d’Verse Poetics; November

At d’Verse, the pub for poets, Sanaarizvi’s prompt is to write about November and to explain ourselves. I have always loved November in New England, even though I recently heard it referred to as Stick season, a let down for many after Leaf season. For everything there is a season and for leafless trees it’s all about roots and inner space. These three poems I had written some time ago but they never had any place to go– until now.


 November Skies
  
 First day of November 
  dawned kettle gray, scoured clean.
 Blue jays scrabbled by.
  Curled leaves clung, faded green
 but mostly burnt shades 
   orange, red, yellow 
  bristling against the canvas sky.
  
 Gray November skies,
  impassive and impartial 
 to the desperate brush; 
  orange! red! yellow! have no hold 
 on the marbled gray
  that reins the wind 
 that might send them flying
  that leashes the rain 
 that might wash them away.
  
 November is a wise month
  of endings and of beginnings
 destructive, creative, first and last at once.
  Last leaves, first cold
 crisp days expressed 
  between lengthening nights
 November’s gray casts a special light.
  In just a while all will be all right. 
                   ***
  
 Mid November
  
 November gray dawned then calmly went along
  with gifts of days blue skied, days of warmth and sun
 November also gave the wind its head, loosened the reins and let it run
  stretched galloping; through nights and days it reared and plunged
  and cavorted with the leaping lashing rain unleashed 
  
 On those days leaves were wiped from their berths
  were spun and whipped and thrown down
 Color now mumbles subdued at the feet 
  of trees where, still grumbling, finally turn brown
  
 Wind and rain are brought to heel again
  to November’s commands obedient
 As much a Janus as another, yet ego-less and wise
 November emanates omniscience and is content 
  with the palette of its steely skies.
  
 Some power was shown, not all, not all
  brought to heel again, it’s not too late 
   to resurrect your fall. 
  
  
 November’s End
  
 November wanes, 
  no wind, no rain
    Cold sparkles in night’s dark.
  Lean land revealed, kneeled 
in prayer bold braced, skeletal bare,
   Clean spare trees exposed like spars;
  the bones of November support the stars.
 November has a deep abiding strength, so equably borne
  Strong and beautiful, elegantly unadorned. 

36 thoughts on “d’Verse Poetics; November

  1. This was a dazzling collection of November poems from first to last. I love the vivid colors in the beginning, until the end – bold braced, skeletal bare, clean spare trees exposed like spars.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yeah, they don’t all three actually go together; the first two are from southern New England where the colors are different, the third is from up here where it’s high Stick Season. But that sequence is generally how the fall comes on into winter.
      Thank you for your encouraging comments.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I’m so glad the Poets Pub was the place for all three poems to go! I only know about November in New England from movies and now from your poems, and it has similarities with the month we know in England – similar colours, for example. I especially love the description of November as ‘kettle gray, scoured clean’ – cue a warm cup of tea. I’ll put the kettle on shortly. Yes, those skies do seem ‘impassive and impartial’. You’re right about mid-November too, the way the days change, the closer we get to December, as if it’s tidying up with the wind and rain. I like the lines: ‘Color now mumbles subdued at the feet / of trees where, still grumbling, finally turn brown’. ‘November’s End’ is beautiful, especially the lines: ‘Clean spare trees exposed like spars; / the bones of November support the stars.’

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you very much for your thoughtful comments. I’m so glad for the Poet’s Pub! Before the Pub I would just wait for a poem to hit me, like lightening or a hanging tree branch in the wind. That’s how the first poem came, after a walk when I was struck by the desperate last colors of fall. Then I kept going, documenting the rest of that often blustery month. November’s grays follow the bright colors of September and October but there’s plenty of poem fodder in gray, more maybe, for as Frost said, nothing gold can stay.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Your November is very different from mine. We’ve had glorious sun-drenched days, with azure skies, dozens of birds singing joyfully in the tops of green leafy trees while an abundance of butterflies flit from one juicy flower to another. Joy!
    However, the last day of October wreaked havoc for many with angry thunderstorms that tossed icy cricket balls from the sky. I’m sure there will be many repetitions over the summer months.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. what a wonderful whirl through November – filled with many illustrative lines of imagery so well captured
    – my favourite if I had to choose
    “Color now mumbles subdued at the feet
    of trees where, still grumbling, finally turn brown”

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Pingback: d’Verse Meeting the Bar; Synesthesia | ShiftnShake

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