november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind




I run them through my fingers,
all those flickers of hope,
the beads on my rosary
of unfinished stories.



© Novemberchild
photo credit via The Catholic Company

絵馬 Ema

Small wooden plaques
breathe prayers
into unconcerned winds.

Heartfelt wishes
bleed hope
into indifferent rain.

to an uncaring universe.


© november child
photo credit: Stefan Lins via flickr


Casually you walked
into my orderly life,
and carved your name
across my memories.

Stubbornly your scent of sage,
cinnamon, and leather
clings to my susceptible senses,
holding my rationality captive.

Clearly, everything about you
is a descent into regression,
and obviously, a path
my treacherous heart craves.


© november child
Photo credit: Original by Joanna Burn via flickr

Hopes, Dreams & Wishes

Hopes, dreams, and wishes…
such overwrought creatures.
Little drama queens,
scattering grandiose ideas
like volcanoes spray ash.
Their exaggerated optimism
is quite annoying.
I have made it a habit
to misplace or
forget about them.

They never take kindly
to my pragmatic attitude,
in the back of my mind
with a vengeance.
My head rings with
their refusal
to be abandoned,
their insistence
I finally commit.


© november child
photo credit:

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