Remix of November Days Poem...

For today’s prompt, write a remix poem. I love how music artists will remix each other’s (and their own) songs. Do that today with one of your poems. 

Remix of November Days...

You flood the land with solemn grandeur, bronze-cinereal-blue

 You lure the eye to moody skies weighted with winter's due

And though you seem unpopular compared to May and such

Something about you stirs a kindred spirit in your touch

You keen a kind of sorrow-song that comes with letting go

And when you turn the other cheek Time kisses it with snow

You strum your humble hymn on limbs stripped of lusher appeal

Where earth has claimed the prize that filled young eyes with dreams surreal

No one can tame the lion veiled as docile tick and tock

 Where leaf by leaf it siphons sighing sheaf  to strew the walk

You murmur over summer's tomb and sweep the somber scape

With dirges phrased by fallen bloom and autumn's tattered cape 

You seem torn between what once was and what law deems must be

...a hunger for faded applause spars with humility

As you reach to a world of soulmates tuned with tender ear

To catch the sorrow in your sigh and on your wind, a tear

Original posted earlier this month here

...or here (without photos)

You flood the heart with phrases too manifold for mere word

You toll a gong that blazons from yon belfry undeterred

And though you doff coppice and croft of autumn color-schemes

You move your moody wand across the brooding ponds and streams

You nurture nature’s languor with a lonesome lullaby

And spread a somber table for the poet’s hungry sigh

The lay leased to the laden limb, you quiet, leaf by leaf

As amber-russet riot dims on ashen-brindled heath

You scatter summer’s tatters like a scalawag run wild

And strip the tips of fronds that donned the lilt of bloom awhile

You sweep the sleeping landscape with death’s elemental dearth

And draw the eye to where the sky is tucked against the earth

You keen with soulful silence the impact of season’s seal

How one cannot turn back the clock to walk on Bygone’s reel

How, even in November when your wind is a sad song

We ought to dance and remember not to glance back too long