NOVEMBER EXTRA-
ORDINAIRE

The best November asset
just may
be the ride one gets
when Advent’s cusp is passed
and it’s a downhill thrill
to Christmas day.

A young man,
three years in public service
    . . . promoting service . . .
stirred us up
with indiscriminate love affairs,
attracting followers everywhere
and cascading consequences
down to us today.

Never mind the fears that had him treed.
We cling to the news
that he was raised and we were freed
to continue his love story.

And as our November now wears on,
growing its darkness and creepy cold
I question my love affairs.
Are they warm enough?  Consequent free?
Do they light up too few?
And whom do I excuse
as too . . . too?

Come in . . . bring some wood for the fire.
We’ll use candles for atmosphere.
And while we’re here
let’s pause.
Honor the mother
who grew that babe
and cradled his desire
to learn to serve.

Y’all come, y’hear.

DRK
3/30/11

 NOVEMBER REVISITED

Today’s array
of browns and grays
rouses memories
of teenage hunting days -- 
a few pheasants in the weeds,
but mostly cottontails
darting through the brush.
And all the while my buddies and I
harbored dreams of
something WILD.

Above in V’s
ducks and geese took their November leaves --
to exchange icing ponds and chilling air
for exotic who-knows-wheres.
They traveled fast
they traveled high,
like hell-bent SSTs.
We could but stare --
their reach, so far beyond our ken
or youthful hunting expertise.

But any day that we were there,
eager for what came our way,
trophies were bagged,
dragged home and magnified
in the stories we shaped
and would recall.

November, the perfect loom
to weave warp against woof,

imagination and a zest for living,
against autumns coarser fibers.


DRK
6/11/10

 

 

 NOVEMBER BETWEEN

                                                          

Spring drama and summer booty, now cached,

once again Mother Nature changes hats

and Gaudy October yields

to muted November’s aging fields.

Their many shades of browns and grays

underscore our shortening days.

At the fence, long rows

of brown corn stubble lead

to a spray of empty trees.

         Fans framing space

with limbs,

once lost in summer’s earnest greenery,                  

now, chilled,

reveal the interstitial beauty

of their gray twigged filigree.

Come inside.

Let’s toast nature’s annual evening time;

         Let fall your leaves,

         and sag your sap.

Enjoy Mother Nature’s windy music in the cracks.

We’ll light her logs and pour her wine.

Anticipate.

         She’ll soon unpack

         her stunning winter wardrobe wrap.                        

Dennis R. Keefe

November, 2008