Best November Poems | Poetry
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New November Poems
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ONE DOLLAR in November
by owl, word
by Greene, Gerald
by Iljina-Pechenova, Valentina
by Hull, W.C.
Villanelle: Five Yin lines on November 6th overcome the top Yang line
by Wignesan, T
by Green, Chris
November 6th 2018 election day
by harris, matthew
In Memory of November
by Johnson, Rose
by Riddle, Regina
Remember remember November
by Flaherty, Christopher
View all new November Poems
The Best November Poems
The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.
He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.
This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.
The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.
With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.
His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.
The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.
The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.
November 25th, 2013
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
I am somber
like November days
and my words speak
weak, as if through tired tongue
I see the trees
reaching their limbs
across the stream
as if touching
and comforting each other
from the bitter cold
that's settling in
sometimes I envy them
I want to stand naked
arch my back
reach towards hands
and feel the comfort
of more than I am allowed
and escape the bitterness
as it settles in
it doesn't seem fair
to question a day
or night that wears the same veil
as me, colorless
and silent in the breeze
as it whispers
through the trees
I want to lean my ear
and eavesdrop on them
I want to peak beneath
the skies veil and see
the colors blend
to see the rain
through colored drops
fall upon a canvas
and paint a masterpiece
I want to feel my hands
finger a pen, without tingling
from bottled up emotions
to feel my soul inside me
not as if locked outside
looking in, as if a stranger
to my own life
not be the afterthought
or an emotion beyond words
of some poet's muse
I want to know the meaning
of this emptiness
I want to understand
why the tree is as naked
as my thoughts in winter
yet dressed heavy in the summer
and most beautiful in the fall
why does beauty fall
and dance in November's wind
somber, like the day....
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2013
G O L D E N
of the solar throne
your far-away fire reigns immortal -
blossom wild beauty of chrysanthemum skies
hold me in the unfolding glory of your well-wishing petals
as Indian summer’s rays ravish and relax the chill
tender is the topaz passion
in the sunset of your satisfied season
and seductive is the ripened ember
in the harvest of your lingering light
S O L
to soul -
suffuse my surrender with pulsar persuasion
your ambient nectar
embolden me the honey of your citrine haze -
a fortune my ruby honeycomb to save and savor..
anemone ambrosia for my essence to sip
when amber’s blush of November’s kindled kiss
on Winter’s cold
November 9, 2018
Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2018
The End of Love
A secret grief rips apart all that was
Slaves to the sexual caresses of time
Stallions in black gallop gallantly in fields
Of spring full wishes
Thou seeith the birth of love
Naked hopes surrounded by sweet perfumes
Seduced by the gods or by demon fools
Dancing, towards our own charades we sing
Funerals consume autumn’s dead poets
The gravestone cold and gray
We hug it like a long lost friend
One may see a battle lost
The other a battle won
In November we reminisce the soldier and singers too
Didst you know I was a prostitute?
Selling my soul to the hourglass of eternity
Foolishly hoping to sleep upon her breast
Shivering as others seem to fall right at deaths door
Brimstone, black and rose
The underbelly of St Laurent
Youthful boasts as the old man in cane hobbles
Generations sailed down the main
Some seeking solace others finding fame
Vaguely the recollections appear
Visions inside dreams inside the darkest fears
The end of love is near
For the hand above is reaching
As I float to the end of time
Enchantment in the crypts
Ravens dancing as they consume our mortal
No smiles, no sleep
Thou did knowest I’m surely certain
The dance of death
Only to be followed
By a piper
And angels violins
Rags and shrouds, kiss them all goodbye
In Memory of Leonard Cohen, a fellow Montrealer, 21 September 1934 – 10 November 2016.
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Paris the 13th
Tears, my tears fall to wine
As I can not comprehend this horrendous crime
Men filled with such spiteful hate
Islamic teachings seal their fate
Kill and slaughter love and smiles
How I pray tell does this bring about
Any compassion of heart, have they no guile?
I have walked along those Parisian streets
Filled with history and diversity, such a feat
Hand in hand, people from so many lands
Dressed in darkness, blacks and grays
The massacre dancing in premonitions sway
Crusaders never win, for love will take its stand
Hundreds taken from Jesus hands
For nothing more than celebrating their great lands
Food and drink and lovers smiles
Stolen this night by hateful bile
We shall rise again, defend and stand
Our blood may flow in the river seine
However in the end its you, who is insane
We shall defend our liberty
Even if we hang evil from the tree
Père Lachaise has brought me tears
Such history over all the years
Yet here I am faced to visit once again
Paying respect to those dying in vain
My heart is fraught, with you till eternity
Liberté, égalité, fraternité
Notes: Pere Lachaise is a famous cemetery in Paris
Liberté, égalité, fraternité is the motto of France
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
Frozen roses die
November frosty window
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014
A marquee of stars dims, to beckon early winter’s stage;
Reflecting crunched flowers in ghastly hues, detached from their limp boughs.
The nightfall drapes hush of serenity , as flakes soothe trees’ nest.
Andrea Dietrich's October Bliss or November Dreams
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
The first frost morning
A dormant barren landscape
Season of the blue gray light
This endless winter
cold and proud
Crystal air in harmony of sublime beauty
Beads of ice shimmer
A flower in passionate sorrow
glossy of winter's breath
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Poem Of The Day; 14.11.2017
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017
Branches wave naked in the autumn wind,
Leaves being tossed carelessly through the night.
Dark rain clouds are dominating our sky
And my eyes ask where the beauty has gone.
Daybreak shows sleepily its weary head
Just to return to bed, early again.
Cold and wet invading our daily walks
And my eyes search for signs of a blue sky.
Alas, the first of many snowflakes fall
Bringing the beginning of brighter days.
Grey disappears under a white blanket
And my eyes applaud November’s beauty.
The white snow has brought pureness in its wake
And nights are brighter from shimmering snow.
We light a fire, and it brings us such warmth
And my eyes feel the sun shine once again.
Poet Destroyer A's Contest
Impress Me with a Poem
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
The sweet songs of birds,
We hand in hand across the
Pansies white yellow and violet
Tossing their heads in the
Somewhere the sound of falling
The sound of squirrel cracking
Calm weather warm sun,
White fluffy clouds forming
A passenger flight in the blue
Sun born in the horizon and
about to fade in the horizon,
Both our heartbeats echo
inside of chest,
Shutting and opening of our
Your unkempt hair flying
Yellowish west sky.
Heart shaped fig leaf's shadow.
If I could stop this world from
I would do so,
Just to be with you
In this autumn evening.
Copyright © Kiran Bantawa | Year Posted 2013
there is a cool rain falling down on me
it wakes me from the pain of love's faded memory
we are in every breath of November's lonely air
all my days and all my nights we still do share
I still feel your love raining down on me
I wish in your arms I still could forever be
although our paths may never cross again
I will keep you safe within November's rain
within this cool November rain falling down on me
as long as i still live we will always be
in memories alive as we were before
I will love you darling forevermore
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2013
Cold autumn swirls around the oak,
to blanket earth with curls of gold
Contest: sponsored by Rick Parise
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
In a dream-like trance
We tread softly along paths
Lit up by flickering lights
We are holding hands
As we stop and read our names
Inscribed on the marble slab
*November is the month of the dead.
7th October, 2014
Contest: OCTOBER BLISS or NOVEMBER DREAMS/ Sijo or Sedoka
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014
Take Out the Landry
Dirty laundry for years on the floor
finally the dirt is out the door
Quebec is cleaning house
separatists being laid to graves
like Napoleonic mouse's
bury their rhetoric too
twelve feet deep
Wrinkled ex leader with
no musket or balls
no lead, leaderless
man of poisoned dreams
nationalist and king of hate
trumpets play for his distaste
if your wool is not pure
you do not belong on his shore
Villain as Lucifer or Lucien
robbing the people of their future
all for his midget delusions
now to be inhumed
in his own dirt
he will of course blame
the Chinese laundry mat
who lost his ticket
He is not to be interred
in red rags
honor will shed not one tear
where is his Nazi flag?
Boxed at Notre Dame
the church like Vichy
honors dictators and their clan
funerals they all say nice things
they toss out the laundry
as Canada sings
Only Toronto thanks him
for the prosperity
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018
The Silence of War
Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze
Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.
The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal
Another postcard for Historians to write.
Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory
Now a hideous spectre to man’s intervention.
I wait here with Wilf my captain
Waiting for death to find me
The mud beckoning for blood,
The Canal red like the River Sticks
A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.
A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim
Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips
A last haven for my soul to cling
I watch his spirit fly away,
As the words fade from my voice
Like so many others on this day of carnage
Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918
Yet another contribution to this dark harvest,
Another soul for god to tender.
A statistic, a casualty of war,
To be remembered generically
A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings,
Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece
A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust
In the ranks of the dead
Angels count our losses
What dreams did we lose?
What voices were made silent?
What books were never written?
And how many tomorrows gone,
Lost in the darkness of death?
Under this oak tree, fading from memory
A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too
Unspoken truth in unspoken poems
Silent to mortal’s ear
Another casualty of war
A feast of wisdom for angels to keep?
For His words were far too much,
for the hogs of war to stomach.
His poetry made silent by country’s shame,
Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals
Only now, through peace can we learn
The voice of one soldier,
How I pity humanity
For silence is a killer
Democracy, and justice its victim,
And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.
On this day November 4th 1918, Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal, 7 days from Sanity
One of England’s Finest War Poets.
Copyright © steven cooke | Year Posted 2011
There is a field that we all know
That passed a torch where Soldiers go
Those that fell fought to the end
From that field they did ascend
To look upon the light relay
That made us free free this day
Rest in peace we do remember
This is done eleven November
In a field that's now a lot
Rows of cars I did spot
In the air a poppy blowing
Where I wonder is it going
Among the maple leaves that fell
This poppies color blended well
Lost it there but for a moment
Young child's find leaves bestowment
Conferred unknown mom what's this?
This my child so we don't miss
Small reminder Veterans that passed
So all can live in peace ever last
Copyright © Ronald Kent | Year Posted 2016
Cool winds turn cold as the winds stir from the north
The sun, the life giving star, heats the tropics so far to the south
Its warmth a distant memory to the lands that it deserted
Long forgotten greens of summer turn into the color of a raging fire
The fire dies and leafs that lived in the summer sun die and fall to the ground
The white silky clouds turn black and heavy carrying moisture from the open waters
The mighty lakes of the north turn violent under the fading yellow sun
Fighting the winds and the certainty of the fingers of the north freezing them
Rain turns to ice storm and them into the snow that children love
Mother Nature makes her changes as the speed of life slows
Baby animals, now grown, leave their family to explore their new world
Some settle down for a sleep that will protect for the three months of bitter cold
Others travel to the lands of their ancestors where the climate never changes
No one tells them to make such a journey
It is just the cycle of life that protects them and their young
But all the ice, the snow and the suffering will end
For it is November and November is a month of change
The changes will last until the spring when live starts anew
The ice and snow will melt and food will be plentiful
Green with once again color the trees, grass and shrubs
The animals who were babies in the fall return with babies of their own
The lakes thaw and calm in the spring’s gentle breezes
Life will return to normal at least until the winds of November return
But, at least for now, that is a world away in another time
And it is no longer remembered
Copyright © R. e. taylor | Year Posted 2011
An Arctic wind comes reaping the mild air,
breath hangs in clouds and grass hides under frost,
low morning sun soaks branches soon stripped bare,
boots wallow in the reds and golds now lost.
Chevrons of Geese head south for warmer climes,
ground creatures bedding down until the spring,
their instincts telling them it is the time
when nature's heartbeat slows, and no birds sing.
No kindness shown as autumn's laid to rest,
no mercy given, winter's blade unsheathed,
it's willing victim gladly bares it's breast
and falls, in pallid shades the land is wreathed.
Each year this drama plays, the rise and fall
consoled by distant promise, spring will call.
Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2016
All too soon the colorful spectacular disappears.
Under the soggy leaves, lies the dormant grass.
Too soon the blue skies have turned to grey.
United is the wind with cold.
Memories of summer slowly fade away.
Now we will wait for the snow.
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
the beauty of subtleties
there are one thousand shades of grey
each separate and distinct
across this desert month.
low gravid clouds puffed,
like the breasts of flocking doves
touch the earth transforming
to pearlescent, pale white gauze
caught in reaching branches.
steely water on the bay,
life sheltered far below,
rolls smooth as oil swells
dappled with foam.
ancient almost-dust leaves
kick up on my boot toe
as I scuffle through the wood
between beach and silver birch.
an owls lonely cry echoes
as it brushes by overhead
softsilent perhaps hunting
field mice or rabbits
November is gentle
in its iron frosts. calm, still,
as though waiting
a canvas barely sketched upon.
Copyright © PATRICIA CRESSWELL | Year Posted 2017
The cold rain is why my old hat
feels plastered upon my head,
and why the street has a gray look,
as if the neighborhood is dead.
It’s why I can see every exhale,
why there is a hard chill on my sin,
which seems to seep down to my bones
and take up residence within.
It’s why I am now shivering,
and why my shoes are soaking wet,
why I wish I’d worn a jacket,
this fleece was a really bad bet.
It’s why the day is so dreary,
seems to sap all vitality,
November destroys everything,
grim month of mortality.
I’d rather this rain be snowfall,
painting all in muted white,
at least then you could ski in it
and live up the wintry life.
This rain will freeze, gum up my car
when the mercury drops at dusk,
thankfully this was a short walk
’cause I’ve already had enough.
The cold rain is why flames now roar
within my big brick fireplace,
why I feel the wafting heat
warming the skin on my face.
It’s why I’ve got this highball glass
half-filled with the spice of Rye,
makes the stomach a furnace,
a nice glow suffuses inside.
It’s why I hear a rhythm pound,
soothing patterns on metal roof,
and why I sit back in this chair
so comfortably aloof.
It’s why my dog lays on my feet,
Fido knew that I was cold,
that mutt does the job better
than any slippers ever sold.
The rain is why I’ll go with stew
instead of something light and trendy,
and it makes me glad my wife bough
our small, indoor Jacuzzi.
I suppose you can’t feel this comfort
if displeasure is never had,
one appreciates the other,
all this cold rain ain’t that bad.
…seen through a window, at least.
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2018
In the drab grey wetness
of a cold November morn
making my way
through sluggish traffic
crowds off to work
my mind a blur
operating on automatic
a tingle coming over me
reminding me of the smell
of the first cup of coffee
I’ll grab out by my office
and then I’ll start to wake
first sign of brain activity
funny I should notice
out of the corner of my eye
a pop of yellow
a sign of joy
a blond little girl
with the loveliest of smiles
and brightest bluest eyes
who is this angel
curious to know her secrets
and peek at her enchanted world
posted on November 1, 2018
Copyright © Line Gauthier | Year Posted 2018
Falling leaves crunching beneath booted feet
Crispy mornings filled with pumpkin spice and doughnuts
Soft, warm sweaters covering sleeves
A misty frost across the once green garden plants
Warm, sleepy feet touching down on cold tiles
A flash of color cascading across the ridges that peak
Gentle giants lumbering up through the mountains…
In hopes of finding that winter’s hide away
Whispers of red, gold and amber…
Abiding across the edges of emerald pine
Alive with colors that can only be seen in the month
That arrives with Thanksgiving wonders.
Thanksgiving reminds us all to remember
The year’s blessings, gifts, talents and experiences…
All that we have to be thankful for –
Hope, faith and love that abounds within each one.
Thanksgiving is that perfect moment in time…
To share our joy and peace, our sincerity and serenity,
All that we love and care most about…
Especially Jesus, our Savoir and Lord!
©2018 by Regina Riddle
Copyright © Regina Riddle | Year Posted 2018
Frozen rain comes misting down,
Forming frost and crystals.
Sparkling like diamonds,
On the trees, the grass, the thistles.
It ushers in the winter snows,
That blanket all around,
Weighing down Fir branches,
Though they make not a sound.
No pitter patter as the drops,
Fall on my window pane.
No tap, tap, tap upon the walk,
As with the summer rain.
Harvest time is over now.
The fields are frosted white,
As Jack Frost covers everything,
In glistening sheets of ice.
Soon the mist turns into flakes,
That gently float to ground,
Making all a pristine white,
As the Snow Queen dons her crown.
Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2018
This is a special day because it's Veterans Day.
We celebrate because certain people fought for the USA.
Veterans put their lives on the line so that we can be free.
Veterans are important to you and they're important to me.
It's heart breaking to know that some Veterans are homeless.
They are heroes who we should ask God to bless.
Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2018