197

FALLING LILACS
The road curves. There the guys ply their trade, of car wash, while patrons wait on the sidewalk. Sometime, boys play a game of cricket in the road, dodging a passing car or two. On the opposite side, when the time is right, pink blooms from the pomerac tree carpets the sidewalk.

lilacs falling
the wind plays
a rain song
FALLING LILACS © gillena cox 2016


Written for Hannah's prompt
Transforming with Nature's Wonders

Challenged to explore the world of footprints and write a new poem through the eyes of Nature.

196

[a google dot com image]


ON THAT CROSS
His arms, stretched wide in forgiveness
He tasted the gall, he tasted the bile
What had he given?
But a taste of the best wine

Fastened by sin, nails pierced his skin,
Blood and water flowed from a gash,
After all the healing love, that
Was drawn, from his touch

All Fridays be good,
For the sacrifice of blood,
Was the only price
Redemption could pay.
ON THAT CROSS © gillena cox 2016


Written for Susan's prompt
Midweek Motif ~ Martyrdom / Witness

Monday WRites 49

[a google dot com image]

THOUGHTS ADRIFT
Tap tap tapping the keyboard
For its magic of words to strike a chord
The music of this poem still hidden in a shroud
Wide awake unseen, unheard, adrift like a cloud
Thoughts wander to this and that
So tell me today what have you got?

So tell me today what have you got?
Are there spiders in your teacup
Or maybe a mouse in your sugar bowl
Silly rhymes like beads of gold
Thread into a poem, rattle a gourd
Tap tap tapping the keyboard
THOUGHTS ADRIFT © gillena cox 2016



You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #49, ❧✿❧ Whats your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites



GRAB MY BUTTON
<br /> <a href="http://myblog-verses.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0C9WPzL5kFEY1gEitLn4bC5inZjfq2beowWitvrD3zLruIRMxxj1RyrHw6Xcd6SlmEASrTd6rLFn4mfF8D8XC5Mz4ASE8iblAAmc3uaKNuHtYgvzIWajyH64D6kzlwugaU8wP610yKLRq/s320/button2Monday+WRites.jpg" alt="verses" /></a><br />

Linking to
The Tuesday Platform

193

ONE TOMATO
not exactly cherry tomatoes,
small, cherry red yes, more so,
oblong than circular,
And yes!
one
strays:
falling,
rolling,
across the kitchen floor.
ONE TOMATO © gillena cox 2016

Revisit and read also
One Blossom 2009


Written for the prompt by Kerry O'Connor
Micro Poetry

Today's Sunday Mini-Challenge, is to write a poem in no more than 10 lines; the subject matter for your poem is wide open, but bear in mind the 'one this snowflake' angle.
"one this snowflake (alighting) is upon a gravestone" -e.e. cummings

AND

linking to

192

a google dot com image


MAKING MYTHS [1]
sparks electrified, bounced off his eyeball
he wore garments, shredded in the din of shadowy call
then rocked the moon, and non too soon
swirling planet-oids curled back in a swoon,
forming the rock of drama gamma beta sigh
there, Prometheus ate from the fire of desire; my
how the warmth of Olympus fell, short
by wintry blizzards wort;
stirring through the loins of satyrs
birthing music, where ever, felled stadiums scatter,
augmenting phi
to highest high;
then enters, curtail call,
and all -
is Silence!!!
MAKING MYTHS [1] © gillena cox 2016


Written for the prompt
Words Count With Mama Zen

The Challenge - "Shock me . . . make me feel better! Or, worse. Or, whatever. Just shock me . . . in 77 words or less"

AND

linking to Prompt Nights - On Popular Demand
– When Poetry Meets Myth [2]

Monday WRites 48

image from google dot com

MORNING
Canopy of morning, the stars rest now
In a cloud tinted pink, the marquee states morning
Feathered heralds from every bough,
Have a say in democratic parlance, to shape the day
Courage paints the sun rays radiant, the stars rest now
Once i stood, handbag shouldered, with lunch brown bagged
To the echo of honking horns streaming somehow
Issues of bread and butter salt, garlic and theater
Back then everyone was going through the door to allow
Empty houses to sleep, dream, and wait the din of returning
Morning, i while away in poesy, as the stars rest now
MORNING © gillena cox 2016




You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #48, ❧✿❧ Whats your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites
Today's poem is a Fold.



GRAB MY BUTTON
<br /> <a href="http://myblog-verses.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0C9WPzL5kFEY1gEitLn4bC5inZjfq2beowWitvrD3zLruIRMxxj1RyrHw6Xcd6SlmEASrTd6rLFn4mfF8D8XC5Mz4ASE8iblAAmc3uaKNuHtYgvzIWajyH64D6kzlwugaU8wP610yKLRq/s320/button2Monday+WRites.jpg" alt="verses" /></a><br />

Will link this to this week's open mic at
The Tuesday Platform

190

painting by Trinidadian Alfred Codallo [1913 - 1971] from google dot com

COTTON FLORALS
The moon was bright, yet dark the night.
Through the mud dried track, he hurried back.
To the kids and Miss Mildred, ah yes our man Fred.
Bouts of drinking and carousing;
That was his pleasure, how fickle his leisure.

She laughed shrill and high, head thrown back for fie.
Her perfume intoxicating, scent of wild crepe jasmine.
A smile, flashing a thousand stars alive.

He approached her heart racing, she advanced slowly teasing.
Hibiscus in her wide skirt rippled, oh fly in the web tonight crippled!
After midnight scores to settle, so she roams sharp as nettle.
Gorgeous in aura, wicked in nature;
La Diablesse night roaming tigress.

Oops, across a fallen branch he trips.
Under clear moonlight construe, of cloven hoof to view
Sweat stain body across, he signed himself a cross.

Cackle Cackle yuh get away! yuh get away!
Thus charmed, back into the ether of night she was gone.
COTTON FLORALS © gillena cox 2016


Glossary
La diablesse, pronounced - jab less
yuh get away - you got away


Written for Magaly's prompt carpe jugulum in Sunday Mini-Challenge

Challenged: to craft a new poem that speaks of thoughts/feelings on Terry Pratchett’s quote; Carpe Jugulum, as a foundation: “Don’t trust the cannibal just ’cos he’s usin’ a knife and fork!”