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november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind

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relationship

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

Echo

Your words still echo in my mind

your touch still echoes on my skin

I wait for them to subside
so I can remember
who I used to be

 

© november child

photo:  artist unknown

Echo

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

Mythical

Dark Clouds

Of all the arguments
the ones that scare me most
are those we never had.

I feel them weighing us down,
hanging over our heads
in dark, threatening clouds.

I feel their charge in the air,
in the distance I already hear
the rumble of approaching thunder.

© november child
photo credit: Dennis Amith via flickr
Argument

Moments

All those moments
you shared with me
were hundreds of little gifts
you bestowed on me,
each one a second
of iridescent beauty,
each one a tiny
pearl of happiness.

I want to preserve them,
string them on a silk line,
compose them into
the most stunning necklace
and wear them around my neck,
fashion them into
the most revered jewelry
I will ever own.

© november child

photo credit: TenthMuse Photography via flickr

Fragile

The two glasses mist up
in the warm summer night,
single drops of water
slowly flow down fragile stems,
leaving wet rings on the table.

Our silence connects us
more strongly than words could,
for a glorious instant
there is no space between us,
nothing that needs to be bridged.

And I send a little prayer
that my mind will link
those two glasses forever
to this moment of
of pure perfection.

 

© november child

photo credit: Winniepix via flickr

Fragile

Fight For What?

Fight vb, (when intr. often foll. by for)
to uphold or maintain (a cause, ideal etc.)
by fighting or struggling.

© Collins English Dictionary 21st Century Edition

 

Fight for you
I would rather not,
this being a concept
that puzzles me.

What would I be fighting for?

A love withdrawn,
to me, is a worthless thing,
a pas de deux robbed of its elegance,
last page turned in an already torn book,
a remnant I refuse to reclaim.

A love gone astray,
to me, is a pitiful thing
the faded, yellowed copy
of what used to be grand,
a replica I refuse to recapture.

I am prepared
to make every effort for love
but fighting is not on my agenda.
I would rather ride
the waves of pain and sorrow
as long as it takes to recover.

I prefer to relinquish
what should be a gift
than live with an ill-gotten trophy.
So never ask me
to fight for a lost love,
I will not consider it worth my time.

 

© november child

Elegant

Ladybug

I watch as you carefully pick up
the fragile ladybug
that got caught in the curtain.
I can’t help but stare at your hands,
those hands that had me
right from the start
and I am captivated by
their gentle movement.

We count the black spots
smiling,
there are eight,
our lucky number.

I watch your fingers
as they delicately
follow the outlines
of the tiny wing covers,
and I shiver
when I recall those fingers
composing their song
on my skin.

© november child

photo credit: Guiseppe Lacalandra via flickr

Shiver

Tigress

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

Fierce

Promises

When days seem dreary
and pass with lulling slowness,
when we become paralysed
by the constraints of duty
that hold us firmly in place
as if by the jaws of a vice,
we both need a reminder.

A reminder of the promise to
hold hands at all times,
write love notes on napkins,
kiss in elevators,
dance in the parking lot,
count the craters of the moon
and oh, where is my dragon?

As long as together we fall
into new patterns and combinations
of goofiness and laughter
we escape the gloomy slumber
of boredom and habit
which so often proves
to be the slayer of love.

©  november child

photo credt: Bernard Goldback via flickr

Vice
Promises

I Am Not Her

I am not her

so let me not walk
in the shadows of your  past,
do not force me to enter
the labyrinth of wrong  turns

make me not feed
off an empty plate,
do not let me starve from
your fear of getting close

let me not hear
the whispers of bygone days,
do not chain me
to the post of revived clashes

make me not dig
in the ruins of the departed,
do not force me to brush off
the dusty bones of past deceit

make me not part of
what you left behind,
do not crucify me on
the cross of your flashbacks

count not my mistakes
on old balance sheets,
free me from
lapsed mindsets and regrets

bring only yourself
when you come to me,
bless my innocence
by remembering

I am not her

 

© november child
photo credit: Carol Mitchell via VisualHunt
in response to: The Sunday Whirl Wordle #263
Mistake

The Things We Keep

I store this chest
in the depths of
the attic of my mind.

It is filled with
hundreds of  pretty notes
in all sizes and colours.

As colourful and pretty
as big or as small
as the lies you told.

Kept as a reminder
right next to the
dark cloud of my anger.

Inadvertently I wonder
about the things we keep
and those we share.

© november child
in response to: Random_Michelle Photo-Fiction #49

Glasshouse

I will leave my imprint
on those vitreous walls,
forcing violent cracks
in bursts of outrage
until my bones fracture.

I will immortalize myself
on those crystal windows
scratching them deeply
in silent fury
until my fingers bleed.

I will cease this destruction
on the very day
those cracks and scratches
have finally collapsed
this glasshouse that is us.

© november child

photo taken with Canon EOS 7D

Developing Your Eye II – Day Seven – Glass

Gentle

A gentle touch
whispered on expectant skin
with the softness of
a summer’s breeze,
may not be the first thing
you want me to praise
in my laudation to you.

Continue reading “Gentle”

Unspoken

Had those withheld words
propelled into the air
in a cloud of furious ash,
their downpour might‘ve altered
these parched fields of anger,
spurting acceptance by now.

Had they risen from the depths
of their complex hide-out
in a scorching lava flow,
their escape might’ve collapsed
this cavern of rage,
granting forgiveness in time.

But those unspoken words
keep simmering inside,
a bubble of magma trapped,
increasing in volume
in a brimming chamber,
the inevitable eruption in sight.

 

 

© november child
 photo credit: Photo via VisualHunt

Tired

muscles strained
from reaching out
across the void

fingers pricked
from sewing up
the edges
that have frayed

grown so tired
of grazing my skin
on another wall

© november child
photo credit: Eugene Peretz via flickr

Cold

creeping in again
with sly miniscule steps,
a cold draft
under the door
speechless

draining the sun
I fought hard for,
a dense blanket
of clouds

helpless

manipulating the  lights
that make up my world,
impenetrable fog
on a ruthless advance

frozen

icicles on my heart
winter in my soul

© november child

photo credit: Grant Chatterstone via flickr

Missing

Missing 2397635073_97d7e8e7fe_z

What was missing in me
I took from you
from a need I was only

perceiving

the sting of a lack
you stole from me
what was missing in you.

Now we’re both screwed.

© november child
photo credit: AJ Schroetlin via flickr

One Ring

One Ring to rule them all,
One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all,
and in the darkness bind them’
Ring-verse, J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

To be so mistaken,
so thoroughly err.
There is yet one left
I don’t mean to scare.

We are still forsaken
by the one that I wear;
I have it right here
on my left hand, I swear.

The inscription is different,
of that I’m aware,
the effect is the same though
painful to bear.

So bid me farewell,
under the black shadows’ loom,
I am off, on my way now
to the fires of  Mount Doom…

© november child
photo taken with Samsung Galaxy A7

When I Think Of You

I think of

crumpled sheets
and, oh, those slow kisses
serotonin overload
crooked smiles
and endless craving
like chocolate…just better
love letters
and deliciously naughty thoughts
shivers in all the right places
deep voice
and sweet nothings
haunting melody in my head
long phone calls
and our shares of good-byes
imprint on my heart


What was I thinking?

© november child
(photo: artist/source unknown)

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