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november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind

Infinity

It is human nature, this need
to understand, to know.
Knowledge being the power
that catapulted us into
world dominance.
In order to comprehend,
names are assigned,
numbers generated, and
formulae created, defining
everything, so we can wrap
our heads around it.

In the event of
utter perplexity we
theorise, hypothesise,
at times we have been known
to simply make things up,
and don’t get me started
on interpretations.

And as we proudly present
our accumulated data,
God shrugs good-naturedly,
and Infinity suppresses a giggle.

 

© november child
photo credit:  Pix to Words
in response to Pix to Words Infinity ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #88
Catapult

Clouds

I am a master at clouds,
such a nice fabric to work with.
Of course, this art is little
appreciated, an empty
blue sky widely favoured.
I am afraid, humans lack
the refinement to process
true beauty.

Just look up, look at the sky, I think I
have outdone myself once again.
Only No. 9 is a bit out of alignment.
Always the rebel, a problem child,
too often adrift, stubbornly
bending this way and that, forever
out of shape, trying to take over
the sky,  and constantly demanding
the extra effort which can be
quite exasperating.

 

© november child
photo credit: James Stutzman via Flickr

Adrift

Sunrise

I still glow in shades of rose and gold
in the aftermath of a gorgeous sunrise
that slowly but surely crept under my skin
while I watched Sol seize control of the day.

And while today I proudly wear my new
daytime skin, tonight as Sol descends
I will shed it in favour of cobalt and flashes of silver
and pay tribute to Mani on her lonely ride.

© november child
photo credit: Aristocrats-hats via Flickr

Descend

On the Edge

Remember all those cute promises
and good intentions?
And yet here we are,
standing on the edge
of a precipice once again.

Counting sleepless nights,
shed tears, and wasted efforts,
only to realise the balance
will never add up.

 

 

© november child
photo credit: Black Station via Flickr

Precipice

Breaking the Cycle

She puts herself out on a limb
every time she tries to coax some
kind of acknowledgement out of them,
but instead of ending up better,
she finds her spirit broken over again,
adding more fragments to the
Saturnian rings that make up her aura.

She has never learned to refrain
from poking around in the ashes
of the bridges she burnt, maybe
hoping against hope, that some of
the ghosts she raised would rewrite
the stories into the fairy tales she craves.

Sometimes she prides herself on
having broken the cycle of destruction,
but as long as her skin is too thin,
her goal is their approval, and
she caves in to the radiation of their
indifference, she is in a halfway state.

© november child
photo credit: original photo by Farrukh via Flickr
in response to The Sunday Whirl Wordle 298
Better

Suburbia

Wintergreen hedges
(no rotten leaves here, please),
cut precisely into square,
impenetrable walls,
fencing in narrow front yards,
doing no favour to the pricey
whitewashed houses
masquerading as the
epitome of respectability.

Double door garages, witness
to what a man is able to
provide, though red tile roofs have
lost their sheen because
money only goes that far,
multi-paneled windows
keep in the noise of
quarrels which, officially,
never took place.

Unbothered by Saturday’s
car washing and lawn mowing,
freedom beckons not too
far away, in the shape of
a night sky aglow with
the reflection of city lights,
the skyline visible
if you scramble up that hill.

© november child
photo credit: Mark Hadley via Flickr
in response to Mindlovermisery’s Menagerie Wordle #153

Holier-Than-Thou

How you savour this chip
on your shoulder,
not even the sincerest
apology will prompt you
to give it up.

And how could you,
when you run being
offended on repeat,
and those meticulously
maintained lists
of perceived wrongs
sum up your life so well?

You have comfortably
settled into your role
of a righteous saint,
conveniently forgetting
a little feature
called forgiveness.

Instead you sing the
praise of judgement
and your prayers
are laced with acid.

© november child
photo credit: Justin via Flickr
in response to The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #297

Cold Rain

Soaked-through clothes,
a clammy chill on my skin,
the same cold
my cells have memorised
on the night
I watched you
walk away.

With the cold the pain unfolds
its multiple layers of defeat,
the same ache
your heart memorises,
once you resign yourself
to the fact
that it was almost love.

 

© november child
photo credit: Susanne Nilsson via Flickr

 

Handwriting

His handwriting is recognisable
in the count of her shallow breath,
her measured,
minimalistic movements,
and the smouldering pit
that used to be her stomach.

The weight of insignificance
instiled into her,
is reflected in her
hunched shoulders,
and suits his delusions of grandeur,
and sense of entitlement.

 

© november child
photo credit: maqaron.jp

Measure

Fearful

I get fearful
of the havoc you create

when the impatient
wind of your adronitis
rattles the hinges
of my barricaded doors,

when your insatiable
hunger for closeness
drives you to illicitly
override my security protocols,

when your husky voice
demands revelation
of every shred of misery
Pandora’s box has to offer.

I get frantic

when you’re on the hunt
for the black-winged goddess,
safely tucked away within.

 

© november child
photo credit: artist unknown via Pinterest
in response to Mindlovermisery’s Menagerie Wordle #106 “18th April 2016”
(I know it’s an old one, but I saw someone using the words and I liked them, it’s a variation
on my “Intrusion”)

Sometimes

Sometimes you forget
your pretence of being human.
I hear the hum of
the Universe interlaced
with your voice,
and I can almost touch
golden rivers running
underneath your skin.

Sometimes your human body
is unable to fully contain you.
I see the most pleasing
white moonlight
leaking from your eyes,
and catch the scent of
cold starlight during
winter solstice.

And sometimes
I shed silken tears,
and submit to my fear
that this world is not enough
to hold you.

© november child
photo credit: Francisco Sánchez-Aedo Gálvez via Flickr

Pleased

Just a Little Bit

A little bit of me
unravels every time
I hear your name.

A little bit of me
has never learned
to walk away from you.

A little bit of you
is all it takes
to bridge the gap.

 

© november child
photo credit: Dave Schumaker via Flickr

Unravel

Second Thoughts

Doubt sets in frequently,
demanding a review of
decisions made.

Hindsight reveals the truth
it so loves to conceal during
those moments when it is
actually needed.

Reminding with a mocking smirk
that one might have been
more open-minded about
things second-guessed, and
more wary of concepts
blindly taken for granted.

© november child
photo credit: wallpapercave.com  (Auguste Rodin – Le Penseur)

Blindly

Vital

I wish you did not grin
at the straps of my bag
digging into my skin.
Cut me some slack,
I can handle the weight.
And I swear, every single item
stored in the cavernous depths
of this bag, is of utmost importance.

I can trim anything from
nails to trees, I carry tools that
could repair anything if I knew how,
and you never know
when a fishing line might come
in handy. I admit I am a bit
unsure about the seashell,
but I promise, something somewhere
in there can undo the end of the world.

I can not begin to comprehend
how you can survive
with just a wallet.

 

© november child
photo credit: Roxanne Ready via Flickr
in response to The Sunday Whirl Wordle # 294

You

You, the imperturbable,
you, the advocate of
rectilinearity and clarity,
have embraced my
multifaceted brokenness.

And
I, of the lost faith,
I, the unbeliever,
born from contradictions
and scepticism,
pray for catharsis.

 

© november child
photo credit:  Polpolux via Flickr

Heal

Frailty

I have stored my unshed tears
in my system, unacknowledged,
running them through my veins,
watering down my blood.
I’d rather drown in my own tears
before I let you see me cry.
I do not trust anyone with my frailty.

 

© november child
photo credit: favim.com

Outgrown

I have outgrown my need for you,
left it behind,
somewhere along the road,
buried next to the skeletons
of my insecurities.

You may cling to your denial,
keep insisting we are not done yet,
but I assure you
it won’t change a thing –
this woman has moved on.

 

© november child
photo credit: Iain Merchant via Flickr

Denial

Times Change

Long time ago
I looked up to you,
trusted you,
making your goals
my priority.

For what it’s worth,
I adored you,
idolised you,
your every word
was a prayer to me.

Long time ago
I looked up to you,
upon your hero’s pedestal
where I placed you.

 

© november child
photo credit: Antonio Marìn Segovia via Flickr
Champion

Cusp

beach cusp formations

geometry in motion

nature’s mysteries

 

© november child
photo credit: Amusing Planet

Cusp

Calm

Yours is a serene world
of quiet determination
where things are done calmly
after prudent consideration;
a world of self-assured patience
and gentle amusement.

I guess, that is
how you convinced
my butterfly soul
to settle down.

 

© november child
photo credit: Lyndon Hatherall via Flickr

Prudent

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