Collage by JD DeHart

by JD DeHart
I am pieced together,
at best stitched or glued,
a pastiche of other images,
collected into a mass,
a walking distillation,
and then demanding,
pursuing some lifestyle.
This poem has previously appeared on Poems and Poetry Blog

No, Thank YOU (really)


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On this Thanksgiving Eve, Poetry Pasta is grateful for:

ALL 1,191 followers  –  We love you, you poetic people :)  Even you lurkers out there, we’re probably lurking on YOUR page Seriously, thank you for following our poetic endeavors.

ALL poem contributors – thank you for trusting Poetry Pasta for all your poetry needs ;)  thank you for your bravery. You’re ALL superstars to us.

Have a safe, happy and healthy Thanksgiving tomorrow.  Be thankful for something every day that is NOT tomorrow.

Valeri Beers & Frank Esposito





At Bus Stops on Thanksgiving Day by Donal Mahoney


donal mahoney
At Bus Stops on Thanksgiving Day by Donal Mahoney
Before dawn, people
who work on Thanksgiving Day
wait in the wind for a bus
to arrive or maybe not.
It’s too cold to talk
so the people stand
like minutemen and plan
a revolution that would shock
nice families who drive by later,
children tucked in scarves
and mittens, laughing
all the way to Nana’s house
for turkey, gravy, stuffing
and later in the day
a ballerina of whipped cream
twirling on pumpkin pie.
Thanksgiving is the day
America asks for seconds
and sorts its servers
from the served.
Before the writer succumbed to home delivery
of the newspaper, he for many years drove out
early on Thanksgiving morning to buy the newspaper.
That is when he would see older Black women
bundled up and waiting for the bus to go to work 
that day, largely to private homes in the suburbs, 
to prepare sumptuous repasts for those who could 
afford to pay them to do so. Sometimes the ladies
were paid enough and sometimes probably not.
But it’s a memory forever inscribed in his mind.
A VERY APROPOS poem from Donal Mahoney :)  Happy Thanksgiving everyone :)

King For A Day by Jo McNally

© Jo McNally

King For A Day

I’m resting here quite regally
The feature of the table
Surrounded by potatoes that
I’d taste if I were able.

My subjects, scrubbed and beaming,
Circle round the royal platter
They seem to be adoring me
But something is the matter.

See me basking in the candlelight
My skin so nicely tanned
The reason for this treatment
I do not understand.

While I’d love to peck that dish of corn
And gobble down a berry
I find this jolly atmosphere
To be a trifle scary.

These human creatures were my friends
They filled me up with bread
But now I have suspicions that
They’re cannibals instead!

Jo McNally – 10/25/97

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Halloween Dreams by Marilyn Pellechia

Five little vampires
stood in a row
giggling and silly
with bags in tow
they scurried along
smiling quite  bright
lunging and bumping
into the night
as moon shine settled
to spy on their group
they danced up sidewalks
and settled on stoops
begging for candy
in voices gone scary
gifts came their way
in chocolate and cherry
stars soon peeked out
to warn of the hour
five sets of fangs
grabbed treats to devour
goblins and werewolves
appeared on the street
our vampires halted
with visions of these
so into the night they
journeyed to home
past witches and ghosts
and one gnarly gnome
five little vampires
in pace as they trod
stumbling along
as heads start to nod
fangs now retired
by smiles a beam
the stars shine down
on Halloween dreams.

Another Bad Halloween by Donal Mahoney

Fred must explain Halloween to Opal
when he gets home from the poker game.
He just had another bad Halloween.

He thinks Opal doesn’t know but Ethel
from across the street called Opal
and told her the neighbors all know.

Some even have it on their iPhones.
Granny from across the alley
has it on hers and she can hardly

use it to call her daughter.
Last year Opal told Fred don’t drink
Jack Daniels straight again.

It’s embarrassing, she says, to know.
all the neighbors have video of Fred
in his Trump wig and Hillary pantsuit

going door-to-door on Halloween
wearing a sandwich-board that says
Vote For Fred Instead.

“Another” great  poem from Donal Mahoney :)

Masquerade by JD DeHart

Poe was master of the masquerade,
parties held in rooms of various shade,
ghostly haunts and terror sounds,
and how many masters of masquerade
exist now, in this age?  What mask
is even now floating past, a face not
of the present but of some ancestor,
princess, king, or ethereal figure?
Better still is the question of what mask
I myself would choose, or perhaps I would
rather go bare into the world, no costume,
no disguise, just unapologetic personality.
 JD DeHart is a writer and teacher.  He has recently been nominated for Best of the Net, and his chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from RedDashboard and on Amazon.