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TIMELY MUSIC
these are morsels tasty, fed from your finger tips holy
mother - harmony of sky and earth; a crescendo of praise
rising, on notes of elation, the echo of sound melodious

these are aromas sweet, delicate as a lullaby hushing
to sleep, baby eyes in buntings warmed with the kisses
of humming quavers, in skies darkening for shadowy moons

these are the silvery linings rimming dawn's trimmings
as yet another tomorrow sneak peeps a day ahead to yesterday
singing all the songs; of lament, of cheers, and of hosannas
TIMELY MUSIC © gillena cox 2016

written for
PROMPT NIGHTS On Popular Demand – Such passion music can raise and quell [3]

208

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ST PATRICK'S DAY SUNSET
On rainbows slide playfully,
Syllables at the speed of lightning
Dripping wet like fresh ink
Into a poem so green,
The leaves of clover squint,
For the sparkle of fantasy;
Where treasured gold composed,
Stare as leprechauns, hurrying, empty
The evening sky into night blankets
For verses and stanzas need never sleep.
ST PATRICK'S DAY SUNSET © gillena cox 2016


An Irish Blessing
Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers—
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours—
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through!
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Written for Isadora's prompt at
Out of Standard - From the blender to the page

THE CHALLENGE: World-blending... the practice of combining elements from contrasting places, times, cultures, or beliefs into a piece of art or literature. World blending can result in the creation of an entirely new genre or movement.
We are asked you to write a poem that incorporates elements from different worlds.

Monday WRites 52

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MORNING SONG
Where one bird who sang so sweet
Hopped to wall a-tweet tweet tweet
Felled fresh dew
As daylight drew
Silvery of clouds in night's retreat
MORNING SONG © 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 #52, ❧✿❧ 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 />

206

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PARAMOUR
Gentle breezes, touching cheeks; fingers of sun rays, putting to shame every master painter, stroking in warm colour, on faces, lifted, like praise worthy palms; a sensuous wind drafts by, lifting skirts in magical sweeps, of windy-gesturing-Eros.

sunlit daybed strewn -
lo! bougainvillea shrouded
in veined scarlet bracts,

PARAMOUR © gillena cox 2016


Written for Brendan MacOdrum's prompt at
Sunday Mini-Challenge: The Paramour


Brendan says "The first written poetry of our Western tradition began in Greece between the seventh and sixth centuries BC. Standing at the border of the preliterate, poets like Archilochos and Anakreon found an alphabet in which to ferry verbal expression into the symbolic language of the mind. The act transformed culture and history and who we are. (The literate is now disappearing behind visual culture, borne by wordless ferry-workers.)

Where were the first literate poets going when they wrote their song down? It wasn’t to philosophy or myth; instead, they dazzled to the arrow-thwocks of erotic love. Sappho, another of the first poets of the literate age, wrote:

Eros, once again limb-loosener whirls me
sweetbitter, impossible to fight off, stealing up...

For this challenge, lets go back to the edge of that forest and name the paramours who led us to write. Let’s celebrate the badness of that defining encounter which has inspired our best work. Celebrate them individually or serially, angelically or down and dirty—swamp-prime"

205

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WINGED ODYSSEY
I do not envy
Them, who defy gravity
Yet, were i able
I would relable,
My feet to fly
My hands to try
Greeting moon maiden and martian
Where in persimmons grow a garden
When thunder clap, serious in storm
Challenges me, there to carry on.
WINGED ODYSSEY © gillena cox 2016

Written for grapeling's prompt at
Get Listed, Equinox Edition, featuring Leonard Cohen

Challenged to select 3 or more words (or reasonable variants) from a given list and post a new poem
I chose gravity. able. storm

Monday WRites 51

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..and those who were suffering from diseases and painful complaints of one kind or another, the possessed, epileptics, the paralysed, were all brought to him, and he cured them all Mt 4:24

HE DID THIS
Those sick, he healed
To the blind he gave sight.
The lame, he made, to walk.

Blessing the poor,
He secured for them a place
In God’s Kingdom.

The gift of healing,
He gave to us;
To continue his work

Conquering the demons
Of disease and poverty;
To create a world

Of human dignity
Jesus
He did this.
HE DID THIS © gillena cox [first posted at Wordchimes dot com April 2003]



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 #51, ❧✿❧ 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 also to
Prompt Nights – Guérison par la foi – Faith, healing [9]

203

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GREEN HUES
The mountains hid behind the mist
While worms wiggled, wet the earth,
Moist the delight of leaves and stems

Pitter patter, the memories flowed
Through streams of childhood stares,
Bare of shirts, the backs of boys frolic

Jumping, running, screaming their fun;
Which girls, never could have back then;
How horrid boys can be, in their world

So carefree, loud, and most times muddy
But the mountains hid, not because of
Their games; the mountains hid to spruce

The green of vegetative hues, to dazzle
When the sunlight returned, thereabout
GREEN HUES © gillena cox 2016

Written For
Prompt Nights – When besotted with Green [8]