Friday, October 7, 2016


[image from google dot com]

Face of reality torn,
From a book paged everyday drudgery,
The Phantom of the Opera sings;
To a night of masks,
From witches to fairies,
To bones macabre;
Let him write me a broomstick;
For to fly, far out -
Pumpkin viewing, carrying,
Light of star and moon.
ON A BROOMSTICK VIEWING © gillena cox 2016

Blog hopping at
Words Count With Mama Zen
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

[my video choice today]


[image - The Owl And The Pussy Cat from yahoo dot com]

“Our language has wisely sensed the two sides of being alone. It has created the word “loneliness” to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word “solitude” to express the glory of being alone.”
-– Paul Johannes Tillich

Deep in the chamber of solitude curled
A ring-gg ring-gg softly charms air furled
Yet not, do the tone to mind or ear reach
For far to low, chasm of solitude seeks
To court absolute attention to its bliss;
Thus being satiated in being alone, solitude
Is an amorous lover, jealous of intrusion
No telephone tones, nor voices calling
Can mar the perfect tide of flowing free
Thoughts, ideas, colours, on a clear sea
Calm waves ripple, in syllables uncharted
Traversing to an ocean wide and deep enough
To absorb, light, liquidity, and vastness
SOLITUDE © gillena cox 2016

Written for Sanaa's Prompt Night
Descent into the abyss of Solitude – [31]


[my video choice for today Tu si 'na cosa grande ]