Cherished

Haunting Portrait

lillian29 Comments

She sits tall, neck craned,
blue and yellow flag out of view.
Husband and sons gone.
Neighborhoods reduced to rubble.

Paint me on this dismal morning
in my black mourning.
Paint my sorrow,
my horror, my disbelief.

Joyful colors obliterated.
No emerald greens,
brilliant purples
or rich chestnut browns.

Abandoned by you, your government.
Ceded for whatever reason
to that Russian tyrant.
I am the widow of Ukraine.

My visage shall haunt you
until the day you die.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe where I’m hosting October 22nd’s Open Link Night. Folks are free to post one poem of their choosing OR they may write a poem that includes mention of at least three colors.

I’ve combined my optional prompt with Melissa’s prompt from Tuesday Poetics: write a poem inspired by one of three “haunting” paintings she provided.

The real haunting and haunted story behind Svetlana Telets, Rain Woman (1996).
Telets is a Ukrainan artist. Telets claimed that for months leading up to her painting, she felt an invisible presence watching her constantly. She claims to have felt an invisible force guide her hand llike a puppeteer while creating it. Telets’ painting was displayed in a local gallery in Ukraine, where it was purchased and returned multiple times by buyers who reported the painting caused them to experience insomnia, nightmares, and an eery sensation of being watched. Some even claimed that a shadowy figure followed them through their homes.

Azul’s World

lillian17 Comments

I’d like to see the world
through Azul’s eyes.

Where trees are lush green
vibrant with life.

Where every face is smiling,
grinning happily.
Side-by-side neighbors
whether across the globe,
the continent, the island,
the city or neighborhood.
Where there are no others.
Only a world of us and we.

Where all children are kissed by mothers
beneath trees melodious with caroling birds
hidden among their leaves.
Where the rising moon thrives
shining hope and beaming light,
even as the setting sun
paints the sky in waves
of yellow and crimson orange.

May we all see our world
through the eyes of Azul.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and am delighted to post four pieces of artwork created by Azul, an 8-year old boy from the Philippines. I’ve never met Azul, only his wonderful father. I’ve posted four of Azul’s drawings/paintings and asked folks to create a poem inspired by one or more of them. I think he’s a budding artist! In case you’re interested, here’s the fourth piece of Azul’s art that I did not include in my poem. It too is beautiful.

A Time Piece

lillian19 Comments

He stands, shoulders stooped,
face wizened over years,
holding his ancient pocket watch.
Engraved words,
palmed almost to nothingness.
His great-grandfather’s name, birth date,
barely a whisper on gold.
Who to gift with this heirloom?
Unmarried, no heirs.
His to carry to the grave.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De asks us to include the word “pocket” within our quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words sans title. Image created in Bing.

Lessons from Juxtapositioning

lillian1 Comment

Joyful sunflowers
stand proud, basking in sun’s warmth.
Their earth mother cares.

Hungry children cry
parents struggle to feed them.
Government ignores their plight.
Cold shoulders favor the rich.

See the gardener sow,
caring for the soil. It blooms
flowers of all kinds.


Written as we’re sailing the seas on consecutive Celebrity cruises, meeting people from across the globe. So many ask us, what is happening in the US? We just can’t understand it. Why is this being allowed to happen? What are we to say? The above refers to SNAP, Planned Parenthood, Medicare, the Affordable Care Act, Project Head Start — all programs being cut by the current US administration. The metaphorical allusion, I hope is clear.

These are a haiku (5 line poem of the following syllabic count: 5-7-5; followed by a tanka (7 line poem of the following syllabic count: 5-7-5-7-7) and concluding with a haiku.

Sailing on a Tanka

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Agitated wake
churns up, roils ocean’s surface.
Then stretches into
gently glistened smaller waves,
like life’s long past memories.


Photo taken from aboard Celebrity’s Silhouette.

The Tanka form, when a Haiku just won’t do.

The haiku has 3 lines of the following syllabic content: 5 – 7 – 5
The tanka has 5 lines of the following syllabic content: 5 – 7 -5-7-7

Simple Gifts

lillian13 Comments

One must take care
when confronted with fragility.
Gardenia petals bruise easily.
Strong hands support the newborn’s head.
Grief must be consoled,
memories gently relived,
tears allowed to flow.
Mother Earth deserves respect,
her beauty preserved.
Empathic understanding
and quiet listening,
truly divine gifts.


Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Sanaa asks us to write a 44 word poem, sans title, that includes the word “care”. Image from Pixabay.com

For Jaye

lillian3 Comments

Adirondack lady
blankets at the ready
cool evenings to come.

She sits surrounded by woods
lulled by the sound of loons,
listening, smiling with Joe.

Memories seem to visit her lately.
Their early parenting days
punctuated by laughter and love.

She waits now, expectantly,
their child’s mothering days
soon to begin.

Time passes by, disappears,
inexorably moving forward.
Generations born and tendered.

One certainty
in these unpredictable times,
this new little one
will be born into a world of love.

Time’s Conundrum

lillian18 Comments

Time is constant. Determined mathematically,
a fundamental dimension.
Time zones and watches set. Seconds tick by.
But can time be relative? Can it have voids?

Does time stop, race ahead, appear, disappear?
Can it be measured differently?
Through distance, visual changes, mental acuity,
ambulatory ability, skin texture, hair color.
Can it be lost in sepia toned photo collections
missing documentation of a generation?
Obituaries, birth announcements
perennial blooms, seasonal shifts.
Age appropriate gifts packed away,
idioms of the day, skirt lengths
and medical advancements –
all measurements of time.

Time gifted me memories.
Stripped me of loved ones and muscle tone.
Encouraged gratitude and forgot rebuffs.
My mind often dreams at night. I am the ingenue
leaping freely across the divide of time.
At sunrise I awaken, stand up, bend down,
groan a bit, shove dry cracking feet
into well worn slippers. Shuffle to the coffee pot.
Time keeps ticking and I’m still in the parade.
Who knows what’s round the next bend?
Time ticks one tock at a time, or does it?
All we can do is lean in.


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

Today Mish asks us to consider the literary devise of juxtaposition. She writes
“the contrast between subjects, settings, ideas or moods not only highlights their differences but can also uncover unexpected similarities or connections.” One example she provides is from Dickens in Tale of Two Cities: “It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the age of wisdom. It was the age of foolishness.”

In addition, Mish provides us with a series of images. We are to choose two (I’ve chosen three) that we “feel could create a contrast” and then “use them as a foundation to build your poem.”

I must add here, lest you wonder. This is not all me in this poem. I’m still kicking up my heels, traveling, enjoying family and life with the love of my life.