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November chillness

November chillness

As the cold wind flows in
her memories enters mind.
Thinking of her, enjoying this crazy love
freezes the november chillness.

Body is somewhere and mind is somewhere
mind not responding to november chillness
is frozen by her memories.
the slow speech of her, the elegant looks
ha frozen my mind

hey akasha mallige, i stare at you and wait for january
to see you in full bloom.
I don't know when is my january
but enjoy her memories freezing my mind.

As the cold wind of november flows,
memories of her fragrance and

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poem by Venkatesh Nagaraj
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Sunday The 13th Of November

A rum for a ram and a sheep fopr a ship,
Sunday the 13th of November to remember!
Like the male lambs of the first year when,
The blood started to flow.

One young bull and one male lamb,
One big ram and one male goat,
But one is destroyed out of the twins expected;
It come out as blood on Sunday the 13th of November.
Of a spanteneous reaction,
And this blood flow is the evidence;
But our faith will always lead us on,
Like life in the wilderness of Sinai.

Sunday the 13th of November,
Like the old blood in a clay pot;
Sunday the 13th of November,
Like the synchroneous act of sadness;
There we lost our appetite.
What is sweet is now soar,

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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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November Love (My First Poem) (Two Versions)

Below, you will see two versions of my very first poem.
Its important to understand that the first version of the poem
is exactly as I wrote it at 6: 15 to 6: 30 PM on November 2nd
1970. I made no changes to it. It is also important to know
that this was, in fact, my first ever attempt to write a poem
of any kind whatsoever. The second version is modified from
the first because I wanted to demonstrate how a few simple
word changes can convert a rather average poem of some
quality into a poem of great quality and structure.

In early November the air is clear
With many sounds of lovers near.
Not as the April birds that sing
Nor as the Sunday church bells ring.
But rather to the rhythm of rain,
The hearts of lovers beat again.
For it's not true love that blooms in spring
Nor is it of love that birds do sing.
Rather of that love soon gone
And never seems to carry on.

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poem by Greenwolfe 1962
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Sweet November

Sweet november.. you stole my heart
I let it go with all the fear and doubt
Sweet november.. you opened my mind
With all the sweetness that you left behind
And I'm living, with a vision of you
All the days grow colder, but I know
It's not the way I'm holding on but how I'm letting go
And how I will remember
Sweet november
And now you're with me
You're with me in the sun
I'm a baby in a world that's just begun
And now you're with me
You're with me in the rain
I'm so glad that I will never be the same
Cause I'm living with a vision of you
All the leaves are falling, falling down like snow
It's not the way I'm holding on it's how I'm letting go
But how, I will remember
Sweet november

[...] Read more

song performed by Heather Nova
Added by Lucian Velea
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November

'Tredje Reeb ind! - - Op at beslaae Mersseilet! -
Ha, alle Djævle, hvilken Nat! -'

*
Nøgent, øde Sted paa Jyllands Vestkyst.
(Det er Nat og Maaneskin; Skyerne jage hen over det oprørte Hav).

En Skare onde Natur-Aander mødes, de leire sig i Sandet.

Den Første.
Her November har sin Throne,
Hvilken deilig Dandseplads!
Storm og Hav er vort Orchester.
Hør dog, hvilket lystigt Stykke!
Mine Been er Hvirvel-Vinde;
Kom, imens de Andre sladdre
Om de natlige Bedrifter.

Den Anden.
Dette Sted især jeg ynder.

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poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Poems For Piraye (9 To 10 O’Clock Poems)

Remembering you is good
in prison
amid the news
of victory and death
as my fortieth year passes...

Remembering you is good
your hand
forgotten upon a blue dress
your hair
with the grave softness
of the earth of my beloved Istanbul.
This joy of loving you
is like a second person inside me...
The smell of geranium leaves
on your fingertips
warm and comforting
The invitation of your flesh
a hot
intense darkness

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poem by Nazim Hikmet
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In Days to Come

IN DAYS TO COME

In days to come when, dumb, I’ll strum no more
rhymed witness to timed world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest unblessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections poet pours
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ scores
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Self is both root and cause of fatal flaws.

My memory, wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
may shadow search vain answers to Life’s game.

20 May 2005 revised 16 November 2006 and 25 March 2009
robi03_1257_robi03_0000 SXX_DIZ

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Quotations

I am not my skin nor what i wear
what i hear don't put me to fear

11th January 2008

heaven belongs to the righteous in heart
not a religious group one belongs to

23rd September 2005

The truth must bare a proof
Or else we have nothing to prove as the truth

20th march 2011

A powerful man
Is the one who can come out of his worries
Providing solutions to his problems

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poem by Matt Ancient
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November

November;

One of those months
caught in the middle
between two seasons

Split down
into two's
Like daylight
and darkness

'Always feels like home
in twilight,
and just before the dawn
before the birds song'

A time that never lasted
too long

November is warm

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poem by Midnights Voice
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Owen's Street~

Today, basking in the bright sunshine of Texas
Upon this late November day, i feel complete
Embracing hearth and home ever so deeply
Right here, in my home on Owen's Street;
I know, i know, i could have lived in Dallas
Or even in Dorothy's Kansas or Jesting Oklahoma
But, i choose Coolidge as my home sweet home
Although sometimes, i do long to be in Roma;
But all kidding aside, my friends and foe
I do digress, way, way too much
For it is so true, as i, was once without a clue
On this bright November day, i am at last completely in touch;

By: Theodora Onken

November 24,2012

poem by Theodora Onken
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