среда, 12. август 2009.

Gillena Cox

A Happy Time

A jolly time a happy time,
Of evergreen and bare branch lights;
When a smile cost less than a dime,
And the willing clink of a coin sounds;
Such a jolly time a happy time,
With winter winds and cooling breezes,
A season for every clime;
Cantors will sing the old and the new,
Celebrating in rhythm and rhyme;
The Son of God bringing joy to the world,
Christmas-time a happy time

Curtain Call

Early dawn's curtain,
Drawn to reveal rain showers,
And a pertinent absence of birdsong;
The hum of a motor engine;
The coolness of this morning,
Is quickly snatched away,
As the rain subsides;
Bird songs;
Kiskadee, kiskadee, kiskadee,
And sunlight floods the morning;
Curtain call.


Fom the aeroplane's window, my view
is of a vast seductive silent sea;
behoved to stories of pirates told to me;
Seafaring men of mystery who pursue
games of plunder under sun and moon;
shinning bright, illuminating deeds
of blood, and gore, and sowing seeds
of treasure while greedy hearts swoon;
Swashbuckling rowdies drinking rum
on a day of less adventure, light leisure
Crackling laughter, gold tooth, bare gum;
But the blind-folded one, whose displeasure
it is to walk the plank, not even the hum
of this aeroplanes engine, his soul's measure.

Sand And Water

Returning to shore,
An ocean and its secrets;
To ebb the curiosity of quotidian being,
Whose essence thirst for far off adventures;
Hidden in recesses of secured consciousness;
While gulls dive with their bird determination;
Each beakful, each morsel,
A hunter’s bounty received to honour a life,
Of existence, and of predestined creation;
Continuing in abeyance, a ritual union of creator,
Universe patterned, charted, set on a course definite;
Defining, freedoms and functions,
All bottled up, tossed in swirling times and waters;
Mysterious lands and oceans;
Touching and going, toing and froing;
Assignment, there, at the shoreline.

River Ramblings

smooth stones,
sharp stones,
down by the river,
thoughts in contemplation;
words in hibernation;
shadows emerge,
to a sprng of,
fresh green,
poetry life;
where verse directs,
the heart song of a lurid,
trickle over a bed,
of river silt;
how deep in into the earth’s layers?
seeps the silt of,
immersed concentration;
listening to hear,
the sounds,
silent in the heart,
of a universe;
saying something,
universal measure.

September Musings

Through bars of engine roars, a tiny chirp;
The early breath of day, slowly haled within usurp;
Even more than a physical hunger have we,
Poets to sate the inner gnawings become thee;
Silent watchful ones in searching introspection,
Like flowers innately beautiful from creation;
A song sings of the dawn, to a sleep muted cloud;
Resonating in spurts of motor vehicles loud;
Autumn winds of the warm Atlantic storm,
As the season deepens becomes the norm;
The turbulent swing of terrorism too, remember;
As the flames of candle light outlive the ember;
Healing willed in life cycles, the loss and the pain;
Respect for life in peace to gain
Morning dew crafts a jewel on the leaf of life,
Promised to an end of strife;
Tease for an appetite of life anew;
But din of callous disrespects eschew,
A kind of man, a species he,
Determined not to live in harmony;
For to love, is to yield power unto another;
From a field vast and wide an in coming zephyr,
Tosses and tumbles from a soundless bundle,
Of experiences drafted like a Milky Way trundle,
Willed to the spirit of motion without rhythm;
Life without love, without yielding, without a lesser;
Without colour, without a poem, without a flower;
Motion, movement, sway, wind, debris
A musical score; engine roar and chirpy chirpy.

Tea and Ixoras

Its Monday morning;
My hands sense the warmth,
From a flower patterned teacup;
I walk out to the garden,
To look at the ixora bush;
Between sips of green tea,
An orange coloured butterfly,
With shades of brown,
And spots of white,
Wanders across the bush;
Lightly stopping on a bloom,
Drinks deeply from a flower,
Then flits across to another,
Drinks again, then flits back
To the one before,
And does the same;
We breakfast, the two of us,
The butterfly and i;
Me sipping and watching,
The butterfly while feeding,
Applauding the ixora's nectar;
An ordinary scene,
A Monday scene,
From the theatre of sustenance.