Dog November Poems

Deep November,
a shallow time, nonetheless.
The snow is high packed with a cryogenic
amnesia.
Not yet dawn,
a sunken bed
muffles rising thoughts.
An eyelash of cognizance
flits across
thawing synapses.
Then the elastic...

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Cold huddled sparrows
Wear that WTF look
A squirrel drags his tail
Through icy puddles
A rat hunkers down
Behind the barrels
Worms wiggle dance
In November’s no-fly zone
A wet Owl whispers...

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Storm 

The waves in the storm raged Pacific Ocean waves became 
deep ravines and tall mountains; in the binoculars, I saw 
an American hangar ship,...

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November shakes like a wet dog sharing its shivering chill.

John G. Lawless
©11/16/2022...

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November second two thousand twenty two...
abuzz with Autumnal thrum

Approximately six weeks since August sum
er re: lazy dog days witnessed lolling about 
sipping cocktails, whose primary...

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Sane sexagenarian scribe seeks asylum in Canada...

should Trump swindle electorate by hook or crook,
(1003 days, 9 hours, and
32 minutes until 2024 election),
yours truly steels, girds,...

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Saturday Morning November 1964
My twin and I have a TV Guide in front of us
We are thrilled because we got a colored TV set yesterday.
In...

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Sitting in the sun, wearing my Mickey Mouse reds,
I feel a kindship to all the other oldies 
Who appreciate loose clothes,
a full belly,
a warm cat,
a...

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Animals hate this night,
Keep them safe inside,
The fireworks are going bang,
The smell of them fills the air,
Bonfire burning bright sparks crackling and spitting,
Stand well back,
The...

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The golden leaves have made their show
that always comes this time of year,
but now as limbs are looking bare,
an umber blanket covers ground.

I’ve seen the...

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A gust of wind with a chill on its tail
 rushes through the trees in gray and pale,
high up in the naked branch
 tiny spectral...

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In late November fam’lies gather ‘round
to always celebrate Thanksgiving Day;
with feast on table, turkey golden browned,
they fold their hands pretending that they pray.

They gorge themselves...

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Outside...

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...

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Before the sunrise
Of Thanksgiving morning in Michigan

I test out loud
At the kitchen table
A few of my poems to my golden retriever
Who sits and listens with...

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Days of Smog

Do you remember the days of Smog,
Smoke filled Novembers in Fog.
Today you would not believe,
A time when we could not breathe.

Thick Air, not...

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