november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind




Your storm is an overly
destructive force, quite unsuitable
for my fragile disposition;
too many pieces of me
already went missing
during that last encounter.

Exposure to your intensity
is best kept at a minimum,
just to hold
my trembling heart at bay.

© november child
photo credit:


Indecisiveness leads nowhere,
he says using the motivational
intonation, the one that is
usually reserved for team meetings.
He shows a lack of understanding
for the complexity of doorways.

It’s easy to be confident when you
never opened a portal to hell,
it sounds a bit snappish, his
leadership voice does that to her
sometimes. She lacks the words
to explain that behind the prettiest
doors may lurk unseen horrors,
and a lot of locks do not
necessarily safeguard something precious.

At some point you have to make
a decision, but this time you won’t be alone,
he promises. Not much of an
assurance really, when she is still not
certain, if the door that lead her
to him, might be one she should
have left unopened.

© november child
picture taken with iphone 4s



She leaks impatient magic
as she waves away your doubts
with an impetuous gesture
of her delicate hand,
her fast sun burning an additional
hole into your defences.

She sizzles with angry magic
as she punishes your resistance
by putting her hands
on those delicious hips,
her electrical storm travelling
down to the base of your spine.

She sparkles with wilful magic
as she manages to unhinge you
with one of her impish smiles,
her  intensity sending your shy mind
on an outrageous adventure.

And your foolish heart
is giddy with excitement – again.

© november child
photo credit: Baary via deviant art
in response to: Sumyanna writes – Prompt #8


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


One drop of blood
infused in the oily liquid
in his Seer’s bowl
breaks the stillness
of his mind,
uncovering the truth
about  the man.

This drop reveals more
than a shock of silvery curls,
a rich velvet cloak
or the golden amulet,
sign of  an affiliation
with the ruling class,
ever will.

The blood speaks of
burning jealousies,
petty rivalries,
and busy scheming.
A smile lights up the Seer’s face
as an idea echoes in his mind
and his plan takes shape.


© november child
photo credit:
in response to: The Sunday Whirl Wordle #272

Lady In Distress

Up on the bridge he stands,
facing the far away coastline
countering the rolling sea
with a wide footed stance.
And he revels in the rush
the sun, wind and sea always bring.

He watches the barge
spin along in roiling waters
and considers her value
with a satisfied smile.
She’s a wisp of a lady
compared to a schooner,
no elegant beauty catches his eye.

Yet he chose her, filtered her out
from among those other coasters,
she stood out like a shark’s fin
among playful dolphins,
with the speed, fine lines
and sturdy construction she displays.

Her holds are filled to the brim
with grain, oils and spices and
she shoulders the weight with ease.
He will soon own her,
hold her under lock and key,
a fine asset she will be.

Pulling up alongside the little lady
he observes his men
as they throw the grappling hooks,
sun reflecting on drawn blades
and above him the Jolly Roger
billows in the salty wind.


photo credit: Kevin Boyd via Flickr
in response to: Value
and The Sunday Whirl Wordle #268

Corridors Of Power

My battalion of strategists
have polled the crap out of you;
and now I know
exactly what you want to see.

I will play hardball,
campaign down and dirty,
and wear the facade that works best,
crowd manipulation is my thing.
I wouldn’t call it acting,
just showing you what you expect.

My team of speech writers
has internalised every survey;
and now I know
exactly what you want to hear.

Every phrase I use,
every word I say, every promise I make
is planned meticulously and
weighed for highest impact.
I wouldn’t call it lying,
just telling you what you hope for.

I gave you what you want
now you give me what I deserve.
Trust me, it’s not much, just your vote
so I can walk the corridors of power
and join the ranks of the big players.

In return you get nothing of course,
this is not some hippie fair trade thing, dude,
this is high level politics.
It was never about the people, silly,
it‘s about me and my own personal fiefdom.

©  november child
photo credit: Billy Wilson via flickr


Dangerous Games

To trust you
is to play
a game of Jenga.
Every time
I turn around
you remove another block,
endangering the structure.

To trust you
is to play
a game of reverse Jeopardy.
Every time
I ask the correct question
the wager I lay on you is lost,
draining my resources.

To trust you
is to built
a house of cards.
Every time
I check the foundation
it has become more shaky,
ready to collapse any time.

© november child
photo credit: Dutch Simba via flickr


Beneath hardened leather
we are wrapped in
the weathered skin of those
aged by hardship before their time,
the refrains of our war songs
are sung to the beat of hearts
as unbending as tempered steel.

Nothing escapes trained eyes in
an effective oversight of
our adversaries’ every move.
Strong hands have long achieved mastery
of  cleverly customized weapons
and those shields of metal are  complemented
by the transparent armour
of relentless courage and will.

We have become improved models
of our former fragile selves,
unmoved by the soft plop
caused by our blood dropping into
the sanguine torrents flooding the battlefields.
Leaving behind human weakness
by ravelling out discursive patterns
we ascend towards invincibility in quantum leaps.

© november child
in response to:
Mindlovermisery’s Menagerie Wordle Special Addition Contranym “September 5th, 2016”
Here, I used the contronym meanings of the same words and surprised myself a bit with the fierce result.

Into the Storm

Into the storm we run again,
the proverbial flock of lemmings,
just one quantum step from the edge,
one second from hitting the water with a plop.
With the imprudence of children
we run ahead without a plan,
models of remote-controlled ignorance,
victims of oversight and custom
we are left to beat the odds.

Brazenly we face obvious disaster,
ignoring all transparent warnings.
We refrain from proper precautions,
ravelling things further with our discursive patterns.
Our common sense is tempered by arrogance
and we feel so sanguine about our ability
to weather anything that bars our way,
we callously dismiss the fact
that those storms were created by us.


©november child
in response to:

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle Special Addition Contranym “September 5th, 2016”
photo credit: Stephen Wolfe via flickr


Slight movement of the bushes
like a soft wind blowing.
Big paws parting the grass,
not a sound breaking the silence.
Yellow eyes watching the prey,
nothing escapes her notice.
Muscles twitching
with every elegant move
as she patiently closes in,
her body stretching
for the onslaught,
her strategy already laid out.

Watch her, fear her,
never underestimate her,
the fierce protector of her cubs.
A duty born of love,
she will let nothing hurt them.
Run, pull back fast
to save your pathetic little life,
she is already on to you.
She will destroy anything
considered a threat,
collateral damage
means nothing to her.


© november child

photo credit


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