The Aspiring Bard

At times, I am very much a sentimental fool. This first poem proves that fact.  November 16 Some places Still hold memories of you, Of echoes that will neither Live nor die 'Til you return And put the old at rest - Remember all our dreams And make them new. And no, this is not about me being in love with anyone. I just thought I'd clarify, since I know that's what you're thinking. ;-) November 17 My life in a notebook: Rhymes, thoughts, ideas Crowd for space Against a recipe or two, Half-finished stories And a list Of many things I'll never do. November 18 The world is full Of misconceptions... Silly people Thinking silly thoughts... And we, No wiser than the rest, Pass judgment On them all. It occurred to me today that people almost never write poetry for November. There are multitudes of poems for the months of bright leaves, and a generous handful of verse for the snowy months, but nothing for poo...

Erm...I'm late. Desculpe.  You might recognize this first one as being a more structured version of one of last week's poems.  November 7 A silver moon A silver dawn A silver silence Carried on The rushing wings Of frosty air. And I? Well, I do not belong I am too permanent And strong. I crush the transience Of frost Beneath my feet And it is lost. November 10 Break the silence Not the dream. Nothing lasts forever. Dream-worlds may Erode and fall But silent things are stronger. You knew there had to be a piece of utterly inexcusable doggerel somewhere. Well, here it is: November 11 East or West, Home is best... I'd like a home Both East and West. November 12 Contentment here With what I have - The things that are Or are to be. A fire clicking In the stove, A book at rest Upon my knee. The evening hours Are a time Of peace and warmth And glowing light. A homely hearth, A labor done, And pleasant fancies Taking flight. ...

Poetically speaking, this has been a far-from stellar week. Nothing rhymed. I missed a few days. I really wasn't sure if I wanted to post at all. But I suppose this will be good for my humility, if nothing else. November 1 Shaking with excitement, I can not sleep tonight - God's go-ahead resounding In my ears - Unfolding A new chapter Of this life I have on loan. Obviously, I didn't do much sleeping this week. :-/  November 2 Sleep runs away On swiftest feet. I strive (In vain) To catch her. November 3 (etched into my notebook page with an ink-less pen) 'Blessed is he Who has not seen But has believed'. I ache for that day When I can Truly see. November 4 What shall I write? There are no words, Only empty lines To mock me With their stubborn silence. A man once said That writing about writing Is what folks do Instead of writing. I think I see now What he meant. Oh goody! A two-fer! I think the second one might be dead, tho...