Author: lillian

Provincetown Fall Scene

lillian35 Comments

Darkness dawns,
star-dots peek through sky’s scrim.
Moonless night serene,
lulled to sleep by wave’s quiet lapping.

Raucous cormorants
rudely accompany sun’s rising.
Wings slapping, loudly thrumping
against ocean’s waves.

Herd-like,
glistening wet black bodies lift,
hover low then soar.
Migration has begun.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De is hosting Quadrille Monday, asking us to include the word “lift” in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

Video filmed several years ago from the deck of our annual rental in Provincetown, at the very tip of Cape Cod. Amazing to see….many more and much louder ruckus than you hear and see with the video!

From my perspective . . .

lillian37 Comments

. . . ‘tis a holiday
when spring rains refresh the fields
when a babe is born into a family of love
when a home is infused with the aroma
of freshly baked bread
when a child chalks a sidewalk hopscotch
when peach nectar dribbles down your chin
when calloused hands are clasped in repose
while the body sits relaxed, belly full, mind at ease.
There is a positive sense to the word,
most especially when you believe
one moment in time can be a holiday
if we make it so.


Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m hosting the pub today. Folks are free to post any one poem of their choosing, OR write to the optional prompt: create a poem that includes the word “holiday” in the body of the poem. Image from Pixabay.com

NOTE: dVerse will be LIVE on Saturday, December 14, from 10 to 11 AM New York time. Click here to find the embedded link that will take you to the LIVE session (audio and video). You’re invited to read a poem of your choosing or just sit in and listen. The more the merrier!

Still I Love

lillian31 Comments

Crepe paper streamers,
I used to string them
for birthday celebrations.
Now I have crepey skin.

Shiney brunette hair
blow-dried just so.
Now grey, held back with barrettes,
away from eyes with sagging lids.

I used to chase little ones
in games of duck-duck-goose,
hike glaciers
and dance till dawn.

Morphed by scores of years,
still I smile.
Time slows my pace,
cherished memories accrue.

I occasionally put on hiking boots,
they just don’t trek as far.
And I do dance,
but not nearly as late.

Most importantly, still I love.
More deeply,
more completely
with every passing day.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Dora asks us to write a “despite and still” poem. Photo taken two weeks ago on the heliport of Celebrity’s Constellation during our 24 night back-to-back cruises, including a TransAtlantic from Barcelona to Tampa, Florida. Thankful for every day.

November 7, 2024

lillian4 Comments

A new day,
sun shining spreads its warmth.
Rays of hope still glisten
on foam capped waves.
Steady tide
still rhythmically constant
beneath visible turbulent churning.

Autumnal brilliance shed.
Trees bared to skeletal frames
understand new seasons will arrive.
Therefore, I choose
to model hope, love and civility.
Our next generations
need us to believe.

Written on this day, after the 2024 election. Image from Pixabay.com


Halloween 2024

lillian25 Comments

Promises glibly made.-
Lies repeated so many times,
swallowed by the gullible.
Round up the vermin,
ship ‘em all out!
January 6th  insurrectionists?
Patriots all.
Guard rails gone,
Project 2025 ready to go.
Convicted felon,
self-described pussy grabber.
If elected,
God help us all.

Quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words sans title) that includes a form of the word “promise” – today’s prompt at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

It’s Just a Simple Thing . . .

lillian61 Comments

I promise, she shyly whispered,
to only stomp in mud puddles
when the grumbles grab me.
To weave daisy chains
when the nervous-nellies strike.
To concentrate on blessings
like tulips, birch trees,
snow flakes, puppies,
and sweet juicy peaches.
And her guardian angel smiled.


It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. As pubtender for the day, I’m asking folks to include the word “promise” in the body of their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. They may use a form of the word “promise” but a synonym will not suffice. Stop by and see what folks are writing about – I promise you’ll enjoy! Image by ymyphoto from Pixabay

The Bonus Years

lillian37 Comments

Celebrating
eleven bonus years.

This day, back then,
frightening.
Light and love of my life,
your heart stopped
for six interminable minutes.
Doctors, family, friends,
all tethered you to this earth.
I celebrate
every day we have together.

Thankful
to share life with you.

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today we’re to write a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title, that includes the word “light”.

Eleven years ago this morning, George suffered a six-minute cardiac arrest. Because of what I call angels along the way, he is still with us, cognitively 100% okay, healthy and as fun-loving, kind, and wonderful as ever. I am forever grateful – thankful for every day.

Photo: George and I in Provincetown last month.

Our Road

lillian29 Comments

Our road, rain slicked by spring storms,
slippery driving through rivulets.
Garden store trips for flower flats
bring beautiful garden blooms.

Summer haze simmers above its asphalt.
Seashore drives with our kids
from toddler through teenage years.
Back seat songsters to quiet texters.

Our road, dressed in autumn’s finest.
Bright yellows to burnt oranges,
like bouncing shimmering can-can skirts.
Costume changes in passing seasons.

Difficult on many winter days,
snow covered, sometimes impassable.
Homebound, cocooned by drifts,
content to savor relaxing by the fire.

Our road,
our passage to and from.
Just the two of us. Then three, then four.
Now as two again.

The straightaways
always faster than any other part,
made distance and time fly by.
Used to be our favorite parts.

Our road, these days?
We prefer the meandering parts.
The curves and bends that slow us down,
taking longer to reach the end of the road.

It’s Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Sanaa asks us to post any poem of our choosing, or an ekphrastic poem related to the image she provided above.

NOTE: Sanaa will also host dVerse LIVE on Saturday, from 10 to 11 AM New York time. Look HERE for an embedded link that will take you with audio and video to a LIVE meeting where folks from around the globe will read a poem of their choosing aloud to the group – OR just drop in to watch and listen. The more the merrier!

Words Have Consequences

lillian36 Comments

He sits. Drained. Alone.
Above his head, a framed drawing
of straight parallel lines
that never meet, meld, or blend.
Like no one cares.

To his left, folded jeans
stacked on a three-legged stool.
Three-legged for stability, balance.
A cairn he has created to say
I was here. I lived here. I worked here.

They turned their backs on me.
No one sees me.
Instead they listen to his lies.
I try to hold my head up.
But I’m tired. I’m so tired.

I see their belief in his lies,
the belief in their eyes.
The mistrust. The fear.
I sit numbed by hate.
I can no longer take deep breaths.

I felt hope in this country
I worked hard. I tried to ignore his lies.
But others believed.
Lies eroded trust until all around me,
hope turned to dust.

He sits. Drained. Alone.
Waiting.
For who? For what?
For you to make a difference.
It’s your choice.


It’s Poetics Tuesday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish is hosting with a fun prompt! We’re asked to go to one of two websites she provides that feature record album covers. We’re then to choose one cover to inspire our poetry writing for today. I’ve selected the album cover for RM, ‘Indigo’ 2022. The poem is inspired by the photo album cover, and sadly, by the lies about immigrants told by Donald Trump and JD Vance – most recently, the lies told about Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio.

Another Bloody Case

lillian20 Comments

“Look at the image there. You can see a very small patch of dark blue, framed by a little branch. Pinned up by a naughty starlet, our dead Ms. Ruby Lipps here. Looks like she was stabbed, then managed to turn around to face the call board. She reached up to touch that photo for some reason? That’s gotta be her blood trail down the board, down the wall, until she collapses here on the floor. By her hand, is that a bloody word? Maybe three letters? Looks like M, O or D? Then a T? Who keeps the schedule here? How many clients did she have tonight? Any employment records at this dump? What’s her real name? Next of kin? Let’s go, people. This is the third case like this in a week. Someone’s got it out for sex workers in this town.”

Image by Nicholas Panek from Pixabay

Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for writers around the globe.

Today Kim is our host. She asks us to insert the following lines from French Poet Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud’s poem Novel, into the body of our piece of flash fiction of 144 words or less, sans title.

“There you can see a very small patch
of dark blue, framed by a little branch,
pinned up by a naughty star.”

We may change the punctuation in the lines, but the exact words and word order must be kept intact.