Something old - those photos faded now, seem strange and somewhat awkard, faces disappearing within past times
Something new will perhaps be so, for mere moments; time and technology in a fierce battle of existing and continuing.
Something borrowed - does anything really belong? is anything even really owned? Food, clothing, rites and rituals
Something blue like the sky, which scientists report is not coloured so but only appears thus. Not to be confusing. So don't overthink it
© gillena cox
A most embrassing moment,
Why did he accept the challenge?
The band leader shouted,
Blow boy!
He put the horn to his lips and with all his might.
He blew.
The horn is not his instrument.
What he grew up playing, is the pan
© gillena cox
They twinkle the night sky,Lift wishes heavenly high,
How time has ticked
a heaven round the stars,
Hope is the thing held up high.
© gillena cox
Let them smirk
I will write
Let them whisper
I will publish
Let them laugh
I will read to delighted children
Let them rag
I will read my poems to adult fingers snapping
Let them sink low
I will rise, rise, rise
© gillena cox
how lucky am i
to be privy to your life -
now you too have left
© gillena cox
He said he could play the flute
I thought he was being cute
And what of steelpan
He said of course he can
With his sister playing the lute
© gillena cox
Please, Behave!
When he picked her up,
Tossing her above him,
Ovehead held there,
[Marc Chagall, La promenade (The Promenade) (1918), oil on canvas, courtesy dVerse Poets Pub]
Her only thought was,
Please please,
Don't let my bloomers show,
My father would never approve
This kind of behaviour,
Please please,
Oh wind oh wind, behave!
© gillena cox
Shane
My pet of high school days,
Would stand by me in so many ways,
He walked me to the bus stop,
And waited my return,
How did he know when i would be home,
Shane - my pet my dog my pal,
What a pal!
© gillena cox
[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
