When I saw forty posts, more than I can remember,

I wanted fifty poems posted in November,

but November came and went into December

with only forty-nine posted in November

and I have to start all over again in December;

but November is a month to remember

for reasons beyond that it is the month of my birth;

for reasons of poems that give me great mirth,

mine and others by great friends of infinite worth,

friends of infinite worth.

Hey, I’ve already written two for December one

and continue to have a truck load of fun.

We are told that everything

that happened

in the big bang is still around,

surrounding us, passing through us,

stopping periodically on a cold day

to lounge in the warmth of

our organs or

go for a ride in our circulatory

system or, to be perfectly

honest, the alimentary canal,

which can’t be much fun,

because every now and then,

I hear something calling

and pounding on the walls

to get out.

Anyway,

on their way they go, changing

form but not substance circling

round and round until they have

found somewhere else

to play in the

garden of the gods

before continuing

on the journey of eternity.

One day, I’ll tag along.