november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind


I get fearful
of the havoc you create

when the impatient
wind of your adronitis
rattles the hinges
of my barricaded doors,

when your insatiable
hunger for closeness
drives you to illicitly
override my security protocols,

when your husky voice
demands revelation
of every shred of misery
Pandora’s box has to offer.

I get frantic

when you’re on the hunt
for the black-winged goddess,
safely tucked away within.


© november child
photo credit: artist unknown via Pinterest
in response to Mindlovermisery’s Menagerie Wordle #106 “18th April 2016”
(I know it’s an old one, but I saw someone using the words and I liked them, it’s a variation
on my “Intrusion”)


Sometimes you forget
your pretence of being human.
I hear the hum of
the Universe interlaced
with your voice,
and I can almost touch
golden rivers running
underneath your skin.

Sometimes your human body
is unable to fully contain you.
I see the most pleasing
white moonlight
leaking from your eyes,
and catch the scent of
cold starlight during
winter solstice.

And sometimes
I shed silken tears,
and submit to my fear
that this world is not enough
to hold you.

© november child
photo credit: Francisco Sánchez-Aedo Gálvez via Flickr


Just a Little Bit

A little bit of me
unravels every time
I hear your name.

A little bit of me
has never learned
to walk away from you.

A little bit of you
is all it takes
to bridge the gap.


© november child
photo credit: Dave Schumaker via Flickr


Second Thoughts

Doubt sets in frequently,
demanding a review of
decisions made.

Hindsight reveals the truth
it so loves to conceal during
those moments when it is
actually needed.

Reminding with a mocking smirk
that one might have been
more open-minded about
things second-guessed, and
more wary of concepts
blindly taken for granted.

© november child
photo credit:  (Auguste Rodin – Le Penseur)



I wish you did not grin
at the straps of my bag
digging into my skin.
Cut me some slack,
I can handle the weight.
And I swear, every single item
stored in the cavernous depths
of this bag, is of utmost importance.

I can trim anything from
nails to trees, I carry tools that
could repair anything if I knew how,
and you never know
when a fishing line might come
in handy. I admit I am a bit
unsure about the seashell,
but I promise, something somewhere
in there can undo the end of the world.

I can not begin to comprehend
how you can survive
with just a wallet.


© november child
photo credit: Roxanne Ready via Flickr
in response to The Sunday Whirl Wordle # 294


You, the imperturbable,
you, the advocate of
rectilinearity and clarity,
have embraced my
multifaceted brokenness.

I, of the lost faith,
I, the unbeliever,
born from contradictions
and scepticism,
pray for catharsis.


© november child
photo credit:  Polpolux via Flickr



I have stored my unshed tears
in my system, unacknowledged,
running them through my veins,
watering down my blood.
I’d rather drown in my own tears
before I let you see me cry.
I do not trust anyone with my frailty.


© november child
photo credit:


I have outgrown my need for you,
left it behind,
somewhere along the road,
buried next to the skeletons
of my insecurities.

You may cling to your denial,
keep insisting we are not done yet,
but I assure you
it won’t change a thing –
this woman has moved on.


© november child
photo credit: Iain Merchant via Flickr


Times Change

Long time ago
I looked up to you,
trusted you,
making your goals
my priority.

For what it’s worth,
I adored you,
idolised you,
your every word
was a prayer to me.

Long time ago
I looked up to you,
upon your hero’s pedestal
where I placed you.


© november child
photo credit: Antonio Marìn Segovia via Flickr


beach cusp formations

geometry in motion

nature’s mysteries


© november child
photo credit: Amusing Planet



Yours is a serene world
of quiet determination
where things are done calmly
after prudent consideration;
a world of self-assured patience
and gentle amusement.

I guess, that is
how you convinced
my butterfly soul
to settle down.


© november child
photo credit: Lyndon Hatherall via Flickr



I hear you,
loud and clear.
Each quiver,  crack,
change of timbre,
every pause,
and most of all
your silence
cries out to me.

© november child
photo credit:



Hand over your darkness,
send me those clouds
that overshadow your smile
when you think no one is looking.

I  will carry them for you,
shoulder their weight,
wearing them like a second skin.

Let their drabness
blend with the gloomy despair
I have born for
what seems like ages.

© november child
photo credit: original photo abrinsky via Flickr

Little Death

Yesterday I died a little.

Now I am concerned,
as I do not know
how much life
I have already used up,
and how much leeway
I am granted.

I am thinking,
I may have to stop
this reckless behaviour,
take a more prudent
course of action,
and stop dying a little
every time I think of you.

© november child
photo credit:



To this day
I can not comprehend
what made me fall for you.

This total deviation from
the good-guy motto,
the sudden insane plunge
into the bad-boy theme,
I am still amazed
at my own boldness.

I’ll just tick it off
as a tiny rebellion
that, to put it mildly,
didn’t turn out too well.


© november child
photo credit: artist unknown



I drift aimlessly, in limbo,
deliberately disconnected,
hesitating over every step
as if navigating a grid
without coordinates.

I hover above trivialities,
fret over minor matters,
and obsess about details
in an effort to distract me from
what needs to be addressed.

Procrastination on an
expert level is my answer
to controversy, my go-to mode
when I am unsure
where I stand with you.

© november child
photo credit: Geekly Things via Flickr

On Colours

I beg to differ,
eggshell and off-white are not
the same as white,
and vanilla is no more yellow
than aubergine is purple,
or turquoise is just blue….

And I’d sincerely appreciate it
if one didn’t roll their eyes
at the sighs escaping me
upon ridiculous remarks like
‘looks all the same to me’….

If, during Stone Age,
we had picked holly berries
instead of red currant
with an offhand
‘looks all the same to me’,
humankind would be extinct….

© november child
photo credit: Kentish Plumber via Flickr
   Massive                            difference


In a moment of
pure nostalgia
I dream of white beaches
and oceans.

And then I remember
the distinct mouldy, salty smell,
icky jellyfish and slimy seaweed,
lobs at low tide,
how I really don’t like it
when I can’t see the bottom,
or anything else bustling in there
for that matter,
and that the water is always
cold, at least where I come from.

And I recall, the sand gets so hot
one can barely walk on it,
and sneaks into every piece
of clothing one wears,
that sea shells and whatnot
prick the soles of my feet,
and, seriously, making love
on a beach is only ever
awesome on a TV screen.

I’m still pondering
where my romantic
notions originate from
when they’re clearly
not supported by reality.


© november child
photo credit: Fred Riley via Flickr


Under the billowing canopy
of your self-made throne,
safe from harm you sit,
legs drawn up, toes wiggling,
ash-blonde locks constantly
falling over your eyes,
simmering down after
a day full of excitement.

One sticky hand holds
your toy car in a death grip,
while the other grabs
little slices of pear
I had to cut just so,
chewing happily, unperturbed
by sweet juice running
down your chubby chin.

You’re my personal lodestone,
irreversibly drawing me
into your bubble of happiness.


© november child
photo credit: Wikimedia commons
in response to Mindlovermisery’s Menagerie Wordle # 146 ‘March 13th, 2017’

Compassion vs. Judgement


You sneer at immersing
oneself into another world
in the pages of a book.
Pure escapism, you say.
You may be right, so what?
Even in privileged lives
not everything is coming
up roses. It’s not
up to you to decide
how others deal with

You complain about how
people immerse themselves
in their own pain.
Who’s to judge suffering?
Everyone is hurting
in their own way, to their own extent,
and for their own reasons.
Considering another’s
pain as irrelevant,
does by no means
make it so.

© november child


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