Thanksgiving Poems

It was the November 2nd. I was trying to get our family into a focus of gratitude, but instead I was falling into grumbles about the clutter and mess around the house. I realized I was getting grouchy and decided to do what I ask the kids to do when they feel like complaining--think of gratefuls. So I wrote a poem. 

Then I decided to do something crazy and see if I could write a grateful poem for each day (at least more days than not) in November. I tried to pick something that was bugging me to write about in gratitude--though some of the poems ended up being pure praise instead. They’re not polished, just thoughts in rough cut form. 

This is the first of my November 2018 grateful poems.  

CREATIVE CLUTTER

Creative clutter

speckles the house on some days,

engulfs it on others.

Books spread across every horizontal surface:

library tagged paperbacks topple

on top of worn home copies

and crayoned magazines.

Scraps of papers,

remnants of projects involving scissors, markers and staples

show a trail to the creative party.

Duplos castles, Lego dragons, and clay alligators peer between books,

mostly on high surfaces to try to survive the toddler.

Tower of Babel block towers totter on carpet bases.

Couch cushions and blankets turn into caves and forts.

Encyclopedias’ weighty knowledge hold down the blanket corners that

span the room in technicolored tents.

Dress-up box empty, children pretend ninjas, knights, fairies, and reindeer.

Moment-ago costumes pile in the corners.

Muddy boots, dripping from romps through rain soaked fallow fields,

Lay by the door next to rain coats and cast off mittens.

Stuffed animals sag in a tea party circle

around dented metal play dishes.

The toddler carefully feeds each one.

Just before dinner the children will go through the house,

In a whirlwind reverse chaos,

putting away, cleaning up, straightening.

And at the end of it

books will pile haphazardly on the shelves,

dragons will stare from high surfaces,

new drawings will replace old on the fridge.

And memories will tuck away,

to be pulled out again for future generations.