November at end

Future nightmares are on hold
As November is at end,
Too cold the streets we walk at night,
The plastic chairs are blown away
And the summer guests all went.

We are the ones who stay, my friend,
And I am glad for days we spend
Together on an empty beach in snow.
There is a hand for you to reach
And sudden sunsets as we go.

Moon

The latest light came over us
And we had no more than the moon,
A fire place, a candle lit, a match to go by;
Stars. Each other and a sea to feel.

We were simply happy for no reason
In a world of darkness,
In a thought under the moon,
In a night all over us.

Because you say so

Most happiness I find discovering how
The mind can wonder off
And take a voyage
Into someone else’s thought,

And to find treasures where I never sought
And to see mountains where I’ve never been
And never seen;

Feel rocks, the way they breathe
Through another hand resting, see
Through other eyes seeing, now

To feel comfort in you reassuring that
All will be fine one day.
And through your voice I do believe
That it is true of what you say.

Resistance

I want the world to let me be
As I shall let the world

(There is enough said about what is going on in the world, just google the right words if you want more. I am disgusted, feel for the victims, and go on with living. That is my act of resistance.)

Storm

Of all the poems
The storm could write
It chose the one
About you and me
When we took shelter
And with every line it wrote
More of you vanished into leaves
Away from me forever

After

And we talked about laundry,
Soap bubbles, holidays,
Hammers that broke at first stroke,
Hamsters and cats running from us,
Floors which scream murder,
And books we had read, places
We went to and food that we liked,
All we said only meant to reassure

That we were still there together,
You and me in a sea green bed,
With sea green sheets,
Our clothes one pile
As we knew each other
In a different way, but the night
Had yet to be conquered.
So we kept talking till dawn.

November 10

November tenth waves branches in my face,
I would not mind some sunshine in the clouds,
A darkened day, another one ahead
And it is always better in my bed.

Outside a storm, inside a draught,
And coughing in the street, we all look pale.
I hate November and its hail. Its mist. Its snow.
Still twenty days to go. Then it’s December.

🙂 just having November blues

In the dungeon of time

There is a change going on every day, for
All mornings start with a shift in the mirror,
The glass has a different layer underneath.

A tremble goes through the calendar, see how
Trees slowly die for the Winter
Moving away from the past.

Second by second, better or worse
Your body is taken over,
Newer, different, slowly you change.

In the dungeon of time the hungry dragon
Called oblivion waits, as the orange leaves go
And blue mirrors forget their dead owners.

Not to fall apart

Some days you lean to the mist
And fall into a memory
Of people who walked here years ago
And you see them, you feel
The chimney smoke in your eyes –
Nothing changed but that –
And there are more crows now,
Popping up from the white;

Dark grey tears, a torn wedding dress,
An Autumn grave, people in dark Winter coats
Gathering in a room for games and warm chocolate,
Lanterns and children singing,
Family stories and brown orange leaves,
Black and white photos-
Some days they all gather
To keep you from falling apart in November.

The candle’s fault

Now it’s the candle’s fault, the shadows
Fall all over us, a dance macabre on your face,
The food not eaten waits, another Autumn day
But worse. November and the candles
Can not shine enough to keep the mist away.

Now it’s the candle’s fault. We say more
Words that seem too late. The candle’s fold,
A stream of wax runs on the table. Light is moved
By draught and shines from different angles.
November only has a thirty days to go.