
BB: “Lose their heads; did they?”
RR: Er-er- aroo “Yep, then the next day, we see feathers blowing all around the yard and the smell of apple pies and a wonderful meat roasting. I’ve had my suspicions that it’s those birds, but I never really knew.” [ Robbie resumed his strutting pacing and crowing.]
MM: Thank you, Robbie, for clearing this case up. Your story was very mooo-ving.”
[Billy Bull and Maxine Moo watched Robbie proudly sashay back into the barnyard.]
BB: Well, boss, I guess that clears up the mystery as to what happened to Tom and Tilly.”
MM: “Sad business. Sad business, but it is the way of the barnyard, isn’t it?”
BB: “Detective Moo, at least we now know for sure that there was no foul play involved.”
Detective Moo sharply looked up at Billy Bull: “Yes, Agent Bull, At least we know there was no foul play. No Fowl play at all.”
My dear friends, I know I have been absent for the summer months. I’ve found it challenging to write due to the unrest, the vitriol of the election, the downward spiral of job loss with its consequences of homelessness and hunger, as well as the unrelenting deadly virus. What a summer! My muse went out on a walk somewhere. As I became embroiled in all the complexity of life, my brain froze, and I found sitting down to write was just too difficult. Then this morning, my muse – at a most inopportune time – whispered in my ear. What was I to do? If I ignored her, the thoughts would be lost forever. So I sat down immediately and composed this poem. Feel free to share it as long as you credit me.
I Wish I Could Send You Rain
By Marie Staight
I wish I could send you rain
To quench the thirst of your land
And all the crops and trees.
I wish I could battle the fires
To stop the burning
Of your houses, farms, and wildlife.
I wish I could send you the fresh, clean air.
The unblemished air of a controlled climate
Air to breathe without soot and toxins.
I wish I could send you food to eat
To nourish your bodies
And help you grow strong.
I wish I could plant justice
In your towns and cities
So everyone would be treated the same.
I wish I could wave a wand to
Mend all the sick and
Rid us of this awful pandemic.
I wish I could send you peace.
A peace that quiets all the souls
And brings love to one another.
The only thing left in reality
Is to wave my magic hand
And VOTE to change all the epidemics.
God help us all if change does not come
If there is no cleansing rain
If there is no fresh air
If there is not enough food
If there is no justice
If the sick do not mend
If peace does not come.
My heart beats in panic
Vote, Vote, Vote, Vote …
Author’s notation: I don’t usually use this space to comment on political matters, but things have been happening that compel me to comment. This is purely my opinion and I am using my First Amendment right to express that. Please be respectful when commenting.
Well, Donald Trump finally built that Wall, but like I have been saying since that this whole Wall thing came out – Walls have two sides. That’s something I don’t think our President understood. Yes, one side keeps people out, but the other side keeps people in. Now he is finding that out. It’s sad. He’s built a Wall alright – one that keeps him IN the White House. It stretches around the very place of power that symbolizes the United States of America.
Donald’s Playpen Wall
The Playpen
It’s sad. It looks like a giant playpen made to keep this child-like President in his yard. The problem is that the toys he is playing with in his playpen are executive orders, appointments – then firings, pardons, pulling out of Treaties and agreements with the United Nations and most upsetting of all – he loves to play with The Constitution. He’s like a baby that likes to dump things out of his playpen then stand and watch what happens. Whimpering and have a tantrum when it doesn’t go right. Crowing and giggling for all to hear when he thinks he did something grand.
He has scattered his playmates all through our government – the State Department, Department of Justice, Department of Energy, Department of Education, Congress et al and of course, we can’t forget The Supreme Court. He plays with them like marionettes, jerking their strings, making them carry out his child-like games which are full of bluffs, lies, and distractions, but underneath are dangerous. It’s sad. The American people long for an adult to rein in these baby behaviors. Where are they?
The Black Wall
So instead the American People took things in their own hands and forced Donald to build a Wall around the White House. Hoping to harness his powers and keep him from being even more destructive. Keeping him from destroying himself and this nation. It’s sad.
It’s ironic, isn’t it that this Wall built around the White House to keep the President in his place is Black. Black to keep the message of Black Lives Matter away from him. Black to not allow him to see the people that are clamoring for equal justice and mature leadership. It’s sad.
I hope that Wall is high enough and strong enough to keep him out of trouble and allow the American People to get on with creating “a more perfect Union.”
Comments are welcome, but I do expect you to be respectful in this matter.
Chasing The Tale 