It is November
And all the leaves face my way
Overlapping tussocks of grass
Like long forgotten hills
Dwelling in the overhang of fall

It is November
Orange ribbons hand in tatters
Patched up yellow cloaks are draped
And whisking in the wind
Then drifting to the earth
And becoming winters pillow

It is November
And there stands a lonely tower
Base adorned with red bushes
Flags no longer flying
Crouched and crippled by the frost

It is November
My feet bear down on acorns
A thousand fold
All left and forgotten
Even to the squirrels
Just a layer ‘neath my feet

It is November
The solitary pines stand solid
Near the ivy covered wall
Their boughs raise and hail the heavens
And their needles fall
As the autumn wind dances a mournful dance

It is November
Bare branches rake the cloudy skies
And scratch out their heartfelt pleas
Against cold glass windows
Seeking what they have lost and will not find

It is November
An old gate stands ajar
Beckoning to no one
Standing solidly open
Despite the cruel fall wind

It is November
Trees make colored circles
A fading gold on fading green
A fireworks display
Now falling to the ground

It is November
Cold air fills my body
Cruel wind tosses my hair
I seek a shelter from autumn
My door is open
Now I am home

The children rush in hasty hordes
Freed from desks and chairs of knowledge
They crowd the gates, and tan paved walkways
Hugging old friends goodbye they race to their busses
Or run down the street, headed to the stores
Or the movie theater, they will haunt the public areas
Long after the teachers have gone, they will run about
Downtown, in the big round mall, by the train station
They walk in pairs, they run in crowds, until
The scuffed up floors are empty now, the lockers clean
The windows shut, the doors all locked, everyone
Is at home, or far away, and still the building sits
Empty and alone, gates locked, deserted
They look at it a laugh
“We shall not return to you again! ” they proudly say
and saunter off, heads held high, in the company of friends
they do not hear the quiet answer, it comes later, when all
the streets are empty, the building answers, a dusty echo
“I will see you in September”
But they don’t look back.

Denial is a hungry feeling
Towering like a tidal wave
Its sharpened claws can send you reeling
Will power is the force to save

It claws your belly like a tiger
It bites you like an angered snake
Your sense of wanting grows e’er higher
You feel its more than you can take

It taunts you with its sickly sweetness
Beguiles you with saccharine dreams
You’re lost within its sweet caress
You find you’re on the losing team

Eventually the hammer falls
And nothing’s left of you at all.

We both caught love at the midnight train
Standing by the stations doors
Looking at the other
Separated only by glass
The seconds passed
Until with a whirring noise, and brisk announcement
The train took me with it, and left us
Staring backwards through the doors
Mouths slightly opened
Bags slipping from our fingers
The sound the wheels made as the roll along the tracks
Matched the palpitating of our hearts
And the clink of the coins through our fingers
As we attempt to calculate
How much it would cost us
To meet again

I thank you for the moon at night
and also for the stars that shine
and basking in it heavenly light
I wish the universe were mine

A midnight breeze
tosses my hair
and blows the leaves
of hidden trees
into fall air

a silver light
shines on the grass
a rabbits flight
then safe at last
at home tonight

a silver silence
speaks its presence
to the world
and in the fading, evening light
the dew drifts down
behold, the night

We see the shadows running past
and in the corners of our minds
we count the summer days till last
and the beginning is falls time
the scarlet leaves are mine

A lying word,
is something somber
Like an ink drop,
in a pool of water.
It poisons all the fishes,
that swum safely below.

The grass flickers, as the
Wind pushes it down, in
A gentle but determined
Motion, sweeping upwards to
Swirl the blue-grey clouds
Around the radio tower, before
Dissipating into the milky
Sky, which at this moment
Is the lightest shade of
Blue, an open innocent shade
Of blue, like an angelic birthday
Cake, the pinker clouds, whose
Graceful tendrils embrace the
Air, and dancing twirl across the
Peaceful summer skyscape

Down below them, the
Emerald stalks of corn stand,
Silent sentinels, awaiting the
Coming of the dawn, they too
Feel the pushing of the wind, but
Brush it off, over their shoulders,
And continue their silent watching
On the sloping sides of the hill, the
Growling pines, resplendent in their
Glimmering needles, reflect the fading
Light, off the clouds, as the sun sinks,
Beneath the horizon, and I watch them
Silently on my bike, the only thing
I can hear, is the swish of the wind,
And the hum and whirring of the
Pedals, as my bike and I, we glide up
The hill, and down the hill, and
Around the posts that are meant
To keep the cars from disturbing, this
Peaceful walking path

A while later, we crest a hill, now
Having past the town, I see the work
Of the persistent wind, the clouds
Now whipped into a curling wave,
Of pink and blue-black, spilling
Over the horizon, behind the red-roofed
Country houses, which are strangely
Reminiscent of those old, red, barns
Which would sit abandoned in
Fields of perpetual wheat, and,
Through the turning of the seasons,
Would rot away into timbers, with
No one left to remember, what
They were, or why they remain

Now we have ridden in a loop, my
Bike clicks as I change gears, to
Crest a hill and coast down, at high
Speed, between the guard rails and
The road, with the wind kicking
Up behind me and whisking an
Upcoming tree in to a fluttery
Flurry of leaves and branches, while
Below a stream cuts a field, and,
Skirting a pen, passes by a pinto
Pony, I think it was, that was just
Standing there, as we rode past,
Onto the cobblestones and around
A bend, the group splits, some going
A different route, but I want to come
Back the way I came, and I ride
Beside the highway, listening to
The chirp of the crickets and the
Hum of the wheels against the
Cold, pavement, while up the hill
The verdant pines bob their bows,
Up and down, waving, waving,
The crashing blue-black wave has
Rolled, on past the tower now, it
Is crashing down over the silent
Sentinels, and I watch quietly as
The wind rolls down the hill, and
Whirls some leaves, making the
Grass flicker in the setting sun.