[image courtesy yahoo dot com]
ANGELS BUSY GOSSIPING
Doused in fallen blossoms
Each sweep of broom
Tugs at heart cords,
No sound emits -
Not even sob of tears
Peeled from eyeballs
For this day of dried resolve
Some leaves are curled
In rigor, stayed to returning
Earth, hungry for humus
Compost heap earns -
Another timespan of reasoning
Growth becomes fertilizing
Denouement of new blossoms
Labeled to providence and cycles
ANGELS BUSY GOSSIPING © gillena cox 2016
“Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Revisit
rusted sails threaten
they call him a crazy guy
behind his back...
FOLLOWING THE LEADER
He’s the madman, slicing off an ear,
Spoiling his metaphor,
Charts a sentence through the valley...
PROCESS SURREAL
Mouth-watering promise, thin, wafer like
Fleeting, yet satisfying, cloud like
Seemingly angelic words, emit light
Or light emitting words...
TASTE AND SEE
Prompt Nights When shades of loss weave with pattern of madness [29]
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[my video choice of today - 'Continuando' by Jehro]
