Monday, November 30, 2015

November's Way



(yes, I must confess, 'I'm on a bit of a farewell tour... for November-ness:)

November has a way with hearts
It broods in hues of bronze, gray-blues
And often teases us with art
That only November imbues
It stirs the air with Bitter Sweet
And scrawls primitive silhouettes
Against the sky while ‘neath our feet
Its remnant laughter pirouettes

November has a way with words
My, how the poet rends its stance
Half-mad, her Muse is undeterred
An ink and wildling-wind romance
Where still, the will of quill half-poised
Rebels, and she returns to scale
The curves and colorless decoys
Huddled against November’s gale

November has a way with time
And suddenly we are aware
Of an ethereal pantomime
Swindling The Hour of precious air
This Thing that nobody can keep
Is soon like ashes in an urn
And ever veers toward That Deep
From which nobody can return

November has a tender way
Of showing us love’s hold-let-go
Life’s intermingled gold and gray
Depicts both wonderment and woe
Then, dearer is the darling day
Where summer’s rose and rondel spill
Because we know November’s Way
Is waiting over star-strung hill

© Janet Martin

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