Monday WRites 223

[my 2nd week of Advent table centerpiece]

My November 2019 perks of joy came in celebration at 2 events. Firstly; reading of 'Anansi An Unusual Experience' published by authourhouse this year, at the library near me. I am ever grateful to the library staff for making this happen.

What a fun morning, the Standard 4 Ascension Anglican Primary class was appreciative warm and outgoing. They were ready to participate in discussion after the story and happy to answer questions about the story and to ask me questions on my writing. One child received a surprise gift copy of the book, having sat on a seat that was tagged. A copy was also given to the teacher so the whole class could have access to a copy.

Secondly my daughter's birthday, we did a late lunch at a restaurant of her choice, she is first of my two children and she is forty-eight this year.

And with that we were thrown into The Season of Advent again to wait in hope of God's love realized. Advent is my favourite season, after all it takes me to CHRISTMAS.

tinsel and baubles –
the sound of paper tearing
between giggles
gillena cox, Trinidad and Tobago.
[This haiku appears at page 3 of my 2019 Christmas Story 'Anansi An Unusual Experience']

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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). A Happy Monday to all
Welcome to Monday WRites #223, ❧✿❧

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Blog hopping today with


Mosaic Monday #57. November Notions



REVISIT
9 December 2015
9 December 2016
9 December 2017






photos and haibun © gillena cox



ENJOY THE MUSIC

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


AND


Mosaic Monday
55 Autumn Amble


REVISIT
25 November 2016
25 November 2015



photos and poem © gillena cox

681

[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



REVISIT
20 November 2015

20 November 2013

20 November 2012


MUSIC
Barbara Jones - Angel Of The Morning

299

[ hearts wallpaper from goole dot com]

SWEET SWEET OCTOBER
There there, i see you, afro-haloed;
it is the month of October,
i garland your neck with
imaginary kisses, futuristic whimsies;
later though, we do kiss.

There there, i see a sky, chock full of clouds,
In the afternoon traffic,
Ah! i say to our boy (though a man now),
The angels, surely are rejoicing,

swaddled new baby -
the flashing of cell phone clicks
and granma kisses
SWEET SWEET OCTOBER © gillena cox 2016

Process Note
Traditional haibun are written in the present tense, even when the content is about happenings in the past.

blog hopping today at

October in the Chair
Magaly asks us to turn October into a poem

206

[a google dot com image]


PARAMOUR
Gentle breezes, touching cheeks; fingers of sun rays, putting to shame every master painter, stroking in warm colour, on faces, lifted, like praise worthy palms; a sensuous wind drafts by, lifting skirts in magical sweeps, of windy-gesturing-Eros.

sunlit daybed strewn -
lo! bougainvillea shrouded
in veined scarlet bracts,

PARAMOUR © gillena cox 2016


Written for Brendan MacOdrum's prompt at
Sunday Mini-Challenge: The Paramour


Brendan says "The first written poetry of our Western tradition began in Greece between the seventh and sixth centuries BC. Standing at the border of the preliterate, poets like Archilochos and Anakreon found an alphabet in which to ferry verbal expression into the symbolic language of the mind. The act transformed culture and history and who we are. (The literate is now disappearing behind visual culture, borne by wordless ferry-workers.)

Where were the first literate poets going when they wrote their song down? It wasn’t to philosophy or myth; instead, they dazzled to the arrow-thwocks of erotic love. Sappho, another of the first poets of the literate age, wrote:

Eros, once again limb-loosener whirls me
sweetbitter, impossible to fight off, stealing up...

For this challenge, lets go back to the edge of that forest and name the paramours who led us to write. Let’s celebrate the badness of that defining encounter which has inspired our best work. Celebrate them individually or serially, angelically or down and dirty—swamp-prime"

197

FALLING LILACS
The road curves. There the guys ply their trade, of car wash, while patrons wait on the sidewalk. Sometime, boys play a game of cricket in the road, dodging a passing car or two. On the opposite side, when the time is right, pink blooms from the pomerac tree carpets the sidewalk.

lilacs falling
the wind plays
a rain song
FALLING LILACS © gillena cox 2016


Written for Hannah's prompt
Transforming with Nature's Wonders

Challenged to explore the world of footprints and write a new poem through the eyes of Nature.

170

I imagine a star, rising, much like dandelion puffs in the lightness of an ethereal breeze, spun on the threads of wanderlust and bohemian trysts, the core of vanishing, the sparks of genius, reaching higher higher higher; travelling at the speed of esoteric.

sun beams and moon rays -
in the rhythm of silence
he David fleeing
© gillena cox 2016


## Process Note. I used an image from google dot com, of Bowie clothed in black and white; manipulaled the image using Pic Monkey, to get the present image and added text for a haiga



blog hopping today at
The Tuesday Platform

125

image from google dot com


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RECOVERY
June 2001, surgery again, i had braved myself through the pre process, until the day scheduled.
Truly the loneliest feeling , is being wheeled into an operating theater

a fading image
the crucifix on the wall
that struggle to rise
swimming out of the nadir
of surgery into the light

clear azure skies
surely angels are watching
as i return
the familiar patterns
familiar shapes of home
RECOVERY © gillena cox 2015

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October 1976 my uterus was taken out, in June 2001 my ovaries were removed, on each occasion because of benign growths, in my abdominal area, the doctors reported, left alone could prove fatal.
The grateful aspect of this scenario is however: i had already given birth to a daughter in 1971 and a son in 1973. So i was already blessed with the charge of carrying two healthy children and being a mother.

edited to include: this is by no means a complaint; but rather, just info

...

Written for Susan's prompt
Midweek Motif ~ Recovery/healing

119

Ixoras - hardy, hearty blooms; in reds, yellows, oranges and pinks to dismiss every gloom; they decorate my garden; they love the rain; more and more pop up, in the splendor of a sunny day after it rains; like tiny umbrellas they cluster together, bunches to delight every admirer. So i pick some, bringing delight to my table.

and i arrange them
with a snip of my scissors -
ixora pom poms
© gillena cox 2015


Written for
The Tuesday Platform