Author: lillian

To the Love of My Life

lillian24 Comments

Life is candylicious with you.
My Hubba Bubba, my Mr. Goodbar.
My Swedish Fish, my Lifesaver.
My Starburst when darkness falls.

You bring a Bit O Honey
to every single moment we share.
Everyday with you is a Payday,
rich in laughter and love.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish is hosting Quadrille Monday and asks us to use the word “candy” or a form of the word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Do you recognize the candy names in my poem? Hubba Bubba, Mr. Goodbar, Swedish Fish, Lifesavers, Starburst, Bit O Honey, and Payday. Had fun with this one! Photo is from this past June: me and my Hubba Bubba!

Quit Complaining!

lillian56 Comments

Oh . . . let it go!
Quit complaining about growing old.
I’m half-way through my septuagenarian years,
big deal!
If you divide life into seasons,
I’m probably long past autumn,
well into winter.  
Things I have on my must-do list,
goals to achieve,
to make my “mark” on the world?
 
So what if some of them don’t get done.
I’m happy I can bend over to pull on my galoshes!
Carless in Boston,
I leave footprints in the snow
walking to the store or to the doctor’s office.
Shows me I’m still here,
above ground.
I’ll bet I can still make snow angels.
I know I can –
you’d just have to help me get up.

Think of life as a merry-go-round,
concentrate on the merry part.
So we can’t climb up
to sit on the tallest horse anymore.
Let’s just sit in the carriage
the one with benches on both sides.
It goes around just as fast as the horse.
It just doesn’t go up and down anymore.
That’s us you know . . .
leveled out to enjoy the ride.


I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’ve provided a list of song titles about winter and cold weather. Writers must include at least two of the song titles from the list, within their poem, word for word. They can add punctuation between the words of the song title; or split the words over two lines (enjambment); but the titles must clearly be included in the body of the poem, word for word.

I’ve included three titles from the list in my poem: Let It Go, Winter Things, and Footprints in the Snow. Pub opens at 3 PM EST. Come join us!

Photo from Pixabay.com

Twelve lines do make a poem . . .

lillian24 Comments

May you burn in hell,
I truly hope so.

Sun still shines at dawn
to cause their demise
at Charter Street Burial Ground.

I crave escape.
A pen, and a plethora of words
curtailing his gigolo lust,
two stars over, from above the moon.

Respect provides a healthier view.
Illuminated on my tree,
“There is good in this world.”


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe where today is Meet The Bar Day. Laura asks us to look at the most recent poems we’ve written, preferably the last twelve poems, and taking the last lines from each of the poems, rearrange them into a new poem! A poetic sudoku! I did exactly that, not adding any words; not using enjambment (splitting words over two lines). These are the exact words from the last lines of the last twelve poems I posted to dVerse, (minus a prosery prompt since that was prose). Interesting how it turned out. Photo is from a visit to Glendalough, Ireland on a cruise a number of years ago.

A November Morning, 1883

lillian25 Comments

She walked the lane alone
but not lonely in her solitude.
Sun deserting the sky above,
unforgiving stone beneath her feet.
Cold seeped into her bones.
Barren trees stood starkly,
as if joining in her grief.
This day she walked
to the burial ground,
basket of pinecones in hand.
She would spread them on his grave,
autumnal offering for her sin.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

Today we’re working with ekphrastic poetry: poems written about works of art. Merril asks us to choose from several paintings she provides, and write a poem inspired by one of them. I’ve selected the painting, A November Morning (1883) by John Atkinson Grimshaw. I’ve taken the liberty of borrowing his title for my title as well.

Cherish the Memories

lillian15 Comments

O Tannenbaum,
holding warm memories.
Mother’s eggshell thin glass pink bell,
father’s fragile airplane ornament,
each almost one-hundred years old.
Brother’s handmade Santa
with sparse cotton beard,
seventy-seven years old.
Family long departed from earth,
always here this beautiful season,
illuminated on my tree.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe, where today Lisa asks us to write a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title, that includes the word “warm” – or a form of the word.

Yes, our Christmas tree is up! And always hung first on the tree, are my three most precious and fragile ornaments: the pink bell was given to my mother’s parents when she was born; the airplane was given to my father when he was about five; and my brother made this Santa Claus when he was in first grade. He was nine years older than me and tragically died of a massive heart attack at age fifty-one – before either of my parents died. All three have been gone for many years. I always hold my breath when I open the box to see if these ornaments have made it to another year. Many other meaningful ornaments on our tree – I actually call it our memory tree. The Unicorn marionette was made by my daughter when she was eight, forty years ago. The orange giraffe with white bird on its head, to the right of the unicorn, was a wooden piece from the mobile that hung on my children’s crib: daughter now forty-eight and son now forty-six. There’s a traditional red ball ornament that has Lillian printed every-so-neatly on it, made by Mrs. Boomer, my first grade teacher. I’m now seventy-five. And so it goes. That’s a cream-colored garland I crocheted many many years ago. I love putting up my tree.

Thanksgivings Past

lillian2 Comments

So many families separated
by distance, emotional rancor,
political divides, generational gaps.

I remember large gatherings,
cousins, aunts and uncles,
babies bounced on hips.

Mor Mor’s rum pudding,
homemade pies and breads,
Aunt Pat’s meringue kisses.

And grandparents, our elders,
immigrants from Sweden,
sitting tall, beloved by all.

I remember circles of love
snaking through two rooms,
hands held, singing table grace.

Treasured memories all,
this Thanksgiving morn.

Photo from Pixabay.com

Grateful for every day. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

On Angel’s Wings

lillian24 Comments

I was with her when she died,
only positive memories in my mind.
Holding her hand, leaning down close,
my mouth so near her ear.

Faith and love seemed to rush in
overcome all doubt as I said,
“Go toward the light mom.
Daddy’s there, he’s missed you.”

Her eyes opened. She smiled at me –
and then she was gone.
What was the sound I heard
before that last breath?

Not a death rattle. A sigh?
A wooshing? Surely the machines near her.
Or perhaps an angel’s wings?
Helping her soar to another universe.

A place to reunite with my father,
her son, her sisters and brother,
her mother and father.
A place with no pain, no loneliness.

I hope so.
I truly hope so.

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. We were asked to use the word “wing” or a form of the word, within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. I got so carried away in the emotional writing of the poem, that I went way over the 44 words. So posting it today for Open Link Night. Photo is one of my favorites of my mom, taken at my nephew’s cabin.

Chardonnay Me

lillian33 Comments

sipping chardonnay
cold, crisp, oak tinged mysteries
celebrating love

once more round the sun
older, wizened, holding hands
thankful every day

gathering blessings
from days past and those to come
sun still shines at dawn

Image from Pixabay.com

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Punam asks us to consider wine or whiskey or any beverage, and somehow incorporate that beverage into our poem. Go here for a better explanation of the prompt.


To my readers: Since October 13th, I’ve been going through the “process” of cataract surgery. In the scheme of things, it is a piece of cake. However, I’ve found it difficult to read and work on the computer – hence my participation in dVerse has been limited and I’ve not responded to other posts as I usually do, or to comments on the poems I’ve sporadically posted. I am happy to say, I am coming out on the other side of this process – and the results of the surgery are, to me, miraculous. I see colors in their brightest hues. I see print on my computer that is clear and straight. I look out the window and the world is no longer blurry. I am without glasses for the first time since I was twelve years old and am now half-way through my septuagenarian years. I only wear inexpensive “cheaters”, otherwise known as readers when I want to read or write. All of this to say, age brings cataracts to almost everyone. It is one malady that can truly be reversed. One type of anti-aging procedure that really works. I don’t mind silver hair (a nicer way of saying gray) or wrinkles or crepey skin or the inability to do some of the physical things I used to do in my forties or sixties. But I did mind seeing a blurry world. And that is over! All this to say, I’m back to my writing and back to dVerse!

A Little Ditty for a Gray November Day

lillian17 Comments

Did you know
the sun is always shining,
even if behind a cloud?
Frowns can be turned upside down
into a smile, just by remembering that.
There is no distance looking blue,
when we walk barefoot
in dew kissed grass that tickles our feet.

Call me Pollyanna, many do,
because I choose to believe
there is no top to any steeple
if I make up my mind to climb.
Be it with strong legs
or, at my age,
a little blusher, mascara,
a pen, and a plethora of words.


Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah hosts and asks us to consider the poem November by Thomas Hood. One option in today’s prompt is to use a line from his poem and include it in our poem. I’ve chosen two lines from his poem: “No distance looking blue” and “No top to any steeple”. Image from Pixabay.com

Some Days

lillian14 Comments

Some days
I’d like to be in the midst of fog.
Where mountains,
yesterday tall and imposing,
disappear today.
Where ethereal moist clouds
descend to earth,
enveloping her in softness.
Bring me serenity,
as mist hovers over land,
hides imposing granite walls
too difficult to climb.
Soften my being
with the lightest of rain  that pours not,
rather drifts in swirls round my head,
my eyes, my limbs.
Take me to that weathered landscape
where nature cajoles hatred into oblivion,
and we simply marvel at beauty
we did not recognize before.
Take me there, if not in reality,
then in dense dreams of solace,
just for a little while.
I crave escape.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, from 3 to 4 PM Boston time, we shall gather face-to-face via GoogleMeet at OLN LIVE! Link to join can be found here at 3 PM or shortly thereafter. Just click and come join us! You’re invited to read a poem of your own…or simply sit in and listen…we’re a friendly bunch and it’s quite fun!

Photo from trip a number of years ago to Alaska.