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Commuter Poet Nov 2016
Friend

I'm glad to see you
You know me
Want the best for me

Friend

You always have a smile for me
A spare bed for me
A drink for me

Friend

You are my saviour
A treasure
Companion

Friend

You indulge my imagination
You listen
And help me feel human again

Friend

You lift me from my troubles
Setting me straight
You never let me down
New month,
Ordinary start,
Very hopeful though,
Every great thing starts small.
Manage the little youre blessed with,
But dont stop trying to get better.
Earlier this year you made it,
Remember to use your history for strength.
Happy new month,
A sign of hope and new beginnings,
The year is coming to an end and youve made it this far,congratulations!
Aly Oct 2016
Nil
It placidly withers
like little Dahlias
settled on top of the cold marble
on the second week of November.
Leisurely fading
on the back of my brain
bestowing spaces
for new memories.
Until it becomes a blur
tiny dapples
freckles of different sunlight
augmented on different days
months
years.
Until almost immemorial.
Almost.
But then, he also withers
and so do I
and so does what we have.
Until one day,
it was nothing
but ashes
of the old fire.
Grace Jordan Oct 2016
Frosted lips met rusted leaves,
Surprising both parties at its rightness,
Between the freezing and the warm,
Between the snap and the crunch,
Between Autumn and Holly.

Hearts met in the mix of November,
A tossed salad of a month where both coexist,
They met with eyes of brown and blue,
And to their shock and everything else managed to meet too,
Between Autumn and Holly.

As the eons went by,
They muddled through ice ages, warm fronts,
Surviving only in the holy sanctuary of each others' arms,
And even when their battling storms came,
They came out with hands locked,
Gladiatorial victors of all things wicked their way come,
Possible love strung between them in the month of November,
Between Autumn and Holly.

The world grew below them,
and they did their work exactly as the atmosphere demands them,
They can nearly feel it in their bones when each meteorological tide must come,
It is the way their work happens,
And the way their world, our world turns,
Between Autumn and Holly.

Yet as humankind appeared and grew there was something stirring,
There were mechanisms and smoke clouds and an unbelievable flurry,
A heavy weight of some subversive demon latching itself lightly onto the lovers,
Then deeper,
But they refused to open their eyes; their earth and humanity won't either,
So the demon festered and grew to breathe noxious fire,
Eventually making the air too caustic in their ignorance,
Between Autumn and Holly.

Words could not be spoken after the inevitable occurred,
Autumn's world is near dead from a new, ferocious Holly storm,
A touch of the hand is all each heartbroken season wanted,
But they and the world stayed silent when everything's wrong,
And those fingertips and their vast love and brilliance created this hell,
A silence and death fell onto the possible love that possibly could have been forever,
Between Autumn and Holly.

Silence is their new normal,
Quid pro quo, in a way,
Holly's eyes scream her sorrow and guilt,
Her lips, on the other hand, say nothing,
Instead of their beloved, romantic November,
They now only meet for work,
The world becomes more chaotic and its weather distressed,
And the chasm between them grows larger with each atmospheric catastrophe,
The squalls screaming like their broken hearts,
All created by their ****** brilliant fingertips,
Between Autumn and Holly.

All they have left is staring down at their world and their humanity,
Hoping one day their November, their seasons, their world can be its own again,
It is too late for them to change the tides of the atmosphere,
But across the chasm they both somber and hope one day, some day, something can bridge the divide and:
Calm the atmospheric disaster,
Calm the storms,
Calm the world,
A maybe even fix the possible love that is left,
Between Autumn and Holly.
annie l hayes Sep 2016
It is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
And waltzes with her prince, The Fall Wind.
But when the clock strikes twelve,
Winter comes along with her December and January Winds,
Snatching up Autumn’s bright apparel
And clothing her in nothing but somber tatters.
Autumn keeps quiet, until the first rays
Of Spring’s long awaited sunshine
Touches the depths of Winter’s dark dungeon.
Autumn is showered with Spring’s rain,
And is coaxed into fashioning a new dress
With the same warm, golden tones of color,
But, this time, in a different pattern.
It is Summer’s sunshine, now, that assists Autumn,
With an occasional July thunderstorm to help form the new dress.
August passes by to give his opinion, and Autumn is finally ready.
For it is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
to waltz with her prince, The Fall Wind.
November is coming
I can feel it
I've developed a creak in my bones
A stutter in my soul
The leaves have changed
Soon they'll fall
And so will I
So will I

*The Suicide Diaries
Skylar Bouchard Nov 2014
The only thing I asked for,

One year ago, on this day,

Was to not have another,

I guess that's not the way life works.

Happy birthday to me.
shanika yrs May 2016
Some days I talk to wind
nature blossoms my art
freedom without a purpose makes
purist form of clouds

Words are for no one
when the light of moon
stir up the winds and cloud
waved to a thick low music

Sweetest essence of the poison
mixing the possession of magic to
bravery in the ripple of blue water
saxophone blow ' life not far away'

Cloud heaven is a feather bed
green spring in the winter fall
when all pieces are in one place
deep silence, long gone

Some words speaks some are not
vacuum sit tight since wind fill it
flagging down a friendly cloud
sleep in dreams with all love and peace
until an another dawn says

Good Morning !
imagine of a calm decent slow music pub, located on a rooftop of a capital in tropical country, imagine of a guy who sat on a table in a quiet corner, sipping a cocktail alone, with a help of frail dim light on a Friday of the last week of a November .The pub is called "cloud cafe"
Ella Byrne Apr 2016
Long bus rides
Cold, dark nights
Pinpricks of orange lights
I am content
I don't know why
November calls my name
Maybe because it reminds me
Of pleasant hacks
Racing against daylight
Frozen toes
Or maybe it's
Twinkly Christmas lights
The promise of good times to come
Laughter to be had
Love to be shared
Or maybe it's
Old sketchbooks filled with doodles
Books taking me away
Music filling my lungs
Being at peace
Maybe it's
Your lips sealing my fate
A simple question, magic since
Three years later
You've still got a spell on me
You're still my anchor to the world.
Written in November 2015.
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
I look back on years gone by
Trying to figure out the how and why
How we clung to each other trying to easy the pain
We clung to each other in the cold November rain
The rains have come around again this year
All alone I'm standing here
Head held down
As this cold *** rain splatters on the ground
Making puddles at my feet
As I travel down this dead end street
The cold penetrates my bones
For your not here I'm all alone
Your memories can't keep me warm
Only images of you in my mind are formed
They where desperate times for you and me
But looking back I can clearly see
We where never ment to be
I was only a life raft in your troubled sea
I wish I'd known then I was just your crutch
That I didn't mean that much
For now the only sound that resounds
In this frozen heart of mine, is this cold November rain falling down
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