Wed In Red - a magic 9 poem
She a bride wore red
She didn't conform to the day
Of white veil that led
To travails of aisle and crown
What a pity her friends all said
They are so beautiful together
But their vows were civil-ly read
She let them have their say
Yet she the bride wore red
Wed In Red © gillena cox 2024
Quadrille Dark
Wake up, get up, nudges my muse
I will when the dark recedes,
When birdsong clears morning sky
Even though the waning gibbous moon,
still shines
How is it to the rising east
This morning's cloudscape is so
Ominously dark?
Wake up get up!
Quadrille Dark © gillena cox 2024
Times Flies?
Time has no wings yet, we say time flies another May is upon us already the fifth month spans its days.
white butterflies how
they scallop across flowers
here in my garden
Today we celebrate them: Happy International Bee Day. Honey makers: queens, drones they all add to the sweetness of life
not only today
a bee having breakfast in
the ixora bush
Its nearing the time of rains and floods. A tease of rain a few days ago. By May end, the whole day rains will follow.
a mockingbird skips
across the wall deceiding
where to fly off to
Time Flies? © gillena cox 2024
stood at the cusp of morning
dainty rose on a thorn etched bush
light of day was still at dawning
ethereal the sky in cloudy scape
through a window view warming
dew still wet and ever present
ever the heart watchful adoring
oh but the birds they will not hush
such is their task of daylight opening
© gillena cox 2024
It was the time of happily ever,
After the changing of diapers,
The buying of toddler's toys,
Selecting of schoolbooks,
It was the time just after her surgery,
After the healing processed,
When the psyche still lingered in pain,
That's when! he ghosted her.
"Two beautiful children;" friends
shook their heads in lamentation,
Clouds absorbed him and his luggage,
For desertion was his forte.
Left In A Jet © gillena cox 2024
Quadrille - Place
Is there a place called Heaven
High up and far beyond
Where joy and peace live happily
After a hard day's toil below
Or is there a thing like the poet's hope
In a place yet to be found
Without out windows or doors.
Quadrille - Place © gillena cox 2024
This Chair
This chair stood among the clouds,
Surreal and empty, tired from wandering;
You would think it didn't belong,
But it certainly did;
For what are spaces for,
If not to delete a void.
Every footstep in life to pilgrimage
The emptiness, the aloofness;
A chair without a table, resting now,
A chair without a sitter;
One wonders how not why,
How did it get here among clouds
Cumulus in thought,
Puffy with intent,
Alone and surreal.
Every footstep in life to pilgrimage
Perhaps the sitter fell off,
Like Jack fleeing a giant,
Grasping a beanstalk,
Or maybe there was no sitter;
Only a chair among clouds,
Just the way the dreamer crafted.
Every footstep in life to pilgrimage
This Chair © gillena cox 2024
On The Windowsill
All the banging so much noise,
What are we building of toil?
Is butter softer than the heart of love?
Can sugar sweeten already made honey?
When bees toil,
Is the buzz noisy?
A box of dreams sits on the windowsill
All this noise the banging never stops,
The blood of innocents cling to greed;
The soil and sea cry out do you hear,
Through all the banging?
Useless or wasteful still noise;
Drowning out real beauty real joy,
Loudest is the stressed-out heart,
The fake meanderings of toil.
A box of dreams sits on the windowsill
It is that time of beginnings,
The whistles and songs of birds
Sound out of transitioning,
A sky inky will streak of silver,
Then turn to pale azure,
Gilt with sunlight.
A box of dreams sits on the windowsill
On The Windowsill - A Bop poem © gillena cox 2024
