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. 🩷

Posted for MTB: Last Year’s First Eleven @dVerse Poets Pub