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Wk kortas Jul 2018
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
May possess a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the *******-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
CA Guilfoyle Dec 2016
Now these clouds
the cold mean greys
sideways rain, the north lands I remember
the drowning choke of smoke and fire
traveling the dark road to your home
the black and spark of stars
we watched through the night
before the killing dawn
before the foggy cold that held us down
the clinch and grasp a slow stinging wasp
gone the fragrant hum of bees
the honey meadow petals.

Only a fleeting summer - we gathered
now swallowed in the autumn thunder
the bruising cold of November.
Silverflame Aug 2018
my old futile dreams
make the windows all misty
ripping up the seams
blood mixed with ancient whiskey

a smile around the corner
lures the naive mind
******* up the world order
another death wish signed

overhead, brick by brick
the november wind stands still
heart oozing of homesick
empty thoughts keep my glass refilled

delusions cover my sight
faraway lights blink with eager
fixing the crooked night
dinner with the grim reaper
A poem I wrote last year, which I someone managed to delete with my clumsy fingers.
Jasmine Somers Nov 2017
It’s pitch black again as you’re driving home. The wind whirls around the world outside, the radio static barely drowns out the noises in your head. When did it get so loud? Each thought screams at you. Reminders of all of the mistakes you’ve buried in the backyard. Did you forget what happened the last time you dug them up? All of the ghosts coming out to play. The skeletons in your closet morphing into bodies of the people you used to love. People who used to love you. People who have found warmer homes elsewhere. It’s cold this time of year but never as cold as it is beneath your ribs. Drives like this feel like forever when no one’s riding shotgun in the passenger side. The laughter now an echo from the back of your mind.  When was the last time someone told you it was going to be okay? Or has it been so long that the word “okay” isn’t a feeling but a faraway place you uprooted from the day your mom stopped coming home. Trauma has many names but never this many faces. A deer jumps in your path and you almost step on the gas instead of your breaks.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2015
I remember. I remember
The flying leaves and floating leaves
Blazing yellow-orange-red

Until, wind-felled, their final embers
I remember to this day
This wet wool-gray, this end of day

Paris that November
Paris attacks, 13 November 2015.

Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry from common things.)
Karijinbba Nov 2018
I thank you all poets poetessess moderators this thanks giving.
To one or two foe serpents in my paradise writing uglily to me on HP, I am sorry I had to block you and your friends since I am highly intuitive.
One of you posing as female sent me to your page drawing a page full of scissors! without a word in it very cruel sadistic of her an old poisonous snake from my old paradise hanously destructive. Another a female wrote mocking a woman aborting her child!! Abortion is legal to me only if medically adviced.
Grow a brain write, don't mock or judge me. The only child I aborted was one whose heart had stoped due to massive antibiotic dose prescribed by a butcher because MD he was not. That was my missfortune and your oportunity.
What is it to you anyway to write to me derrogatorily so?. It happened in my teens! Long ago. ENOUGH!
I had to block you. I am highly intuitive and gifted first pure blood RHO negative.
I know it's you even when you hide masked behind this HP mirrors.
Please make peace with your ghosts, head voices or seek medical psychiatric help, many of you need it. Poetry isn't to mock hate assault the mind heart and soul of fellow men and women who communicate beautifully even in their distress but evil won't be rewarded or tolerated not by me, if you play your holier than me role.

Theres plenty malice where I am no need for me to pay monthly to be cursed on here.
Please spread love, live life forgive yourself be genuine, share your true life experiences, instead of looking who to dishonor and hate.
For the one or two females who created an account just to spread evil grow a heart a brain and then tell us how you did it.
we might even apreciate your courage to share!
My past love life with wealthiest elite true love, sweetheart soulmate, twin flame isn't any of your business.

G* d, and cause and effect in the universe are my only judges not a malignant infective fungus poor excuse, a human **** like yourselves who tried to defile me unprovoqued undeserved and unsolicited.
You are forgiven and loved still but I had to block you. I don't reward or ignore destructive behaviors.
To all genuine poets moderators and poetessess be well
Happy Thanks giving this November 2018.
All the best to you all

As for killing a turkey,
for six years now, I forgive the turkey and spared it's life but I still have fun eating all other delights of season's greetings.

also I love and pamper myself
I am my own best friend
so that loving, tolerating and understanding others becomes that much easier and enjoyable.
Happy Thanks Giving
Sam Hawkins Nov 2015
On this early chill November morning
where are you now, my firefly,
in crystal ground, under log or leaf?

Where is your crew in its dying?
Have your babies wakened
to winter sleep?

I recall how on July evenings, when I came out,
I had long listened for your messages.

Blessings to you for accepting me, my witnessing
your spotted twists free-floating down;
your drifting off and on through moonlit tree,
visits to my wrist, a shoe.

I was happier than happy—
happiest as happy be.

Had you felt my spark
electric energy?

Multiple mystery goes slipping
in and out of my pocket.

And now, these few months hence, there is
this glint on the frost-etched window.
Flash of apt stillness.

A wild-voiced picture:
our pleasure’s twin.

How could I say I know exactly what you are?

By my ear and everywhere I would say!
These light flung words of yours,
not mine, to lend.

Yet, if I could love you so truly and then release you,
would I comprehend what life wishes to teach me
about possessiveness, the brevity of existence,
time itself, worlds of no time?

Most joyful would I leave all the faces of my dwelling.
Sail headlong into far-flung dream,
toward sky’s moon, hunting the sun.

Glimpse heaven in our dancing?

Behold you and my own body, firefly,
before we were born?
The Oran rain patters against my home,
The wind breaks upon the house
and I lie in bed
feeling comfortably alone.

I need to sort my life, move on from this town,
Need to stop being on my own, want to give myself
away, want someone to take me
far away. I'd willingly lose myself
to another, a city or a person; the other,
Me. Is this narcissism? Can I just be happy,
Or must I change so radically
in order to escape?

The real work must begin,
This aimlessness must end before it becomes
ceaseless in its expansion. All I have are words
and melodies, moments in experience that will be lost to all
time. I might as well craft an album, and nod to all I've felt
and've left to feel. Music keeps me alive, 's the only thing
How shall I tell my story,
Why shouldn't I be true to my potential?
What's stopping me?
Matt Shaw Nov 2016
This hour is a special autumnal brew
The air is imbued with wet leaves, and mushroom
ripening soil in the early dew.

Reflection in preparation
Contemplation, the casting of our stars
in the early morning

To wake in the celestial sea
And experience a Day of Life on Earth
Chucky's Bride Aug 2018
I still remember your look,
The ''judging look'', when you saw me with him.
I can't say if I was happy because I saw you hurt,
Or I just was sad because you needed so long,
To find out,
To find out that you actually love me.

But I'm happy.
I've got my revenge.
I've made you admit it,
Even though you never said it to me.
But I did it.

But this time I have left.
I've got my revenge.
I've got inside your head.
Even the strongest one has fallen.
And finally I have found a peace.

And even tho months has passed.
I still pray for you every night.
I still pray that you find peace.
I'm so sorry that that peace wasn't me.
And I'm sorry I needed so long to see it.

But I'm happy now.
He is nice, and I can say with all my heart that I love him.
He is giving me everything you were never capable of.
Love, kindness, happiness, protection.
I finally see the future.

But still,
I will remember our month,
Our lovely November.
Stay safe my Scorpio,
Because, finally I have left.
But I will pray for you.

With love, your Scorpio.
Simone Zona Nov 2017
She sits in stoop, low over the sodden earth
Pressing herself  to leave an impression in the muck
some sort of public confession,

That she actually exists.
Swallowing whole all things dead and dying, but
Her own unsubstantiated concept of
Living, defying her purpose
In insipid contradictions

To her needless desperation to grow.
To prove her own mass substantial
Absorbing into herself all things that seem too real,
That threaten her absoluteness
That threaten to have existed before her
Nico Julleza Sep 2017
A pour of liquid upon the sky
hollows around the city
flickering unknowing lights
as she stands on the corner
A fantasy strews in my mind
with walls painted to emblaze
floors swarming with haze

Red on her lips
A tense that lures my eyes
reaching the inside-out
tangled in a state of enmity
as I wade in serendipity
nobody asked me how I feel
the fact she was never even real

We tag around the maze
I baffle between truth and fake
boundless as we kissed
Breathtaking, filled with bliss
A perfection I'll never miss
But twas a treacherous crime
And thankfully I woke up in time
#Love #Fantasy #NovemberNight #Rain #Kiss #Treacherous

Sometimes love can lead you to paths you never even wish too. And the feeling is unexplainable. You only hope you could control it, cause it might build you or destroy you.

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Anonymous Nov 2015
It's easy when you're an hour away and it's been a few weeks.
It's easy when you aren't brought up in conversation like you're the sting of coffee on the tip of everyone's tongue.
You no longer linger in my dreams, day or night because you haven't got the time anymore.

But it's not easy when you've decided to spend the night and the walk from my bedroom to the loft where your heavy breathing feels like it's suffocating me and all that will ease the discomfort is laying beside you, is just steps away.
It's not easy when the soft whispers of how much you love me bounce around the room, repeating themselves, and when I ask if you hear it too all you say you can hear is the soft hum of the refrigerator.
It's not easy when you grab me by my hands and waltz with me in the hallway, and when I say I can't dance, you say you can't either.
It's not easy when I thought I was finally doing okay, and you just came right back.

I can't blame you, because I love you.
And it's one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.
Lynne Oct 2018
i'm made of iron
cast beautifully
each curve
marking the miles
i've run
each bruise
marking the fists
or cuts that mark
those words spoken
a statue, a goddess
hardened by years
of life gone awry.
but in honesty,
i live quite the
charmed life
lucky in most things
i do, with the exception
of love.
so, i wait patiently
for the moment
that my heart will
crack open to reveal
crystallized sweetness.
that will happen
the day that the
world stops turning
because of him.
for now,
i keep my walls up.
Jeannery Nov 2018
November three
haven't you realized, its getting spooky
the way the days go on
and the way you forget its already dawn.

its twelve thirteen
I can't stop thinking
honey, are we going to win?
by the way, are you still fighting?

--jeannery a.

its funny to think how time flies so fast and its crazy to think that after two months, its another ****** year.
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