Thursday, November 12, 2015

November's Night

Like ghosts of Autumns past
Mists skim skeletal trees
As darkness cloaks the common world
Of day with mysteries

November’s night is deep
A haunted corridor
Where vagabond-like vespers weep
And sweep its tuneless shore

We cannot see the stars
How black the air is laid
We feel our way like foreigners
At a strange masquerade

November’s midnight moans
It chills us with its sighs
The cat lurks like a murky, lone
Apparition with eyes

…where ghosts of autumns past
Come out to romp and play
And fill November’s night with casts
That disappear by day

© Janet Martin


  1. "November's night is deep, A haunted corridor". That's my favorite image in this poem.

    I think about you sometimes: "How would Janet describe this?" You pull images out of the air and set them down as words.

    1. Thank-you for the beautiful encouragement on my blog when I woke up this morning. Each comment, often a poem to themselves, was cherished.

      God bless you.


Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!