Monday Writes 31

TEA AND IXORAS

Its Monday morning;
My hands sense the warmth,
From a flower patterned teacup;
I walk out to the garden,
To look at the ixora bush;
Between sips of green tea,
An orange coloured butterfly,
With shades of brown,
And spots of white,
Wanders across the bush;
Lightly stopping on a bloom,
Drinks deeply from a flower,
Then flits across to another,
Drinks again, then flits back
To the one before,
And does the same;
We breakfast, the two of us,
The butterfly and i;
Me sipping and watching,
The butterfly while feeding,
Applauding the ixora's nectar;
An ordinary scene,
A Monday scene,
From the theatre of sustenance.

[first published at Poemhunter dot com 2009]
TEA AND IXORAS© gillena cox



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 #31, ❧✿❧ whats your mood 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 />

Linked to Mosiac Monday

123

where are they now
those caterpillars
having eaten
the last of
the green leaves

bare knobby stems
remnants of a once vibrant
plumeria

the way tired bones
joined in skeletal array
wait for med students
to count them

© gillena cox 2015


Written for the prompt by Gayle Walters Rose
'Jisei, Japanese Death Poems' - at

122

image from google dot com


CHOICES
To be or not, to do if i please
Inhale large gulps of twitterings
Exhale with its orangeness
Evenings, curving into silhouettes

To do if i please, to be or not
Butterfly wings over feverfew
No one planted, yet the wind
Takes credit for these things

To be or not, to do if i please
I'll paint skies in cloudy hues
Silver is the morning light
That glistens over silent dew
CHOICES © gillena cox

Written for the prompt
Midweek Motif ~ Choice

Monday WRites 30

moon gif from google dot com


SHY MOON

I paint my face on a shy moon,
Hoping to draw from her a swoon;
Quiet there, among shadowy cloud,
This night, tis made no doubt,
For magical thoughts hence to tether,
Fantasy, which may forever,
Etch admonitions for wanderers,
Their faces turned to night lumineers.
SHY MOON© gillena cox



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 #30, ❧✿❧ whats your mood 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 />

120

image from google dot com


Silver edges a morning cloud,
A waxing sun so silent so slow,
Spider in her web-binous proud,
Patterns a song with threads aglow,

Patterns a song with threads aglow,
Like the lace of a ladies crochet edge,
To her signature hanky hidden below,
A trousseau awaiting a pledge.
© gillena cox 2015


Written for the prompt
Midweek Motif ~ Let your song be delicate

119

Ixoras - hardy, hearty blooms; in reds, yellows, oranges and pinks to dismiss every gloom; they decorate my garden; they love the rain; more and more pop up, in the splendor of a sunny day after it rains; like tiny umbrellas they cluster together, bunches to delight every admirer. So i pick some, bringing delight to my table.

and i arrange them
with a snip of my scissors -
ixora pom poms
© gillena cox 2015


Written for
The Tuesday Platform

Monday WRites 29

Michael Provenza painting
'New Adventure'


VOID OF NEWNESS
Filling the void of newness,
Nuance, of angelic whispers,
Twitterings, of feathered ones
Rumblings, of the petrol fed.

Such is morning, in its newness

Colours, daubed on feathers,
Invisibility, weaving fine threads,
Rhythms, their andantes sworn,
Light, the response of creation.

Returns, of a code of continuity

Today, clutters into a pattern,
Spaces, left to snag adventures,
Unique, only to first time players,
Embodying, thus awakened dream.

Added, to a weave already woven

Tiny, spider at the pivot of life,
Charms, delicacy and grandeur,
Diaphanous, strands of chapters,
Yet, hardy enough to endure.

Span of action from spirit word.

VOID OF NEWNESS © gillena cox



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 #29, ❧✿❧ whats your mood 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 />

117

image frompublic domain



PROCESS SURREAL
He’s the madman, slicing off an ear,
Spoiling his metaphor,
Charts a sentence through the valley
Of amore
Flays arms and heart in rhythmic stupor
And for what?
The juxtaposition of a simile perfect;
All’s for nought, and nought but dread,
This creature like Andromeda chained,
Not to jagged rock, or torture pole,
Bounded though, to inertia where,
Gravity tells no tale orated to,
The weightlessness of words.

Written for
Words Count with Mama Zen

from the inspiration of Jean Cocteau's first film The Blood of a Poet (1930) to write a poem in less than 80 words

116

image courtesy Poet's United


BOREDOM
Siiiiiggghh! sigh
sky
same as yesterday grey
cloud cloud cloud
will not this rain go away

Siiiiiggghh! sigh
wind
lots of wind
no wind

Siiiiiggghh! sigh
void
no word no thought
no rain
no wind
no sky

Siiiiiggghh! sigh
boredom
breath of
emptiness

Siiiiiggghh! sigh
no tea
no poetry
keep me
in thy pithy
dear boredom
thee

Siiiiiggghh!
sigh

© gillena cox



image from google dot com



Written for the prompt
Midweek Motif ~ Boredom

Monday WRites 28

THE BOOTH
The polling booth,
Somewhat like a confessional,
Here, you alone can practice truth,
About futures
In quickness, hands must steer exceptional,
So as not to put to the test,
The patience of the waiting queue.
© gillena cox


Its Polling Day here in Trinidad and Tobago




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 #28, ❧✿❧ whats your mood 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 />

114

photo from Dismaland



STILETTO ALLURE
Her stilettos clicked boardroom tiles
Men trembled at her slightest wiles
She, goddess, she, diva
Till another, more wicked, more diva
Benched her, to pigeon lady in the park
Now they smother her; question mark
Who is she? faced hidden in feathered smack
Feathered, not tarred, for a hurried snack
Sister sister of Wall street.
© gillena cox



Written for
FLASH 55 PLUS!


The challenge: to visit Dismaland, the anti-themepark brainchild of the artist known as Banksy, and add your poetic voice to his creative vision in precisely 55 WORDS

113

Arthur Wesley Dow, "Moon in the Trees" (1910)
from Studio Matters art blog


THE SLEEPY STREET
Within the three o'clock hour,
Framed in the dark before dawn,
The heavy rumble of garbage trucks,
Strays across the canvas of waning night;
Sometimes the voices of men, loading
Bags into the trucks, spill out into the silence;
House dogs remain hushed they know the routine,
Such noises pose no threat to their families,
But then the interlude of quiet,
Dapples once more the sleepy street,
Lulled in pre dawn slumber,
Awaiting the first distant strains of bird songs;
A large lamp like moon may hover,
Depending on the phase of counted days.
© gillena cox


Written for
(NON-) Fireblossom Friday: Finding the Right Tone


The challenge: to create a poem, prose poem or piece of microfiction (less than 150 words) with 'no under drawing,' by taking an idea, a place, a person, an event or a mood, and quickly fleshing out a portrait of it in a blur of words. Use language to mass light and dark verbal 'tones' and build up your poem in dashes of description and image. The end result should be something immediate but 'misty' which gets its effect primarily through visualization.

And Also Linking to
Open Link Night #154

112

animation from google dot com


TASTE AND SEE
Mouth-watering promise, thin, wafer like
Fleeting, yet satisfying, cloud like
Seemingly angelic words, emit light
Or light emitting words, when however
A dream embodies its way in, ever
Never allude to doubt, for surely
Stars are alive. watching, merely
Holding words the weight of wisdom
Yet of ages still to come
That day, that night, that grasp of intervening
Heart hears, mind sears, reeling
On the eons of moonbeams, whirling
Set in proscribed readiness gear
Guardian Faith admonish fear
“Taste and see that the Lord is good”
And yes, its all good,
For a pirouette into constancy,
Now pivots this soul.
© gillena cox


Written for the prompt
Midweek Motif ~ Watershed Moments


My husband whom i loved dearly, left, after seven years of marriage, on the pretext of going away to further his studies. Left me with a broken heart, two adorable children and yes the feeling that he's coming back soon everything will be alright. This feeling phased into a reality of abandonment, fear and disillusion.
Hmm, all that holy water in the font, (i'm Catholic), and i would leave church, still feeling angry; till one very early dawn (1995), i experienced a wide awake, dream like experience, when a voice spoke to me, in a beam of light. That, somehow, transformed me into an enduring faith filled person. Sorry no turning back; come what may.
Though still married, i am living alone, and loving my lonesome life. My children are happily grown, and i'm now a grandmother of a lovely little two-going-on-three-year old girl. I feel blessed, even on the worst of days.