News   /   30 Poems in November

November 17th Poems

Home has come crashing


Wake to find stillness

grounded deep in red clay


home has come crashing

perfectly into place

nestled among roots and grooves

cradled in leaflets


Look beyond your reach to find


inch on inch along slender stems.

You sway

sinking into place.


Roots clambering over every obstacle,

shaping yourself to your place.

The strip of clay is long and narrow,

caught between two impenetrable barriers.

You will break them one day,

stillness expanding out

stretching this crack in the pavers

molding a new home.


-Samantha Grossman




We wait for the vote to tell our futures
seated together like expectant brides
or wounded patients in need of sutures.
How much more will we be asked to abide?

Seated together like expectant brides,
we hope for a groom who’s kind and gentle.
How much more will we be asked to abide
from the lout who wants us more judgmental?

We hope for a groom who’s kind and gentle,
who cares for our lives, knows loss, wears a mask.
Not the lout who wants us more judgmental:
Dividing us is his best-performed task.

Who cares for our lives, knows loss, wears a mask?
Not the bozo in charge of every state.
Dividing us is his best-performed task.
New Yorkers, he says, he won’t vaccinate.

Now as our lonely holidays draw near,
we wait for the vote to know our futures.
We want a leader who won’t instill fear.
to mend four years of wounds needing sutures.

Lanette Sweeney



Looking for Things to…


I’m in search of things to write about—

Big things like when we crossed the big waters 

And the way they opened their doors

To let us through, and driving 

Through the big flakes of snow.


But I also look for small things

That fit in the palm of my hand,

And raise them to light my heart.


Big and small things are in the eyes 

Of beholders.  Don’t ask me how the Theory

Of Relativity works, but in my mind

The big and small alike find their places

In my crowded inner world,


Including the unsung anthem

That turned into a lullaby barely

Remembering the finishing line. 


In that crowded space—overworked 

And tangled like gossamer,

Small things leave small foot prints

Without popping threads,


But what do the big things do to us—

Like the deep, turbulent dark waters 

Of deaths, loss, and rejection?


I can’t rewrite the history of big things.

I can’t sail back against the time loaded

With winds and currents.  


But I can bring small things–

Easily portable and amenable

To sail on, and eventually I’ll be back

To the dark place and find a new small thing

That fit in the palm of my hand.


Yenna Yi


Fixing the Hearts


How can we fix

all the holes in all the hearts?

There has been such leakage for so long,

why aren’t we awash

in blood and tears?

The pain is so distributed that those with,

can’t tell the difference

from those without.

Ignorance is widespread.

We can dance and sing,

and do so with some success,

but still the hearts leak.

We can feed them

and try to make them safe.

But we can’t fix the holes

in all the hearts.

Tears can help, and keep us afloat,

But how can we fix

the holes in all the hearts.

The holes keep forming

and we keep plugging.

I dream of the day when we

start to fix the holes

in all the hearts.

I must cling, we must cling to the dream,

and then, perhaps then

we can start the good work.


Paul Redstone




Trying to be politically correct

Hastily exited Facebook

Entry password surrended


Our online affair ended.

No wallowing in aging fears

Wiped my mirror 

Of its crocodile tears

Remade my face

To greet the Millenial faces

I longed to meet.

So off I race

To enter My Face

  Surprise !

 What me deleted?

Site bought by TIME

Gone and I am short a rhyme?


Geo Cernada