november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind


November 2016


Not a big deal really, just something on telly
that struck a discordant note,
triggering a realization,
causing you to coil up on yourself,
anticipating the onset of acedia.

Nothing dramatic really, just a hastily scrawled note
that remained in the back of your mind,
pulling you down a notch or two
with its antipodal signals,
turning your heart into a clump of cinder.


© november child
photo credit: Nick Garrod via flickr
in response to: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #130 “November 21st, 2016”


You have cordoned off her heart,
declaring it a crime scene,
while you meticulously search
for verification
that she once loved you.

Without substantial proof
you are unable to elicit a confession,
so you assume that
either the evidence has been
severely tampered with,
or else she has committed
the perfect crime.


© november child
photo credit: Brandon Anderson via flickr



Eye Of The Storm

Your mood is dark today,
mirroring the gloomy November sky.
Brooding has furrowed your brow,
your angry grumbling
conjures up storm clouds.

A true descendant of Thor,
thunder echoes in your voice
and lightning flashes in your eyes.
Dark energy crackles in the air,
surrounding you like a dreadful shield.

I take a deep breath and brace myself.
Warded by a four-leaf clover
and armed with a cup of tea
I enter the cave
heading for the eye of the storm.

© november child
photo credit: Chris Bird via flickr



Sometimes I wish I could say
I stare at a blank page.
White and pristine,
mercifully devoid of phrases,
a beautifully empty vehicle
waiting to convey my words.

But my pages are filled with scribbles
and really bad doodles,
with expressions and fragments,
arranged and rearranged until barely legible.
I believe I have destroyed
more than one forest with my inaptitude.

And the monstrosities stare back at me,
mocking my feeble wording,
always lacking, always wanting,
cruelly pointing out my inability
to communicate my thoughts,
stoking my frustration.


© november child
photo credit: in transition via flickr
(with my apologies, those are actually very beautiful scribbles as opposed to my own which lack any grace whatsoever)



You know what you ignited
when you see
black suffocating wads of smoke
soar above raging flames,
reaching for the virginal sky
in an effort to spread
their taint even there.

You know the horror you caused
when roaring fires
colour the environment
in a terrifying golden light
and angry winds push
the blistering heat at you
until it sears your skin.

You know the damage you wrought
when only charcoal stumps
cover charred ground
and burned skeletons
scream their accusation,
reaching for the sky
with crippled, blackened arms.


© november child
photo credit: Wikipedia



The bench at the base of the tree
reminds me of lazy summer days.

We would sit underneath
a majestic canopy of
softly swaying leaves.

We  watched our grandfather
peel apples with his pocket knife
and listened to stories
of when he was a child.

So exotic were they,
we thought them fairy tales,
and maybe they were.


©  november child
photo credit: Lilla Frerichs



A shadow has settled
across your heart,
so dark, I am afraid
it can not be erased.

Red hot anger
has eaten away at you,
crippling you in ways
I can not even fathom.

Your torment is real,
your pain sincere,
I just wish you would see
you are hurting yourself.

© november child


photo credit: Kevin Reese via flickr


Deception took a glance
at your plans
and found them lacking.
Now you wear your incredulity
wrapped tightly around you,
failing to comprehend
the adverse fate that befell you.

Weary and bedraggled
you have reached the limit
of your endurance
and the seams
that so precariously
held your life together
have come undone.

Your eyes film over
as you mourn
the loss of certainty,
while you stand there,
the lone sentry,
guarding the debris
of your destroyed dreams.


© november child
Photo credit: Stephen C. Dickson
in response to: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #127 ‘October 31st, 2016’

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