November drizzle

Wet and drizzled this
November, stillborn-cold,
a tightened noose of darkness,
throb of migraine,
damp depression,
a scent of unwashed wool
and soggy shoes.
November is the weight
of death, the rot of boughs,
and muted hues.
November is unwanted pain.

Please kindle candles;
ember me with warmth and
kiss my eyelids shut;
let’s light November spent.

Noose Around Your Neck (Country Cityscapes Series) © Edward Ruscha

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November 2, 2017

36 responses to “November drizzle

  1. How come we wrote to the same theme, ha ! Love the November canvas specially:

    November is the weight
    of death, the rot of boughs,
    and muted hues.

  2. Ah, November, in its infancy, and yet I sit here in a sweater close to our fireplace, listening to the rain pelting the steamy windows. You had me at /a tightened noose of darkness/.

  3. Another amazing November poem, Bjorn! The language and imagery evoke a cold November day so I know what’s coming at the weekend, when the weather is expected to turn over here. These lines are impressive:
    ‘November, stillborn-cold,
    a tightened noose of darkness,
    throb of migraine,
    damp depression,
    a scent of unwashed wool
    and soggy shoes’.
    The last lines remind me that it will be Bonfire Night on Sunday!

  4. I liked the description of November as “the weight
    of death”. Harvest is almost all in, winter is coming and it makes us think of those we knew who are no longer here.

  5. Oh the cold breath of November, the precursor of winter and all that she brings…nearly time to raid the wardrobe for warmer jackets…
    Anna :o]

  6. I understand….October is reds and golds — autumn beautiful; November is barren trees, still-born cold, scent of unwashed wool (this my favorite)
    and soggy shoes. I do find myself putting candles on my window sill and lighting them in early morn…somehow that bit of warm flame warms me too. Beautifully done.

  7. Oh gosh you suddenly made me think – is that why I was subconsciously inspired to write the poem I wrote?! It’s called ‘On Ageing’ and features death 🙂

    Thank you for illuminating November in this way… I think you are right in your honesty. I can smell that wool, and taste that depression in these lines!!

    throb of migraine,
    damp depression,
    a scent of unwashed wool
    and soggy shoes.

  8. “ember me with warmth” — something my heart would have said in silence when I lived in the damned north. Your poem sent shivers of cast-off memories through me.

  9. Here in New York, our second day of November featured seventy degrees(f) and budding trees! Still, I get what you mean. I love my birthday–11/11–but after that November rots.

    Love this line of yours, btw: Please kindle candles; /
    ember me with warmth…

  10. Lots to like here – for me the ‘scent of unwashed wool / and soggy shoes’ brought back all those Northern Hemisphere winters of my childhood – steamy school halls full of dripping coats and scarves. Vividly done – thanks.

  11. “Wet and drizzled this”

    I thought you were headed somewhere entirely different with this. 🙂

    Excellent poem, nevertheless.

  12. Unwanted pain…I start thinking of candles just about now. Shorter days don’t make me happy. Good description. I’m taking walks now in the early mornings while temps are still allowing to see the dawn arise.

  13. November can indeed be a dark, depressing month. I particularly liked ‘…stillborn-cold,
    a tightened noose of darkness,…’ and the smell of wool and soggy shoes was evoked too. Hope you aren’t suffering too much.

  14. Oh I don’t see November as death….I see it as birth- it is my birth month…Gosh, it is a wonderful month of cold and mists and log fires…and homemade leek and potato soup.

  15. November a time of endings and beginnings. It sure can bring a wave of melancholy. I look for the holidays to bring some relief. Well said in your poem Björn.

  16. kaykuala

    ember me with warmth and
    kiss my eyelids shut;
    let’s light November spent

    Let’s hope November can be a lot better than being a depressing month!

    Hank

  17. “November is the weight
    of death, the rot of boughs,
    and muted hues.
    November is unwanted pain.”

    That really hits me where I live, Björn. I like this, and I love how the last stanza acts as a home-remedy to November’s dreck.

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