“November the Penultimate”


November the Penultimate

Never was a month so motley in its days:
November, penultimate month
of a year that frames the seasons,
when the leaves in early days
turn to brightest garnet,
a blazing topaz,
illuminated gold —

The latter days come
with the fire of the winds,
and the burning leaves take the plunge
from infernal towers of the branches
to the burial grounds of a gun-
metal, brumal earth —

November, November,
calves ache from the marathon,
hearts pound the door
to another December

When holly berries huddle upon the petals
of the soft-spoken snow,
and the fallen leaves breathe again
at the sound of the carols of the children,
the children rejoicing.

D. G. Vachal © 2013

Photography Credit: November’s Decline by Bucaneve

November Comes, My Love

November Comes, My Love

November, my love
is here again
and you are near
for warmth —

so many storms and seasons
we have weathered,
and now my arms
are leafless poplar
branches,
calloused from treacherous
winds,
bleached by salty floods
of rising tides —

furrows are sculpted
upon my face,
where streams flow
into endless rivers,
and yet behold,
a multitude of buttress dams
cannot contain
the sparkle of my laughter
bubbling
above my nighttime
weeping—

November comes, my love,
and you are near.

by D. G. V. © 2012