Wednesday, November 27, 2019


["lover boy and girl with red heart balloons" image from google dot com]

Once i was young, and the moon,
Round and complete, lured my sigh
Many a night in a darkening swoon
There she was, round and ever so high.

Fantasy soared, jump, touch that moon
Bright-cold or pale-gold-hot
Growing takes eons and eons, none too soon
Her texture to know; maybe, maybe not.

There was no need of space ships then
Nursery rhymes could achieve so much
Her pages opened, and that was when
The words flew it passengers as such

Once too, our love was young
The two of us holding hands, looking
We basked in our favourite song
And there was the moon, full round watching.

Some such innocence tugs at the heart
Maybe a poem to write then, sweetheart.
MAYBE A POEM SWEETHEART © gillena cox 2019

Blog hopping today with

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Longing
Prompted by Sumana

27 November 2018
27 November 2016
27 November 2015

Regina Belle - This Is Love

Monday, November 25, 2019

Monday WRites 221

Everything breathes, lives; moving or rock still. Passing years reflected in moon curves, know of existence. Of destiny, that's another issue. Some of us are more gifted than others. Who knows which mountain, will crumble, which sea will be parted down its middle affording passage to a designated few?

What is there in knowing anyway. Each day dawns with some promise of its waning to dark inky skies. Maybe in our struggles to understanding and wisdom, the gratitude for life, that is enough.

ixora blooms
at day's end stay open -
sharing beauty

© gillena cox 2019

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). A Happy Monday to all
Welcome to Monday WRites #221, ❧✿❧


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Blog hopping today with

Haibun Monday - Gratitude


Mosaic Monday
55 Autumn Amble

25 November 2016
25 November 2015

photos and poem © gillena cox

Wednesday, November 20, 2019


[image from google]

Coolness of morning light streaming through clouds silvery, with brilliant thrill of bird whistles. Clean up crews having done their routine work will withdraw, letting the roar of large wheels and the honk in queued horns take over the sounds of morning awakening

a flash of pale blue
from shrubbery to skyward -
the blue bird's silence

© gillena cox 2019

Blog hopping with
Poets United ~ midweek motif - awakening
Prompted by Susan

20 November 2015

20 November 2013

20 November 2012

Barbara Jones - Angel Of The Morning

Monday, November 18, 2019

Monday WRites 220

[image from google]

Then the lightning crackled like the blaming finger of a witch gone wild on finding her wicked brew had been stolen, gulped, or siphoned off.
And trees whirling wildly to winds withering were indeed worthy of screams from television audiences both young and old.

Blog hopping today with

Take a crack at poeming

18 November 2016
18 November 2015

Katie Melua - Blame It On The Moon