Scudding clouds race the brush of October to paint grey on November’s sky

An iceberg sails the horizon while the wind still flirts with July

A seagull’s transfixed on the breakers; he’s waiting for oil to come

We’ll likely not disappoint him…to him, we’re repeatedly dumb

He’s witnessed it over and over and still that lesson’s unlearned

There’s an iceberg on the horizon and greed remains unconcerned

There’s a red tide defiling the Danube and a waltz the fish will not dance

As notes mark time in their blood flow and music seduces the chance

Wild storms rage and batter the shorelines as floods float our families away

The monster’s too big to be stopped now…now the sky is changing to grey

As they gather in ominous darkness to block what used to be blue

An iceberg breaks the horizon and the seagull is staring at you.


An iceberg mars the horizon surrounded by grey sea and sky

As we imprint the sands of November with minds still pretending July


Judith Cleveland

c. 2010


THE SANDS OF NOVEMBER
Writing