[The Dreamer,” an oil painting by Caspar David Friedrich from the period 1820-1840, ]
To Sleep
Night is generally for sleeping
I toss and turn
Close my eyes, then open them; peeping
Again pull up the covers; durn
If its too hot like; roasting
I pull them down again; stern
My opened eyes espy; the dark's in
I think may be a nightlight; kerne
Or a glass of water; pouring
Or a dream; yearn
But first to sleeping
For there are no daydreams at night; learn
© gillena cox
© gillena cox
A Bird In A Cage
That song, that mesmerising song. Some things are just not good for an unsober head, carrying a mind of non direction, crazed in booze, and too bold women, and the faint perfume.
From its chalice steals, the sacred blend of dignity, divinity, deep serious contemplation and remorse, by morning glare. When did it occur to them to look for him, to ask about him.
Weren't they drinking buddies? Weren't buddies supposed to look after one another? It is a sad day went a friend goes missing, like a phantom, out of the night. When a friend's wife is left alone; to listen to the song of a bird in a cage.
© gillena cox
Roses In Conversation
Afternoon delight, bordeaux
Tangles summer song;
Windrush, sea foam, penny lane and white wings
Sound on a brass band;
Restless, queen of hearts
Signs: No surrender!
Peace! shouts a mermaid at Golden Gate;
The Eiffel Tower is in France;
Ebb tide is upon us Desdemona,
Pass the cayenne pepper please, dear Quicksilver.
Humour of Glass
By that look
You gave me in
temper of thy
Rigid humour of glass
Ladybugs crawl and
Babies babble to tell
Wonderful stories of the
Unknow which when we face
Then only thou
Knowest and viewest
© gillena cox
I used the line "Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest" Sonnet 3 By William Shakespeare
The Seven Grandfather Teachings : A Fold Poem
They call him turtle oh so slow
He's not a bird not a swift or eagle
Pondering the life as it should go
With teeth as of the beaver no lies to chew
Gathering yet the truths oh so slow
He weaves a testament solid
Scales on his back harden you know
Enough to shelter the culture
Life can be humbling wolf will say so
Him with others make up the whole
Courageous like mother bear but oh so slow
© gillena cox 2026
Who knows the mind of a melon, sweet or mild or tart? When the storm has spent its fury and the earthquake stops to stare at man's humiliation. When bombs drop no more, when chatter is not the noise of teeth in a winter's spell. And angels wings fold like a bud unfurled.
dewdrops on a leaf
in dawn's silence; earlier
is when it happens
© gillena cox 2026
What if he blew and blew,
But the candle flame, true
To disobediance sort review;
And claiming freedom grew,
Brighter and brighter due,
To some magical new
Assignment, based on few
Rules to guide, and will to chew
On observances due
To maturity anew
© gillena cox 2026
" I Dig"
There they were at the grocery,
She knocking for hollow sounds,
Of a good watermelon;
He piling apples into a bag,
What's this you hoping to enter?
He laughingly asked,
A hollow sound means its a good one;
Oh! i dig he replied laughing.
© gillena cox 2026
NOTE: From Google
Dig it" is an informal, often old-fashioned slang phrase meaning to understand, appreciate, or like something. Popularized in the 1950s–1970s, it implies catching the meaning of a conversation ("Do you dig?") or showing approval ("I dig that scene"). It often implies "I understand and agree/like it.
Zuihitsu: More Than
Always it goes back to control
Possession of more than the guy across the ocean
bombs and guns
air raids and straits
Casually, causalities increase
in geometric sequence
The war mongers are happy
The common folk are agitated in
Scared streams of tears and frustrations
Why why, the simple minded ask
Isn't food and shelter enough
Is sharing ever an option
© gillena cox 2026
NOTE:随筆 | Zuihitsu
While the zuihitsu is frequently compared to an essay, Hahn showed its possibilities as a poetic text. In a 2021 article for the American Poetry Review, Hahn wrote: Zuihitsu, literally, “running brush”; This uniquely Japanese genre is a poetic text lacking the formal structural principles we associate with Western verse. Through a variety of techniques—fragmentation, juxtaposition, varying lengths, disparate forms (observation, anecdote, journal, catalog, … and a hybrid text), and an organizing subject—it creates an impression of spontaneity and a quality of “imperfection.”
https://aaww.org/notes-on-zuihitsu/
Oh! Where Are you Going?
He was barefooted, leaving no footprints
Barechested, without a belly
Standing erect, yet without a spine
Is your name worthless?
I asked as i passed him in the corridor
Your facelessness looked familiar
I stated firmly, peering into his demeanor
Like a poem, without words
No he retorted; my name is love
You must be joking, i said exicitedly!
Love? Love?
And where are you off to?
But at that point, i didn't really want to know
The bougainvillea i planted, are so lovely
I mused in a whisper, to myself.
© gillena cox 2026
Contradicting Emily
Why write if not to free thought from its incarceration of mind's cell, if not to converse, to share and expect retort in the bargain.
Appreciation can be free, many will agree, but when a reader, dips into her purse to show the worth of a poet's thought, that narrative is special; that's applauding publication.
Is the 'auction of the mind', still considered a seeming truism, in today's effortless - share, follow and add.
On Living
Live today, for it has already been accepted
Or you wouldn't be here
I hear birds singing from a cloudless sky
Live with love, or you wouldn't be happy, trust me
Love, keeps questioning, who are you, i hear love, but, i don' respond
Live with wisdom, it is already inside of you
We are divinely made, we cry, we smile, we eat
Live with vigour, as you have the strenght to do.
In my old age i have become lazy, two stretches maybe, per day
Live in gratefulness, for life is a gift
A prayer a day, keeps God in sight, really.
© gillena cox 2026
White Bones - A Quadrille
White bones picked clean,
Phantoms of the night bring,
Scattering the front path,
No rattling of the front gate,
No sound of rustling wind,
Just silent reward of night,
If i sweep them all away,
There's more the next day.
White bones, picked clean.
© gillena cox 2026
Blank pages stare with eyes bright,
All sure words circling around,
None fall to clause or fright;
Arriving right on time, daylight.
Again silvery sunrise draws to
Azure; here is another gift, day;
But the storms offer dryness new,
To season of wetness just may,
Erase all phases as if phrases,
Need doing or telling; what
Scribes should to sunset raise;
Wait for petite careme, that
Can surprise a fertile curve;
When sunny rays dry out,
What is unpredictable like,
A haven of verbs in swerve.
The blank page transgresses,
Print, words, phrases no wrong
Thoughts arriving; sure tresses
Like daylight did with birdsong.
© gillena cox 2026
Note: The Petit Carême (or "little Lent") is a short, 2-3 week dry spell that occurs during the rainy season in Trinidad and Tobago, typically between mid-September and mid-October. It acts as a break from heavy rainfall, bringing sunny, warm weather reminiscent of an Indian Summer [info at google]
Tangled in vines of thought
A yearning for season change
Buds on iron railings wrought
Cannot surffice her longing
For it is her garden of thought
Where future days are cropped
Already set to days that ought
Rejuvenate her fertile mindset
She's anxious to blossom sort
That trees may dress up oh so
Remorse loosens in vibes of thought
A happy mixup - pelau,
True true trini food,
Just like our trini people,
This and That and The Other,
But really, a browned rice cookup,
With pigeon peas and meat.
[image from google]
Dawn holds mystery of silence,
Based on what is known,
What is remembered,
What has not so long ago passed,
The sunset which slipped behind the horizon,
The silver linings to host,
A day moon before,
The raucous, of birdsong,
And my pen writing.
Good poets of dVerse
I salute you every one
Let's raise a glass
Let's make a toast
Enjoying words and phrases
Never tiring of clauses
Always willing to read
Come my fellow poets
Open your notebooks
Xanthic or weather worn
Leprechaun In The LawnMay you always be blessed
And never ever be cursed
May your shoes fit snugly
So you never trip or fall silly
May you drink your beer
Be you far or near
May you dance on a shamrock lawn
But never upset a leprechaun
Eternal Day
Sun and moon destined to shine, in azure or obsidian skies. They know their times and stations. Whether super, full, or black, eclipse or otherwise. Tides and moods stringed to their events helplessly flow in following.
What of wars are they chimed in here too. Is war always inevitable? Must they always be at their appointed times. And what of peace, why can't we all, everyone, enjoy peace simultaneously.
It all belies, our existence; we wait, and are still denied. Or maybe, it is like day and night? Hours of light and hours of darkness? In one whole and eternal day.
Our existence; we wait, and are still denied.”
From
“Winter-Lull” by D.H. Lawrence
https://poets.org/poem/winter-lull
Note: Chip chip" refers primarily to small Donax coquina clams found on the east coast beaches of Trinidad, particularly in Mayaro. They are a popular local seafood delicacy, often boiled, cleaned to remove sand, and prepared in curries or as "chip chip accra"[from google]
LISTEN
These wet rocks where the tide has been, barnacled white and weeded brown. In writing a new poem.
