996

[image courtesy dVerse]

A SWEET LITTLE TALE

Wind at the window pane. 

Wrapped in cellophane. 

Sweet;

With a little heat. 

That gives you a hint. 

It is a ginger mint. 

The little cellophane square; 

Leaps into the air. 

Out the opened window. 

Oh was a show. 

Like a butterfly in flight.

© gillena cox 2022

A Jigzone puzzle to fit online - 6 pieces

REVISIT

20181212

20161212

20141212

BLOG HOPPING TODAY WITH 

Quadrille # 166 – I Like Candy

Challenge to Pop a bit of candy into a poem

HAPPY DECEMBER 

This is Monday WRites 375

You've heard about the Monday Blues 

❧✿❧

well this is Monday WRites  (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance for eg the rite of afternoon tea). 

836

Dragon from Pinterest

Yesterday i posted Shudder - A fold linking it to dVerse and as quickly as today i am mining it with some new punctuations, line breaks and an extension of the storyline, and adding it to one of my series.

TALES OF A DRAGON UNSEEN - MAKING MYTHS [9] 

"Mayhaps we be reading the shadows wrong."
She whispered to Erke, edging up even closer.
His sword sheathed, he dare not prolong
this agony of not knowing, what monster breathed
ahead. "Mayhaps we be reading the shadows wrong,"
he agreed with Gurtha, quickening his stride.
Just then, in the distance, the booming of a gong.
They stood frozen, holding breaths an eternity.
Quickly a shudder wove through the forest, a throng
of sensation. Forever cannot be drawn in a circle.
"Shh! mayhaps we be reading the shadows wrong."

The dragon shimmied its way back into the sea.
Silvery scales wagon-wheeling through the vast
wetness. Only to Neptune's trident he chose to flee.
Of loud percussions had he, no taste of entertainment.
So dragon prince, shimmied its way back into the sea.
Then the ripple of leaves against a whistling wind,
and Holy monks in a temple, tired too of duty,
Was now, all that remained of a harrowing night.
Till the next season of moon birthing, maybe,
Erke and Gurtha would have have to wait their adventure.
For the dragon shimmied its way, back into the sea.
TALES OF A DRAGON UNSEEN - A DOUBLE FOLD © gillena cox 2021

NOTE
How to construct The Fold Poem HERE and HERE

REVISIT
MAKING MYTHS [8]
MAKING MYTHS [7]
MAKING MYTHS [6]

BLOG HOPPING TODAY WITH

#86 Mining the Journals

727

IT WASN'T JUST MIDNIGHT
It was the middle of the night,
And there a thing so scary;

A shadow carved in the dark
Unmoving, it craved screams;

Ah but she stood her ground,
Ha! she exclaimed, look at you

Shaped like a minotaur, nonsense!
Phased to this not that not this;

Couldn't even make up your mind.
Neve! you are absolutely useless.
IT WASN'T JUST MIDNIGHT © gillena cox


❧✿❧
Blog hopping today with

Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #21: Anagrams


REVISIT
27 May 2019
27 May 2015

A MEETING WITH A GENIE (A tale, its fiction, not a poem)

A long long time ago, and far far away from home. A girl meets a genie. The genie offers her one wish, only she has to play strip poker with him, and this game has to be played in his bottle. How does a 20th century girl fit into a genie's bottle, you might ask. I have not the answer to riddles nor magic.

Okay so they make a date of it, this strip poker thing, this game, right there in the grey ambiance of a hustling Portobello Road. Then, he vanishes, as any good genie would.

She set about looking to buy herself a pack of playing cards. She knows the suits: diamonds(are a girl's best friend), hearts (oh the red queen of Alice's dream), spades (calling it as it is), clubs (ah yes, those meeting places and fun adults). She buys herself an attractive pack. Poker? poker? all the games she knows are go fish and old maid. Sadly sadly she must up her game plan.

A good distance behind the cell phone era, she calls her girl pal on the telephone. Ring ring.

"Yes i know the place, " answers girl pal. "There is a genie's bottle there?"

"Oh grown up! A crib is a space, is a bottle" she scolds girl pal dryly.

"So do you know how to play poker"

"Hear about the game lots, never played it i could ask my brother "

"O well guess i'll just have to be clumsy, play i wanted to win, and sulk while stripping. Oh and did i tell you? he is a wizard in the kitchen. Pots and pans dance to his every tune"

"Well then bon appetit, and go easy on the wine"

You had to go there didn't you, the easy bit i mean"

"Well ta taa, talk to you soon"
A MEETING WITH A GENIE © gillena cox 2019 (A tale, its fiction, not a poem)



image credit


Written for Poets United
Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero: a Pantry of Prose, #5 ~ Away from Home

661

[image - Flowering Mindscape by J.Hurlbert courtesy dVerse Poets]

ARTFULLY ARRANGED
The rains, finally,
lolling through an entire day,
stringing peals of lightning
to thunder bolts.

The bougainvillea shower down
from their cozy boughs,
they drop
to assemble on the ground
like tiny paper lanterns.

Sometimes they take flight,
like that bluebird of yesterday
to perch on my mind,
offering me dreams of fantasy and favour,
wherein my headband sprouts
huge bouquet of words

I put water into a vase
and arrange my sentences
so artfully.
ARTFULLY ARRANGED © gillena cox


Blog hopping with

Meet Jackie Hurlbert


AND

Poets United Mid Week Motif ~ garden

Monday WRites 208

THE QUESTION OF DRAGONS
"Dragons!" She exclaimed. "You must be joking. There are absolutely no castles around these parts. There are storybooks and flower gardens. If dragon be what today you seek, then i would suggest, try one of those."
clouds adrift
in azure sky -
her pointing finger
THE QUESTION OF DRAGONS © gillena cox 2019

❧✿❧

All the blooms in today's mosaic is from the same Bougainvillea shrub, The first time this plant flowered i got greenish white blooms, then i got pinkish white blooms then a year i got pinkish white blooms with one bunch of blooms displaying a scarlet bract. This year i'm getting orangy reds scarlet and one bunch of pinkish white. What can i say, its got a mind of its own, and i'm loving the experience

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 #208, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites.

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Blog Hopping today with

Mosaic Monday
#30 - Movin' and Shakin' in May

AND


Ruby Tuesday Too:
Covered Wagon


AND


Quadrille #81
– Here there be {poem} dragons

❧✿❧

REVISIT
27 May 2015


❧✿❧




REVISIT
3 June 2015

541

[Ruby-Topaz hummingbird from google dot com; Fair Use]



TRINIDAD - LAND OF THE HUMMINGBIRD [MAKING MYTHS 6]
She was pretty, she was cute.
She had big dreams;
But she was small, too small
In the eyes of her tribe.

She was pretty, she was cute.
She had big dreams;
She flew back and forth.
She flew backwards and forwards.

Now's when, Jealousy, the bird of woe,
Flies into this poem.
She, and many of her jealous kind,
could only fly forward.

One night, Jealousy stole some stars.
She and her cohorts bounded Yerette,
Placing in her beak, starlight.
Then, they went to Greatest Honourable Bird.

Look! see! Yerette has eaten some of the stars.
Of course Yerette was banished from Cloud Patch.
She flew and flew till her wings were weary.
Then she, exhausted, flew backwards.

Bumping into a rock,
The starlight expelled from her bound beak.
And there it was: three, now starlit, Mountains.
She pledged herself to this uninhabited place,
Making it her own.

She called it Iere.
She plucked feathers from her beautiful wings
And birded this place called Iere
Soon there were charm after charm of hummers.

She blew on her magic flute
And people had dreams; dreams of adventure,
Dreams of conquest in far away lands,
And so they came and peopled her land.

Yerette and her charms were ever more beautiful;
And never never lonely,
And always always admired,
And always always treated kindly.
© gillena cox 2018; TRINIDAD - LAND OF THE HUMMINGBIRD [MAKING MYTHS 6]


NOTE: 1. Yerette - Amerindian word for hummingbird.
2. Trinidad of the Republic of Trinidad And Tobago: Native names: Trinidad, Cairi, Iere, Tukusi, La Isla de la Trinidad, Nickname: Land of the Hummingbird.
3. charm - a group of Hummingbirds

❧✿❧



TASTY BITE RHYTHM DANCE AND A CITY
This poem is a tasty bite
This poem is rhythm and dance
This poem is a city

Early in the morning - throngs,
Long standing queues,
A nod to the question: hot or slight
Settles the amount of pepper to Doubles.
This poem is a tasty bite.

Children's carnival - Main Road alive,
Intricate patterns costume their way,
'we beat' festival - pan in the streets,
And beautiful tadjahs at Hosay.
This poem is rhythm and dance.

Such is the vibe of Western Main Road
Loath to sleep, until wee hours,
When the bars close their keep
Tasty feisty insomniac, is St James.
This poem is a city.

This poem is a tasty bite
This poem is rhythm and dance
This poem is a city
TASTY BITE RHYTHM DANCE AND A CITY © gillena cox 2018



Revisit
Doubles 2018
says Yerette 2017
21 April 2016
charm 2016
21 April 2015
Saying Some Names 2015



Blog hopping today with imaginary garden. In April we write a poem every day


April 20: Say the Names of the Places You Love
Sherry Blue Sky prompted: challenge is to write a poem in the spirit of “Say the Names”
Day 21: Mythical Creatures
Brendan prompted:For today’s NaPoWriMo challenge, pick an animal and write its myth.

540

[image from google dot com; Fair Use]


AURORA BOREALIS
With sensual mouthful of syllables
A winter Icelandic night features cold stars
Spewed forth in blue wash of wonder
Excitement and awe points to Aurora
Goddess in her celestial trauma
Speaking barely audible colours to yoemen
Bundled like worshippers in sacred shrine.
AURORA BOREALIS © gillena cox 2018

Revisit
19 April 2017
19 April 2016
really dark night 2015



Blog hopping today with imaginary garden. In April we write a poem every day

Get Listed: Poems In April Edition
Sanaa is prompting. Challenge: Choose one of the word groups[given] (using all four words) that fits best with the mood/theme/personality of your poem...




Enjoy The Music

470

[St Michael image from google]


KISMET
She lies you know, that braggart
Cousin Coucous!
Oh, she met, Michelle Obama at
The hairdressers!

Between sips of tea, i said to my dear cousin:

Down there in doldrums,
Dark is the only vision seen
And shadows are plated
From breakfast to supper

Dreams are those times you reckon with surreal

It was neither winter nor summer.
That time, my first meeting Michael,
He was wearing his brown skins.
As a kind of kismet

They do that you know, angels are chameleon

The span of knowledge Heaven holds,
Fastens many a wonderer
In diaphanous skein
Exceedingly awesome

Neither day nor night sat on its hunches

Neither cloud nor rainbow
Thus, could ride the moment,
Here he was at the edge of real
So brilliant was his aura,

Strength of another worthless tyrant absorbed

My soul knew his guardianship
My spirit he had so awakened
"Taste and see" he said, "of goodness,"
"And relish the nectar of hope"
KISMET © gillena cox 2017

Isadora Gruye at Real Toads prompted: Write about a relative's encounter with a famous person. That's all. The encounter doesn't have to have actually happened. And the famous person does not need to be living or even from the same era.

My poem though, having an ilk of its own strayed a little out of focus into a very self-centred shift: my apologies; AND, i do not have a cousin Coucous.

Blog hopping today with
(in)Famous and possibly fictional



Revisit
11 November 2016


Enjoy

Monday WRites 129

[image from google dot com, i cropped and framed it]

MAKING MYTHS [5] HALLOWEEN TREATS
This is not a blame story [so men are not included in these paragraphs]. Sooo, any which way, one day, Despair, woke in a vainglorious mood, she put on her orange kimono and wrapped her gold obi around her waist. She burnt the incense sticks of purity and gave a blessing to her dead ancestors.
"Ha, what shall I do with my most beautiful self today?" she pondered silently. Her incongruous smile wandering across from ear to dainty ear. "Tsunami, maybe." She clapped her hands. "No! I will just simply change into another costume."


[image from google dot com, i cropped it]

So, she wrapped her locks in a bright coloured cloth, Kente, I believe they called it, for its striking pattern and colours, like an autumn field where maple trees grew. She wrapped her body in a fittingly matching cloth, kicked off her shoes, painted her toenails and stepped barefooted in the dusty path of that day, galaxies ago.

It so happened, there was a mighty fierce wind about, and it blew and blew, and she struggled and struggled, to keep her cloths from flying off. "Wretched wind!" she cursed. "I could silence you with a twirl of my wand." So, she twirled and she twirled, meaning to banish the wind to the depths of the sea, to rise, to wrecking havoc in Atlantic storms.

❧✿❧ But ❧✿❧

The wind blew and blew. And all around her was dust and dust. "How could this be?" she voiced her concern. Only to hear the reply. "I am the Most Mighty. And I bid you go to sleep for it is your nap time."

Most Mighty! she had never conceived of this concept before. Where was this coming from. But there it was, this wind that blew and blew. Suddenly she felt quite intimidated, and she also felt herself getting smaller and smaller. And Oh Good Heavens, she felt her coloured toenails disappearing


[caterpillar from my garden]

Next thing she knew, she was blown to a Plumeria, where, the intoxicating overpowering scent of white blossoms, forced her to feed a ravishing hunger. So she ate and ate. And ate and ate. Till she thought she would burst out of her new little self. Instead, she then got the sensation of one having been given beautiful stripped pyjamas and now losing them to the wind. she fell into a deep deep sleep.


[moth image from google dot com]

While she slept, she dreamed of costumes with wings called Hope, in beautiful colours. Not just the colours of her long discarded Kente, no. These were colours of a new Rainbow Existence. And the wings got to singing. Singing of something they called Hope. And she once again, felt she was being tossed, like a leafy yummy salad.

And, she felt she must, because of her vainglorious personality, change again her costume, for it was Halloween now. And, she did like to go trick or treating. And so, that night, a most interesting looking moth went-a-knocking on doors, in the neighborhood, gathering candy, as much as she could, galaxies ago.
HALLOWEEN TREATS © gillena cox 2017



[images in this mosaic from google dot com]

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Happy Halloween to those whose observe
❧✿❧ ❧✿❧

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).
Welcome to Monday WRites #129, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites



DO Enjoy the music


❧✿❧

Revisit
30 October 2016

❧✿❧

Blog hopping with

# 59

AND


Wise Woman

AND

The TuesdayPlatform

AND


The voice of the monster

446

BOOK OF WORDS
A postage stamp, a convenient
Scar of mimicry
Your cool sentiment , all lies

I could return thus postcard
Address unknown
But to stoop to your mimicry

No no I decree more finesse
To starlight and twinkle
And my forever happy heart
BOOK OF WORDS © gillena cox 2017

Bllog hopping with imaginary garden

Words Count with Mama Zen
Challenged to write a new poem from a given list of words: "mimicry, testament, rapture, cool, dachshund, cherubim, heretic, infinitesimal, convenient, serendipity" Chose three words from the above list and compose a little bit of brilliance of sixty words or less. Bonus points if you title your poem "Book of Words."

Revisit
9 September 2015

441

[chameleon image from Bing dot com]

SHAPE SHIFTING
Inside the moon is nest of chameleon,
In recluse I watch their puffed necks,
As they scuttle by under camouflage,
How come the moon shifts shape?
Its not because of me, it because of them,
Silent gaze is your best retort,
For poems are never stored to yon moon,
Only shared in utter desperation,
When words are all we got but nought,
For light or shadowy cloud or halo.
SHAPE SHIFTING© gillena cox 2017


Blog hopping today with
imaginary garden


Micro Poetry ~ Uncomplicated Things
Prompted by Kerry O'Connor

✿ܓEnjoy The Music

436

[An image from Pinterest]


COFFEE MORNINGS
First light of morning streams in on shards
Of sheer magic
The aroma of coffee not yet brewing
Lures the poet in a semi- somnambulant state
To the kettle
The first whistle of the morning is cajoling
Words dance in wordle rhythm
Never settling like the spoonful of coffee
Which instantly dissolves rising in a steam
Of hot magic
When the air filled with perfumed breezes
Whose elixir mixed in by delft invisible hands
Weave a poem of early morning dew then
Ribbons of syllabic patterns tint the blossoms
Afresh again anew
COFFEE MORNINGS © gillena cox 2017


Blog hopping with
imaginary garden with real toads

Writing Unseen


Revisit
10 August 2016
10 August 2015

Monday WRites 117

[Robots - image from the internet]


FUTURE PERFECT(QUESTION MARK)
It is the time penultimate zone of new normal; people are just that people, Ego looks overs his people with courage, [fear has been banished, forever-?] if you read something in the news you do not like, you can *suck your teeth [in T&T*cheups] and say false news - false news , politics is about who visits whom, and who [ didn't], tweets are of birds and men.

Time does not exist; ceteris paribus, there is no chaos, if you leave The Village of A on Tuesday you can arrive at The Village of B on Monday [of the same week], there are no nights, [just sun and moon intervals], everything is clear cut, we are everything, and nothing then.

The couple next door is [having] a baby; they sit at the table, talking shop: colour of eyes, shape of nose, feel of hair, these are good people, they do not squabble, swaddled in sweet grey (very cute), said baby arrives, [via a reputable internet carrier] next day YOU WHOO!!!

Of the ‘old world’ though, wishes and history remain; her name is Gift, she looks at the baby then she asks the grownup standng next to her , “Auld-er , if you lived in the ‘old world’ [eons ago] what would you have liked to be, boy or girl? “girl answers Auld-er, I so love stilettos and would not have minded being a president’s wife,” “me too Auld-er” Gift chimes in, “and I so-o luv nail polish too.”
FUTURE PERFECT(QUESTION MARK) © gillena cox 2017

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❧✿❧ 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).
Welcome to Monday WRites #117, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites ❧✿❧




✿

Blog hopping with


The Tuesday Platform

✿

Enjoy The Music


✿

Aside
Roller Skate Stilettos: I came across this after i posted, so i edited to include it. This made me smile.

Monday WRites 115

[all images in this Blue Mosaic from google dot com]


MOSAIC BLUES
She wanders amongst lonely clouds,
Her shoes are prime stilleto blue,
A postcard away from gathering crowds,
Of this she is all for nought too new,

Even should a bird pause to listen,
Narry a song will be given to morning
Though sunlight to dew will glisten
Still to moon drops she be clinging.
MOSAIC BLUES © gillena cox 2017

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Happy to be back online after some connection blues❧✿❧ 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).
Welcome to Monday WRites #115, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites ❧✿❧






❧✿❧

Blog hopping with


Blue Monday: Desert Family


Monday Mosaic #49


The Tuesday Platform


❧✿❧

Enjoy The Music



❧✿❧

Revisit
17 July 2015