November 30 Poems

This is the last of the daily posts of poetry. I hope you enjoyed them. Until next year.

Sometimes I feel drawn to them,

not really them, but where they

lay quietly, patiently, in that cold place.

Are they calling to me?

Is that their voices I hear

in the treetops?

It’s been so long, I hardly

remember how their

voices sound, and all I have

are old photographs to remind

me what they looked like.

I’m glad for that, and the stories,

but for another, he doesn’t

even have memories,

they were washed clean

when he was still little,

when they went away

and left him alone.


So it’s been a long month of late night poem writing. I think this one explains what those late nights have been doing to me 🙂 Anja

My left eye twitches involuntarily
so foreign to see the eyelid on my face
a part connected to my bodily surface
move of it’s own accord

not even asking the brain
for permission. The muscle
that controls opening and closing
jerks in defiance of wakefulness.

But the muscles cannot override the lid
down toward the dark pools
below. They can only exert a tremor
willing the eye to dip

behind the eyelid, a physical sunset
that won’t take place until
long after my side of the earth
has rolled over in it’s bed of sky.

Anja

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