Author: lillian

Crimson Lady

lillian19 Comments

Bedecked in faux diamonds, rubies and pearls,
feathered cloche hat, and white feather boa,
she appraised the milling crowd.

Her mark still absent,
she remained outwardly calm.
Inwardly, she seethed with anticipation.

Others tried to approach
but her steely cold stare
turned them away without a word.

She was clearly on the hunt.
The barrister would arrive
and only then would she beguile.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting OLN (Open Link Night) and inviting folks to post any one poem of their choosing (no required length, format, or content) OR alternatively, to write an ekphrastic poem related to the image above: Art Deco Vintage Woman Free Stock Photo in public domain.

AND I am also hosting a LIVE dVERSE SESSION with AUDIO AND VIDEO on SATURDAY, MARCH 22nd, from 10 to 11 AM EST! You can find the link to join us HERE. All are welcome! Folks come to read a poem aloud, or to simply sit in and watch and listen. We’re a very friendly bunch and the more the merrier. Come join us!

The Burrowing Owl

lillian15 Comments

Sunrise absent
darkest damp instead.
Steady drizzle chills
steel-toe grey clouds above.

Burrowing owl stands alone
hoot-silent, alert.
Sharp eyes search
near barren treeless ground.

Hungry, ready to sprint should mole appear.
Return to earth-dug warren,
mimic rattler’s tail
should coyote rush to kill.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Quadrille Monday and De is tending the pub. She asks us to include the word “hoot” in the body our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

Photo of this burrowing owl was taken last week at the Living Coast Discovery Center in Chula Vista, CA. The burrowing owl is a small, primarily terrestrial owl. Generally about 9 inches tall, they have a short tail and long legs. They eat large insects and small rodents. They nest in burrows, often repurposing a burrow or tunnel abandoned by other animals. They are known to mimic the sounds of a rattlesnake to ward off predators such as coyotes and badgers.

Colorful World

lillian36 Comments

Picasso’s blue period.
Shades of cobalt,
streaks of cerulean,
periwinkle pops.
Hues of humanity
brushed on canvas.
New Orleans blues
strut the streets.
Brassy sounds.
Bourbon crowds.
Indigo girl hopscotches
hair flying, double-dutches.
Skip-to-my-lou
my darling denim clad child.
Love you always,
true blue.


Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m hosting today and asking folks to include the word “indigo” in their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image made on Bing Create.

Let’s Talk Today

lillian16 Comments

ME: Want to know the fourcast? As in f-o-u-r?

YOU: The forecast? Don’t you mean as in f-o-r-e?

ME: No, the four year fourcast.

YOU: How can meterologists do that?

ME: Well, they can do it now. They watch the gulf-stream pattern, from the Gulf of America and the blow-hard-wind data from Mount McKinley. They even have access to X-rated data.

YOU: So what’s their prediction?

ME: A four year blizzard! Be prepared!

YOU: How?

ME: Just head to a fabric store.

YOU: Do those exist anymore?

ME: Go to the one on Blue Avenue and head to the left side of the store. They have a good supply of outerwear patterns. Get plenty of heavy fabric. Take it to a seamstress and tell her to make of it a parka. For your soul then, wear it outside every day and resist the storm!


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Prosery Monday and Lisa is our pubtender. She provides us with the lines
“Make of it a parka
For your soul.”
from Before you know you owned it by Alice Walker. We are to include these exact words, in this exact order, in a 144 word piece of prose/flash fiction. We are however, allowed to add punctuation or change the punctuation. Image made on Bing Create.

Here We Are

lillian14 Comments

Carousel? Too genteel.
Merry go-round? Definitely not.

Music profoundly distorted.
Charged, dissonant, cacophonous.
Maniac spraypainted stallion,
nostrils flared, madly races.
Those in front? He pushes on.
Crazed, dazed followers?
Cold steel pole spines
pierce once-feeling hearts.
They gallop blindly in his tracks.
Up. Down. Up. Down. Round and round.
Reality beyond ignored,
blurred by gullibility and greed.
Hands reach out to slow the pace.
Severed bloody limbs litter ground.

Where is the carousel beloved by all,
once built by craftsmen’s hands?
What happened to the rules?
Timed tickets. All can ride.
Adults protect the way for young.
Old-timer carnival buskers grow hoarse.
Clown make-up drips real tears.
And here we are.

Written for Open Link Night (OLN) at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Bjorn in Stockholm, Sweden is hosting, inviting folks to post one poem of their choosing. He also provides an optional prompt. Photo from Pixabay.com

Aphrodite’s Offspring Still at Work

lillian14 Comments

Eros lives among us.
Sweet crushes blush teenage acnied cheeks,
struck by arrows dipped in cotton candy.

Arrow tips plunged in passion fruit
aim at fertile hearts.
Friendships turn to lust.

Ancient arrows, patina dulled
potency still strong,
add zing to elders’ love affairs.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De is hosting Quadrille Monday and asks us to use the word “zing” in a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

Image created on Bing Create. In Greek mythology Eros is the offspring of Aphrodite, and is the god of love, passion, and fertility.

Changing Scene

lillian19 Comments

Brightness fades.
Sooty clouds slowly shove aside
light-weight cumulus puffs.
Birds disappear. Eerie stillness descends.
Suddenly winds whip tall grasses.
Leaves whimper as trees bend.
Branches snap.
Forecasters definitely wrong.
Mother Nature no longer subtle.
Hints replaced by blatant bombastic warning.
Take shelter.
Now.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Quadrille Monday and Mish asks us to use the word “hint” (or a form of the word) in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image from Bing Create.

Forecast . . .

lillian6 Comments

. . . powerful winter weather,
bone-chilling wind.
Don coats, hats and gloves.
Outdoors . . . sleet, freezing rain.
Polar vortex beginning, remaining.
Ensure anyone in need shelter.

Image created on Bing Create.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Today, Punam has us thinking about newspapers. “You can write a newspaper blackout poem. You can use the headline from your local newspaper as a springboard and write a poem on it, or you can simply write why you love or hate reading the newspaper. Your poem should have some link with the newspaper.”

I’ve done a “blackout poem” from an article about the weather in the San Diego Union Tribune, Sunday January 19th edition. See photo below …circled words are the ones I’ve used to create the poem….using them in the order in which they appeared in the article.

The Wildlife Knew . . .

lillian12 Comments

We proved ourselves using their prescribed survivor skills. Four days required with no outside contact. We foraged, used water purifier tablets, huddled together sharing body heat when temperatures dropped unexpectedly.

The accident was no one’s fault. His leg was most likely broken and I hoped my make-shift splint eased the pain. I had no choice but to carry him out on my back. The skies that looked threatening when we began the trek, turned black at midday. No signs of wildlife. They sensed the hell about to break loose. No sounds. No movement.

Keep moving. Just keep moving. The still air suddenly turned into howling winds. Rain pelted us sideways. We were in abject darkness. Where can we find light? In the never-ending shade of trees bent in terror? Just keep moving. Hold on, James. Hold tighter round my neck. It’s not far now . . .

Written for dVerse, the virtual blog for poets (and writers) around the globe. Today is Prosery Monday. Merril explains what prosery is:

“For this form, we take a line of poetry and place it into a prose piece. The prose can be fiction or non-fiction, but it must be a piece of prose, not poetry. You are not permitted to insert words into the given line, but you may punctuate it.  This is sort of a slippery slope, using someone else’s words in your own work. Please acknowledge the line, the work, and the poet. The piece you write can be no longer than 144 words.”

The line Merril asks us to include is “Where can we find light in the never-ending shade?” from Amanda Gorman’s poem “The Hill We Climb” which she read at President Joe Biden’s Inaugural in January 2021.

Image created on Bing Create.

Parenting

lillian12 Comments

Chrysalis like. Our arms, our home.
Enveloping, nurturing,
encouraging evolving independence.

Teaching skills. Helping. Watching.
Too soon the dividing line appeared,
between the now and what was coming.

Responsibilities increased. Yours not ours.
Your departures, more frequent,
measured at first in hours, not miles.

Your wings. Expected, prepared for.
We marveled and smiled. Waved at you . . .
and then you were gone.

Distance multiplied. Time stretched separations.
Hairline fractures of the heart,
smiling our love through goodbyes.

Parenting children to adulthood.
Learning to live through changing times,
adjusting to the moving margins.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Dora asks us to write about a poem that somehow talks about margins. She gives many examples of margins. As a septuagenarian with two happily married children and five grandchildren, I thought about living through moving margins as a parent and thus, this poem.