The siege of this era has somewhat begun.
These last words, were uttered in a lower tone,
all in a room to conjure with–
It’s luster in a storm to be honest; this city.
I never thought I’d attempt to make corn chowder,
The sorbet-souffle clay of dusk entails
a full realization.
Leave me a kiss in a glass of red; don’t ask me how.
I won’t mention the shadows that speak of war.
Some of us on a bus to boulevard cafe aspire,
Whipped cream can do so much more than complete.
It isn’t unusual for November to be dark and brooding,
As summer slowly melts into autumn, there.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Jan – As water falls under the grey concrete bridge
Feb – A Patchwork of Cues
Mar – Aubade – Karachi City Lights
Apr – In Conversation with Softening Dusk
May – Untitled [cherry wine knows no bounds]
Jun – The Quality of Whipped Cream
Jul – Women of Algiers in their Apartment
Aug – On a bus to boulevard cafe
Sep – The wind, which was rough, tore at itself
Oct – Bowl of constraints and crock-pot corn chowder
Nov – November’s Repertoire
Title borrowed from my poem “The Blower of Leaves.”
Laura is our lovely hostess at dVerse where she invites us to write a 11-line catalog poem.
I have chosen to write it as a ‘Found’ poem from Jan-November 2023 poems.