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The Day After Thanksgiving...

Half formed flakes of snow
like almost opened parachutes
spiral toward the ground
Splat, they die, melting
like the Wicked Witch of the West

The crows, already evil-tempered
envy the squirrels holed up
and plot revenge, for the first sunny day
Everything stops and I am aware
of the silence; forced by the shivers

Bedraggled pigeons, leave the wires
finding solace in the house of God
where the pastor forgot to nail screen
He is dozing by the fire, unaware of
the soft voices in the belfry

Dreaming of Christmas and peace on earth
His sermon half-written and thundering
he believes, that someday...
Mankind will awake, find his potential
Surely God doesn't know; what is going on here?

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Last few words: 
Looking out of the window behind my desk. The light fading.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


I remember when my work sent me to the Spings of Colorado for a three week stint.

On my balcony every night, while in my hotel room .. a pigeon would sit, we began to visit as I would toss him bread crumbs...

He wasn't quite a dove but he did bring a sense of peace while I was far from home.

Its funny how mere words can tell a story and conjur up memories...

It was a pleasure to read Geezer !

Pigeons remind me of the not quite middle-class. They seem to be pushed around, take their lumps and never raise their voices above a gentle rebuke toward the rest of the world. Sometimes, they are referred to as "rats with wings", but for me; they just don't fit the bill. I love the iridescent-colors that grace them. I'm glad that you enjoyed this and it brought some good memories. ~ Geezer.

Writing purely for oneself, is the ultimate in defensive posture.

author comment

Liked the progression, really like the shift to the religious direction. Great imagery!

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The progression started as I watched the first snow fall outside my window. [It's not going to stay]. But the house next door has some holes for the sparrows to nest in and I watched them fly in just as the rain changed to sloppy snow. Having to reheat my coffee, gave me an opportunity to look out the front door and see the pigeons winging their way from the wires to a big church out of sight behind me, but I know where they are going. The crows sit grumbling in the big old oak trees across from the house and the squirrels are in the holes whittled out from generations of use. As I wondered about the pigeons gaining access to someplace warm; I think about the pastor, and his aspirations for the rest of the world. I also have thoughts about; if there is a God? What does he think about his flock? Is he thinking " What have they done?"
Glad that you like my imagery! ~ Geez.

Writing purely for oneself, is the ultimate in defensive posture.

author comment

I C from your memory of me
as loved or lovedly

I'm now at sea

didn't I respond to? ~ Geez.

Writing purely for oneself, is the ultimate in defensive posture.

author comment

Since my blood became aqua

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