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Mosiac EGG image courtesy 'the imaginary garden with read toads'



MOSIAC EGG
Words, a poem to speak in tomes;
Adventure assail, galaxies a gazillion totalled,
Over the waves of petulance into the nights,
Of glowing moons, luminescent in star gazes;

Witch-hy brooms, shadowed in full orbs,
Of seasons counted, over courted dark;
Bejeweled fantasies, to craft phantoms,
Sing the songs, of sirens wanton, sylphs pen;

Penchant creating, sustained of melancholy,
Life force cracks the cave of freedom's boom;
Oh now many, many ages, generate the art
Of colour to daylight, enhancing breath of being
Whorls and seasons, time compassing, life
© gillena cox



Written for the prompt today at
Poems In April DAY SIXTEEN What's Your Vision?
For today's prompt, I ask you to consider visionary art. Visionary art, as defined for the purposes of the American Visionary Art Museum is "art produced by self-taught individuals, usually without formal training, whose works arise from an innate personal vision that revels foremost in the creative act itself." Visionary artists are moved by "an inner voice" that compels them to create. The artist himself or herself may not even consider their work as art
CHALLENGE: I've posted some photos (not mine) of various works at AVAM. Let them speak to you and then choose one or more to compose a new poem. Your poem may be about the art itself or about feelings/thoughts/memories/stories the art inspires. It's wide open. Let your inner voice express itself!

53

image from google dot com



THE FOLLY WHICH DESPAIR BUILT
He built his mansions,
By the light of a thousand suns;
His work done, he sighed aloud;
He, resting now on a cloud;

He’s looking down, "i see you guys";
There are the turtles, under my skies;
Still homelessness wears cardboards;
Aye aye ye captains sitting starboard;

LOL, the folly of despair, laughter cannot bear.
© gillena cox




Written for
Poems In April POEM OF DAY FIFTEEN History Is Twistery: The Folly

Wikipedia defines it as "...a building constructed primarily for decoration, but either suggesting through its appearance some other purpose, or merely appearing to be so extravagant that it transcends the normal range of garden ornaments or the class of building to which it belongs."
THE CHALLENGE:...to build a Folly

52

image from google dot com



SOMETIMES ITS TIME...
The time had come,
His Father’s will be done;
Death on the cross,
To the deceiver’s loss;

Yes, the time had come,
Great sadness for some,
Even the temple rebuilt,
Couldn't assuage the guilt,

When that time had come,
And he, left without a chum,
Raised spirit to the most high,
Forgiveness for sins did he buy.
© gillena cox




Written in response to the prompt at Poetry Jam 'Sometimes it's Time...'

51

image courtesy imaginary garden with real toads (i saw the image, liked, cropped it and used it as it served to be my inspiration for today's poem)




"RABBIT RABBIT"
My mother says if you say "rabbit rabbit" on the first of any month
something unexpected happens, much like the tooth and the tooth fairy
that sort of thing.
Where is the entrance to Alice's dream? is there an end to this
rabbit's appearances, does he ever sleep? does he ever dream. does
he follow us around
Or are dreams made of following stuff, some edible some for mere
foolish entertainment like wearing crowns and ordering folks around
sizing up and sizing down.
At any tea party where white gloves are worn, there will be spills
for dainty though these ladies be, a March hare is cause for a stir
or maybe even a stare
All puns intended, for i write it as i know it; the deck of cards
turn carrot, or is it tarot, who knows may be it is and maybe so
all elbows off the table please!!!
© gillena cox






Written for
Poems In April DAY FOURTEEN The Tuesday Platform - unprompted free-range day of the week

Monday WRites 7

image from google dot com



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 #7; whats your mood today ❧✿❧ my poem today is an quote acrostic ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites


“Time is the school in which we learn.”
― Joan Didion


OF TIME
Time: largesse of universal being;
Is this really all there is to life?
The sum total of vast yearnings?
School: that platform of curving lines,
In excess of drawn reality schemed,
Which, if not directed to here nor there,
We drift, in gazillion star gates to no avail;
Learn then must we, to direct our gaze.
© gillena cox

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 />




I Wrote in response to the prompt today at
Poems In April DAY THIRTEEN - The Poetry In A Quote
THE CHALLENGE: choose one or more of Joan's quotes as a springboard for your poetry.

49

Guernica by Pablo Picasso; image from google dot com



PICASSO-SQUE MOUTHS
when they scrape the carcass
freshly butchered off the streets
of hatred
and i have to read and i have to watch
newsreel and newsprint
the picasso-sque mouths of mothers
and fathers gaping in horror
and the marrow in my
bones gash and shudder
cause no more is there brother
or brother or sister
then only the words of a song
or the words of a prayer
hones my sorrow
urging me to carry on yet
© gillena cox





Written for the prompt today at
Poems In April DAY ELEVEN 'A Message from the Little Grandmother'

April is the month of the Pink Moon. This Moon has a dark star, which shines across the abyss, reminding us that we are made of the same stuff as the stars. That's what keeps us looking up, into the heavens, feeling our connection to the unfathomable beauty and mystery of the spheres.
CHALLENGE: Write about how you manage to maintain that balance, how you hold onto the beauty and the hope. Write about what heals you...

48

DEAR GRANDPA
Your magical fingers still echo, in the memory of today, and tomorrow.
A lovely wire planter, you so skillfully wrought, like the song of a sparrow,
Holds the beauty and sincere fragrance of a desert rose. Petals furl as if waving,
Waving to heaven, only because you are there abiding.
You are there, savouring this poem, and every word written, against a flawless
Background, of blue birds and ground doves, grackles and kiskadees. Chorus,
From heaven’s abode; candied into sweet soft whispers, so tender and true,
Of knowing you’re fine, and i love you
© gillena cox




Written for the prompt today at
Poems In April DAY TEN - Dear Past, Dear Future
CHALLENGE: Think about your ancestors. Think about your future descendants. Write a letter to either or both. Word count is wide open.