The past remains,
While scent fades,
For the empty bottle,
A work of art to throttle
Imagination sculpted.
Romance secure buttons,
Passion only unbuttons,
If somber evening bottled,
Lingers to long to be poured.
© gillena cox 2023
REVISIT TO READ
Tuesday, August 22, 2023
Monday, August 21, 2023
1083
She wanted pineapple
Not green banana
They bought from the market a bandana
A head cover to go to the chapel
He asked them to drive him
He didn't care to walk
All they did was stand and talk
A ploy to annoy him
© gillena cox 2023
REVISIT TO READ
❧✿❧
THIS IS MONDAY WRITES 408
A HAPPY AUGUST TO ALL
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).
❧✿❧
The Meeting by Harriet Monroe, (1860-1936)
The ox-team and the automobile
Stood face to face on the long red road.
The long red road was narrow
At the turn of the hill,
And below was the sun-dancing river
Afoam over the rocks.
The mild-mannered beasts stood par, chewing their cud.
The stubble-bearded man from the mountains,
Rustier than his wagon,
Unmoving eyed the proud chauffeur.
The little ragged girl,
With sun-bleached hair,
Sitting on a hard, yellow-powdery bag,
Looked across at the smart motor hats of the ladies,
And their chiffon scarfs
That the light breeze fingered.
The proud chauffeur blew his horn,
But nothing moved –
Except the foaming, sun-dancing river down below.
Then he jerked his head,
And turned the wheel,
And slowly, carefully,
The automobile moved back over the long red road.
And the mild-mannered beasts lifted their feet,
And the stubble-bearded man flipped his rein,
And the ragged little girl looked ahead up the hill,
And the ox-team lumbered and limped over the long red road.
Found this poem HERE
✿
Stood face to face on the long red road.
The long red road was narrow
At the turn of the hill,
And below was the sun-dancing river
Afoam over the rocks.
The mild-mannered beasts stood par, chewing their cud.
The stubble-bearded man from the mountains,
Rustier than his wagon,
Unmoving eyed the proud chauffeur.
The little ragged girl,
With sun-bleached hair,
Sitting on a hard, yellow-powdery bag,
Looked across at the smart motor hats of the ladies,
And their chiffon scarfs
That the light breeze fingered.
The proud chauffeur blew his horn,
But nothing moved –
Except the foaming, sun-dancing river down below.
Then he jerked his head,
And turned the wheel,
And slowly, carefully,
The automobile moved back over the long red road.
And the mild-mannered beasts lifted their feet,
And the stubble-bearded man flipped his rein,
And the ragged little girl looked ahead up the hill,
And the ox-team lumbered and limped over the long red road.
Found this poem HERE
✿
For every Monday in August the Word is CLOTH Link up with one of your posts where the word CLOTH is present or the theme CLOTH is presented
✿
Thursday, August 17, 2023
1082
[image courtesy dVerse poetry pub ]
HOPPING TODAY WITH 
What Is The Equation
Will there be salt to brine our sorrows
Or hearts to swell our passions
Will each mouthful of controversy
Sate the hunger of each other's greed
Will the rich man say enough
And the poor man say i'm okay
Will our treasons burn in hell
As we boat our way across the Styx
What is the equation for equity
In this our earthly existence?
© gillena cox 2023
MTB: Convince us with rhetorical devices
REVISIT TO READ
Tuesday, August 15, 2023
1081
Birds sound the wake-up calls,
An opened door gives the view,
Of smokey clouds; still, unmoving,
Not like the pace
Of morning into a new day.
More like the tree sillhouettes,
Seeming to stay shadows,
Only they wouldn't;
For a deliberate sun comes out,
To shine-up the greeness.
That colour, so much,
A Caribbean sun loves.
© gillena cox 2023
HOPPING TODAY WITH REVISIT TO READ
Monday, August 14, 2023
1080
[image courtesy dVerse Poetry Pub]
A Welcome Move
They were both country folk, Anslem and Gillian. Evening shadows and tree sillhouettes accompanied them as they walked the paths holding hands under moon bright nights.
He was never tired of their moon. However he craved city lights. His friends had written letters about street lights and neon lights and storefront lights. They had escaped the bush and they were working in government offices in town.
Anslem wanted a slice of that life. He had sent in numerous applications and was at the verge of dissapointment. Gillian though was a trooper. She told him "Don't give up Anslem; we will get a favourable reply soon; exactly when the time is right.
And so it was on this moon bright night they walked on the pavement; traffic holding its breath, sky a tense diaphragm in the city street, with workers returning home.
© gillena cox 2023
[A Welcome Move #flash fiction]
REVISIT TO READ
given a complete line from a poem, which must be included somewhere in your story, in the same order and with no words in between, within the 144-word limit. You are, however, allowed to play with the punctuation.
‘Traffic holding its breath,
Sky a tense diaphragm’
from Twice Shy Poem by Seamus Heaney
❧✿❧
THIS IS MONDAY WRITES 407
A HAPPY AUGUST TO ALL
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).
❧✿❧
Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven byW. B. Yeats 1865 –1939
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
✿
For every Monday in August the Word is CLOTH Link up with one of your posts where the word CLOTH is present or the theme CLOTH is presented
✿
Thursday, August 10, 2023
1079
YESTERDAYS: A Spanish Ovillejo
When was yesterday's rain ever
Debated as never
To be spoken of again?
Like it was the same
Dish tasted at breakfast,
A thing of sound repast;
Generations fade fast,
So history writes itself
To the topmost shelf;
Ever, never, again, the same, past.
© gillena cox 2023
BLOG HOPPING TODAY WITH
MTB: Spanish rain in the Ovillejo
REVISIT TO READ
Tuesday, August 8, 2023
1078
[city of Port if Spain; original image from the internet was in colour, now presented in greyscale for this post]
RECALL
When the noise dies down
Who will hear the sound of silence? Will irritating honk of horns in a traffic jam intrude on peace?
Hovering over recall,
Like a giant cloud of cotton candy,
Out of reach;
Longing to be bitten into a rainy day,
Of torrents angry enough to flood a city,
Old enough to be dying for restoration?
© gillena cox 2023
BLOG HOPPING TODAY WITH
Poetics: Creating Visuals and Amber Rose Tamblyn
REVISIT TO READ
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