A poet in one of the writers’ groups I belong to recently self-published a chapbook anthology, the theme of which is writer’s block that includes my poem Poetry Group Beat Down. I wrote it after attending my first Omega Poetry group meeting where I was in awe of the many talented poets gathered around the table.

The eleventh month of the year, like the 2nd, often gets a bad wrap. Oh, sure. There’s Thanksgiving, a wonderful celebration of food, family, football and fun. But as a venue for enjoying the out of doors, not so much. November is often dreary, overcast, lackluster and sparse. For those of a more pessimistic nature, it signals the beginning of long months clustered within our homes, the weather outside raging in fits and bursts, sometimes dangerously so with glacial ice covering every surface, frigid Arctic winds, seemingly endless snow and the constant shoveling, scraping and enduring it all entails. Come March we are weary, ready for spring.

But in November, if we look more closely, even this time of year offers a few snippets of beauty and wonder. I choose this latter course, cynics be damned!

You cannot be the cause of the problem
and seek reward for being its solution.

this orange turd will never soar…

fools know not how to solve
moon dust equations — Elites!, they cry.
these misguided “patriots” cannot exclaim
both joy & hatred, community & vitriol.

it does not compute!!

how do they think we’ll ever get
to where it is we want to go? have they
given any thought, any consideration
to our happily ever after?

People!!

It has to be a collective ‘our’,
a collective ‘ever after’.

Why can’t — or won’t — they see that?