Welcome to the 23rd Virtual Poetry Circle!  I’m amazed that this project has been successful.  I really had no hope for it at all.  I thought each week would have zero comments.  I’m amazed.

So, if we all continue to do well, I’ll host a giveaway on the 25th Virtual Poetry Circle, which will fall on December 12, for all of you who’ve commented on these weekly events.  I’ll pop your names in a hat and choose a winner.  Easy right?!

And all you have to do is comment on these posts with your reactions to the poem posted.

OK, Here’s a poem up for reactions, interaction, and–dare I say it–analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock’s books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don’t like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today, we’re going to return to classic poetry, and in honor of Thanksgiving, we’re going to take a look at “The Pumpkin” by John Greenleaf Whittier, a 19th Century poet.

The Pumpkin
by John Greenleaf Whittier

Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, 
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, 
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, 
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold, 
Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew, 
While he waited to know that his warning was true, 
And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain 
For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. 

On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden 
Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden; 
And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold 
Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold; 
Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North, 
On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, 
Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, 
And the sun of September melts down on his vines. 

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, 
From North and from South comes the pilgrim and guest; 
When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board 
The old broken links of affection restored; 
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, 
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before; 
What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye, 
What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie? 

Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling, 
When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling! 
When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, 
Glaring out through the dark with a candle within! 
When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune, 
Our chair a broad pumpkin, - our lantern the moon, 
Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam 
In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team! 

Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better 
E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter! 
Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, 
Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than thine! 
And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express, 
Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, 
That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, 
And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, 
And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky 
Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie! 

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let’s have a great discussion…pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I’ve you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It’s never too late to join the discussion.

Wow, 22 Virtual Poetry Circles!  I’m amazed that this project has been successful.  I really had no hope for it at all.  I thought each week would have zero comments.  Surprised me!

So, if we all continue to do well, I’ll host a giveaway on the 25th Virtual Poetry Circle, which will fall on December 12, for all of you who’ve commented on these weekly events.  I’ll pop your names in a hat and choose a winner.  Easy right?!

OK, Here’s a poem up for reactions, interaction, and–dare I say it–analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock’s books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don’t like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Contemporary Poet John Amen is also a musician and editor of The Pedestal Magazine.  This poem is from his most recent collection At the Threshold of Alchemy:

At The Funeral (Page 17)

The floorboards exhaled,
walls slept for the first time in years.

Grandma slouched in the foyer, 
her belly mounding in her lap, makeup streaked.
I distracted myself in the basement, thinking
of Ms Gilham, my face in her cleavage.

Upstairs, aunts and neighbors — the mercenaries
of resilience — cooked, cleaned, scrubbed
until the house could have passed for a delivery room.

I reemerged, 
dad and his brother gnawing the gristly silence.
No one noticed the stain on my corduroys
or saw me put a silver spoon in my pocket.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let’s have a great discussion…pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I’ve you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It’s never too late to join the discussion.