Author: lillian

For Louise

lillian41 Comments

Littered path
fallen leaves like trodden dreams.

Though the way be narrow
quaking aspen still shimmer gold.

Sun shines through tallest trees
as faith dissipates clouds of doubt.

Lean. Push. Persevere.
March through unmarked trail.

Steps may stumble, pace may slow.
Hope shall light your way.

jennifer-vranes-new-beginning

Poem dedicated to my dear friend. Her two year battle with ovarian cancer inspires so many. She reminds us that every day is a new beginning.

It’s Poetics Tuesday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Mish reminds us the New Year means new beginnings. She provides paintings of 8 gifted artists and asks us to choose one or more “and let the words flow.”  The pub opens at 3 PM Boston time….stop in and add your thoughts or just enjoy the words of so many.
Painting credit: New Beginnings. “Jennifer Vranes is best know for her large and vibrant paintings of Aspen Forests and European Landscapes. Her trademarked technique of using a pallete knife to ‘sculpt’ in thick textures has become a favorite among collectors and Art Galleries world-wide.” ~ About the Artist-Jennifer Vranes~  jensart.com

Will you . . .

lillian66 Comments

curl me softly?
Straight lines do not appeal,
nor pointillist detail.

Giverny blur me
in weeping willow,
mauve wisteria and lupine tendrils.

Soften words with lyrical strokes
lightly touch my lips,
whisper quietly in fading sun.

Hold me,
spoon me
in waning silvered moon.

moon-vi-1189221

Welcome back to dVerse! Bjorn opens 2017 with the quadrille prompt to use the word “curl.”  dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, opens at 3 PM…come join us…curl up with a cup of coffee or a mimosa, share your take on the word and or read what others have to share in only 44 words (definition of a quadrille)!

for unto us a child is born . . .

lillian2 Comments

Sweet fawn, framed by forest clearing
breath vapor hangs in air,
eyes wide alert, stare through snow.

Crystal flakes cling to coat,
velvet brown ears quiver
hear soft cries and crooning sounds.

Hooves muted by drifted snow
young woman and man oblivious
as wet nose pushes stable door ajar.

Innocent deer stands quietly,
sees calves lying in tussled straw
lambs nearby, quietly sleep.

And there, wrapped in woolen shawl,
a small babe with contented smile
held close to mother’s breast.

A simple pastoral scene,
Love and Light born this morn.

christmas-in-the-mountains-4-1383623

Photo credit: Benjamin Earwicker.  Title from Isaiah 9:6
Poetic license taken (creativity beyond the traditional story).

 

 

That Christmas Eve . . .

lillian4 Comments

White crystalline flakes
cascade from dark skies
falling, drifting quietly,
upon the rural scene.

A lowly ass plods slowly
pulled forward by a bearded man.
They lean forward,
tandem force against the wind.

The young woman huddles, sways,
shifted side to side by the animal’s gait.
Feeling movement from within,
she burrows into her woolen shawl.

Talons sunk in frozen bark
feathered body blending into frigid tree,
the snowy owl stares steadily
at the slow motion scene,

watches the couple disappear
over the hill beyond,
unaware, in the darkness,
of the Light that is to come.

animal-17317_1280

Photo in public domain.  Poetic license taken (beyond the traditional story).

Christmas in Boston

lillian3 Comments

Splashes of red brighten everyday winter mood.

Cardinal perched ‘top snow laden branch
holly berries ‘mongst waxy green leaves
stocking-capped girl on ice-covered pond.

Cranberry garland round grandma’s tree
foil-wrapped treats with ribbon-tied bows
cinnamon red-hots on gingerbread men.

And then . . . on a star lit night
Old North’s steeple glows tall and bright
draws us to her warmth within.

History fills this sacred space
softly lit by candlelight,
voices lilt from loft above.

Spirits lift and faces shine,
voices raise as all join in
oh come all ye faithful . . .

celebrate that gift of hope.
Love born this very night,
so long long ago.

IMG_4297

Old North. Paul Revere’s church where lanterns were waved that infamous night, immortalized in Longfellow’s poem.
We shall walk to Old North on Christmas Eve when the church will be aglow with candles lit in her brass chandeliers and sconces that are 200+ years old. 

Joey

lillian4 Comments

Marsupial babe
cramped tightly in pouch,
leaps out to stretch his legs.
Wobbly, directionless,
returns to mama’s world
snuggles deep within her folds.

Jostled and pushed about by son
mama lies her frame upon the ground
belly flat on dirt, ready for a rest.
Joey’s head suddenly appears
as if to loll about before their nap,
fresh air, elixir to sweet dreams.

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Shared with dVerse, a virtual pub for poets. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time.
Photos and video below are from our recent trip to the Australian Wild Life Sanctuary outside of Sydney. These are wallabies and they roam free on the grounds. In the early morning, we saw this mama and her Joey’s tail and feet were sticking out of her pouch. We decided to go back to see her in the afternoon, right before we left. I was feeding her the special food you can buy there – it’s in an ice cream cup. After the food was gone, we just stood there and watched her for the longest time. Everyone else had gone on to other parts of the park. All of a sudden, her joey jumped right out of her pouch!!!  Apologies for the blurred photos — we were so shocked. It was amazing to see this gangly little creature hop about — we couldn’t figure out how all that could fit in her pouch and suddenly, the joey jumped back in!  We watched a bit more and mama decided to stretch out for a nap….Joey was no where to be seen…just a lump and then, out came his head! Earlier in the day we’d had our photos taken with a koala….but this was truly the “icing on the cake” to an amazing trip!!!

Yuletide Carol, 2016

lillian49 Comments

In the quiet spaces
my heart awaits a miracle.

A family with no home
carrying a gift within,
sought shelter on the darkest of nights.
Turned away,
their solace lay with stable mates
and a symbol of Love was born.

As the world seethes
a baby in Aleppo writhes with pain,
feels not the love promised to many.
Angels hover,
ethereal wings tattered and torn.
Their yuletide song has but six words.

How has it come to this?

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Created for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets.  dVerse will take a holiday hiatus, but I shall keep posting here.  Heads up! Tomorrow’s post is about our recent trip to Australia and includes some amazing photos of a mama wallaby and her joey!

Special thanks to Bjorn, Gail and all my fellow pub tenders. And a very special thanks to all dVerse participants for making 2016 a great year!