101

image from google dot com


ACCEPTANCE
This poem is an ugly duckling;
innocent, fluffy,
waddling in the wrong line up,
only to be shunned

Left alone, another lineup comes into view,
of waddling chicks just as soft and fluffy

This poem is a swan;
finding a place unknown, unheard of,
or a place embracing, calling, just needing an answer;
another line up, a leap of faith,
just a flap of little wings, and a waddle, closer to look

fall in line, a sense of well being ensues,
a natural line up, of similar, yet different waddling

This poem is ergo
inquiry, existence, nature, nudges,
dynamism, moving forward, not knowing why,
without an answer for every question asked,
seeking, journeying living breathing;
mystery and faith.
© gillena cox 2015



Written in response to the prompt today
Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Acceptance

Monday WRites 22

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 #22, ❧✿❧ whats your mood today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites



CANTALOUPE
This poem is a cantaloupe
Almost the colour of pumpkin, yet not quite
This poem has a skin rough like stony paths
Only not quite so gravelly
There are sunlight patterns on the wall, on the floor
On the tongue, a taste of delight after morning prayer

Still the news carry stories of heinous crimes
Switch on, switch off, the issues remain
People unkind to one another, greed, hatred, wars

This poem seeks a knife,
To peel off the rough skin, to scoop out the seeds
To slice the juicy, fragrant, delicious flesh
Place it in a bowl, then shout to the world
Come! partake of this! there is enough for everyone
Taste it! this poem, is, a cantaloupe.
© gillena cox 2015





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Will Link this to Tuesday Platform

99

image from google dot com


UMBRELLAS BLOOM
clouds
they sit
this morning
on mountain tops
so elegantly
silvered with the light of
angelic halos spun by
invisible spider friends who
know the destiny of raindrops made
the sure reason why umbrellas ever bloom
© gillena cox 2015

written for Play it Again, Toads!


i chose The etheree named after an Arkansas poet. Etheree Taylor Armstrong (1918-1994.) It is an unrhymed syllable counting form, relentlessly rational, and seemingly childishly simple. You begin with a first line of one syllable, and continue for ten lines increasing the syllable count by one each line. Diagramming in syllables, this is what you get, line by line: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10.

98

UNITY
He crept in like a recalcitrant lover,
Today's sunshine.

After all the mellifluous drumming,
Yesterday, on my tin roof,
She, that good ole nurturer,
Rain has gone her way

I feel his warmth, brush against my skin,
My eyes open, a sun kissed day.
Now sky is polished bright in optimal gleam.
Cloud puffs appear in a whimsical drift,
As if smiling at sun's trysts, of yesterday.

All is well, as well will be, like the union of
Night and day. Yin and yang.

A metallic sound, a tinkling of chimes,
Tried to call attention, but a raucous din,
Of passing birds, exclaimed to poet's ear,
To words and to wit.
© gillena cox 2015


Written in response to Susan's prompt today
Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Unity


...

3WW #347

optimal polished metallic

Monday WRites 21

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 #21, whats your mood today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites



AWAKENING
In the satiety of sleep
Morning light touches my skin
So lightly
I could hear a feather drop
Miles away of birds twittering
So noisily
On returning to self my temple
Of my being where i am a while
So obviously
There are many distractions
Of heat and cold void and form
So dreamily
I drift back into this realm
Where thankfulness responds
© gillena cox 2015



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<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 Tuesday Platform

96

image from google dot com


POWER
Power let's it be, so
substance and goodness absorb the void;
challenges the chaos,
to sparkle in phases both day and night
wrath of havoc to destroy -
raining flood waters, yet two by two to recreate;
sigh of sin:
a son, a stock, a scion;
sent to express redeeming love;
of power, the mightiest, is love.
© gillena cox 2015


Written in response to the prompt
Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Power

Monday WRites 20

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 #20, whats your mood today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites




ODE TO A BROWN PAPER BAG
there it lies, folded at the creases,
crisp, neat lines lay on the kitchen counter;
shall i unfold it, expand it, open it
to sounds of morning; filling it with
a din of twitterings,
i mean to cram all those birdsongs into
a brown paperbag; so vast this ideal
of a dawning sky, where does one begin
to draw rainbows? where does the dark
of night hang his obsidian coat?
it peters out, the earliest din;
so the opened brown paper bag
now stands on the kitchen counter
seemingly empty
© gillena cox 2015






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<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 Tuesday Platform

94

Today's post features something old and something
new all concerns of Night; starting with a revisit of
2012 fireworks haiga at Lunch Break



NIGHT
its an August night, which ends the celebration
of a day of note, to self governing feats;
with the colours of the rainbow, spitting fire
across the the dragon lakes, of shadowed clouds,
its spectacle: red, orange, blue, iridescent;
stars, far and wide, in between the loud
booms, of remembered warfare, of who owns me
now? who owned me then? therefore who owns what?
a people, a nation, twin islands under a moon;
yet wisdom of birds rest their chirps in roost,
and night squarkers are hidden somewhere,
where no one hears a feather rustle;
but tree shadows observe the pointing
fingers, the breath of awe, of innocence,
of children in achievement, and continuance
this response termed identity.
© gillena cox 2015


Written in response to the prompt today
Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Night

Monday WRites 19

Rain animation, and Rain Dancers 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 #19, whats your mood today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites




RAIN
A cycle of nurture a circle of nature
From cloud to ocean such is this creature
Which morphs the silence to a tin roof jam
Lashing with might on the window jamb
Wakes one at will in the middle of the night
Vanishing the moon to a misty sight
Dancers will swerve in the heat of a drought
You’ll answer only if and when it’s your sport
© gillena cox 2015






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<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 Tuesday Platform