Author: lillian

Home Then or Again?

lillian10 Comments

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Scuffed Red Wing leather boots tread across forest floor. Trekking poles swing naturally at my side, two more points of contact to the earth. Closest thing to being four limbed.

Sun filters through leaves, beams on stands of gooseberry red, chokecherry orange and fiddlehead green. I walk through scrubby tree roots, climb over rocks to cross a stream, carried by wind and sun and bird song in the air.

Last week’s hike swirls fading as I maneuver city streets. Blue suit jostled, surrounded by tall grey, red brick towers that block the sun, save corners where green lights mean go. High heels comply, stumble from curb to pavement, and my feet ache again.

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Written from a September Challenge prompt: juxtapose opposites in a more subtle wording of contrast.  A prose poem.

Cool Waters

lillian5 Comments

I lie perfectly still, face to sky
on a clear plastic air mattress
plumped with my breath.

Sea breeze ruffles tendrils,
flutter-touch my forehead
warmed by afternoon sun.

Softly bobbing near the shore
fingers trail in cool waters
while ocean croons its song.

I drift, eyes closed
through barriers of time
afloat in my mother’s womb.

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This was a challenging prompt in my September 21 Day Challenge course: Use description but notice the difference between language that shows the reader a world, and language that tells a reader what you (or your speaker) think about it or feel about. 

Riding the Waves

lillian12 Comments

Gin and tonic on the rocks
atop a Cape Cod hill
overlooking white sail dots
on forever ocean scape.

I drift backward on the waves
to days on my old Boot Hill,
surrounded by empty fields
new subdivision coming soon.

Crouched low behind tall weeds
brambles with stick-on burrs
scratched knobby eleven year old knees,
we stalked bad guys never seen.

Rode horses round that dirt mound
inspired by westerns on console tvs.
Buster browns galloped and dusty laces flew,
head strong imaginations with no reins.

Parched by the high noon sun
horses unhitched and left to roam,
we walked home, hand in hand
to lemonade in aluminum glasses.

And we wondered how old
the Lone Ranger really was.

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Photo by Elvis Santana.

Cape Cod Muse

lillian5 Comments

Dawn of a new day

Sea breeze carries a slight chill
as she pulls the sweatshirt close,
sips hot strong coffee under rising sun.

Later that day, sweatshirt off and visor on
she palms lotion between her hands
rubs coconut scent upon her limbs.

Feet on rail, notebook in hand
ideas float as gulls hover overhead
pen hits paper as birds dive into sparkling sea.

Sun shifts westward, coolness returns
she dons layers again
like words stacked upon the page.

Days in this place
turn into moonbeams
and she retires to be born again.

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Cape Cod, Provincetown, little piece of heaven on earth.  AND:  this turns out to be my first poem published!  Provincetown Magazine, October 1 issue, 2015.

Provincetown

lillian8 Comments

Icon of Provincetown
Someday, visit Provincetown,
nestled in the crook of Cape Cod’s tip,
at earth’s end and life’s beginning.

Savor the Watermark Inn
her quiet beach in early morn
ripples on sand and gulls overhead.

Long necked cormorants preen
then disappear, dive deep
to reappear fifty yards down shore.

Long Point lighthouse gleams white
stands tall across the waters,
stalwart to all who sail these seas.

Summer sunrise etches pink ripples
on softly lapping waves
and cotton candy clouds.

September sun melts orange red yellow
mirrors foliage on the town side
of fall quiet Commercial Street.

Come see this place my friend,
and serenity will visit your soul.

Call of the sea

This poem motivated by a prompt in my September Poetry Challenge Class:  Read Postscript by Seamus Heaney…..think about a time you traveled through a landscape that stopped your heart…do take interest in all elements of this poem (Postscripts): place names, references to season, landscape details etc…..he uses the second person “you” in his poem.

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A Glimpse in Time

lillian5 Comments

I press my hand into the rock
this cave dwelling of yesteryear
and yesteryears before that
hand in hand, exactly
living inside solidified.

Bending still,
my eyes turn upward
seek the crevasse,
its light
and breath of breeze.

Clouds stir
create, reform
amorphous ambivalent shapes.
A spirit courses through my fingertips
perhaps rides the wisps above.

And I understand. I feel. I know.
Those before me, before them
all are dear to her,
threads of life intermingled
tied to the earth’s core.

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Me in 2003 — at Walnut Canyon, Arizona. The Sinagua people lived in the cliff dwellings within the mountain sides.  This is me, putting my hand into a print in the cave wall — I was so moved. My hand fit exactly. I’ve never forgotten it.  The second “picture” – my words, written next to the picture in my scrap book….”It is an amazing feeling of connection to humans of another time.”  All these years later, still remember that feeling and it motivated this piece.