november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind




A lot of abandoned pages
in this book,
interspersed with pages
where whole chapters
have simply vanished.

Fleeing from the desperation
they were written in.
Tired of being forced into
ever repeating dramas.

They escaped,
rearranging themselves
into happier tales,
someplace else,
for someone else.

© november child
photo credit:  wikipedia


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)


Big Dreams

That one
glorious moment
on the lakefront
of Loch Lomond,
remnants of warmth
settled on our skin,
a little breathless still.

We dreamt big
and then fell far.


©november child
photos taken with Canon EOS 7D

in response to: Developing Your Eye – Day 7 – Big



in blazing colours
use bold strokes
without discretion,
talk Turner to me
in a painting
of your dreams.

in calm patience
for perfect conditions
then shoot with precision,
talk Adams to me
in a photograph
of your life.

without compunction,
use your soul as a sheet,
mix ink with your tears,
talk Byron to me
in a poem
of your love.

Yet what I will see
are imprints of me,
projecting my hopes
straight onto your world,
for ensnared are we
in the solitude
of our own thoughts.

© november child

in response to: Developing Your Eye – Day 6 – Solitude

photo taken with Canon EOS 7D


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