Cherished

My Ars Poetica

lillian10 Comments

I am not in retirement.
I did not re-tire myself.
I planned all along to gallop
into rejuvenatement,
like riding a new steed through
bubbling brooks and wildflower fields.

I took the reins.
Refused to canter the sedate path,
or be put out to pasture
in the doldrums of old age.
What’s that saying? “You can’t teach
an old dog new tricks?”

But I was not an old dog.
A poetry class, stabs in the dark
at creating a poetry blog,
journaling every morning.
Then dVerse came along
and lillian-the-home-poet was born.

Poetry is more than rhyming,
moving words around on the page.
It’s pulling out thoughts,
sometimes so deep in my psyche
I never even knew they were there.
It’s a daily communion with self.

No need for adulation,
or publication.
Poets simply need space, time,
reflection, and a way to record.
Voice in head transferred to paper
or screen, or simply murmured aloud.

If a tree falls in a forest
and no one is around to hear it,
does it make a sound?
If a poet writes a poem
and no one is around to read it,
does it matter?

I’d answer a resounding yes.
Why? Because I believe
poetry is a communion with self.


NAPOWRIMO Day 26. Prompt: Write your own ars poetica, giving the reader some insight into what keeps you writing poetry, or what you think poetry should do.

dVerse Poets: the virtual pub for poets around the globe. We offer prompts every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday and one one LIVE Saturday session per month with audio and video.

Metaphor Me

lillian11 Comments

Dandelion me.
Youthful glee in splashy yellow dresses.
All sunshine and skipping through fields!
But old age they say can be grizzly.
Those cubs, born hairless and toothless.
Grizzly cubs but not grizzly at first.
No pacifiers. Mother’s nuzzling enough.
Then playful to rambling to belly fat acquired
and hibernation needed. I always liked naps.
Or acorn me. Digging into soil, finding my own way.
Gangly seedling teenage years with
autumnal outbreaks. Cacophony of colorful
fashion fad flairs. To sentinel oak standing
with quiet grace. Am I there yet?
I still feel dandy and fierce. Dandy lioness am I.
Elderly dandelions’ delicate translucent skin
fades slowly until a passing by small child delights
in one puff from chubby cheeks. Giggles as seeds
soar on spring’s born-again breezes.
Dandelionalicious me with walks, hand in hand.
Stops along the way to collect bouquets of flowers
and skip rocks across the pond. With many smiles.
All the while acknowledging life’s delights.

NAPOWRIMO Day 25. Prompt: Write your own poem in which you use at least three metaphors for a single thing, include an exclamation, ruminate on the definition of a word, and come back in the closing line(s) to the image or idea with which you opened the poem.

DEDICATED to my dear friend, Lindsey. Wishing her well.

Metaphors used: comparing my life (anyone’s life) to a dandelion, a grizzly bear, and an acorn growing into an oak tree. Within the grizzly bear section, I ruminate on the meaning of old age. Had fun with this one once I decided how to approach it!

Photo taken many many years ago. And yes, it’s a dandelion in its old age!

A Villanelle Walk

lillian18 Comments

Come walk this path with me
through wooded quiet calm.
It will lend its peace to you.

Canopy of green leaves gleam
as sunlight filters through.
Come walk this path with me.

Morning’s quiet coolness
will ease and soothe the soul.
It will lend its peace to you.

Some call it forest bathing,
five senses engaged in meditation.
Come walk this path with me.

Immerse ourselves knowing
Earth’s beauty nurtures best.
It will lend its peace to you.

Escape the city’s frenzy
find nature’s solemnity.
Come walk this path with me,
it will lend its peace to you.

NAPOWRIMO Day 22. Prompt is to write a Villanelle. Photo from a vacation we took some years ago.

Villanelle: A French verse form consisting of five three-line stanzas and a final quatrain. The first and third lines of the first stanza repeat alternately in the following stanzas. And these two lines form the final couplet in the quatrain. It’s a poetic sudoku!

Dubbing Me

lillian4 Comments

Mother named me Lillian
her mother’s namesake.
My father’s twin sister’s moniker as well,
much to my mother’s chagrin.
She chose the middle name of Mae
after a favorite aunt,
the likes of who I don’t recall.
But because of her,
twelve cousins called me Lilly Mae.
To everyone else, I was Lillian

The momentous moment of change came
when my parents left me on my own
to begin my college days.
First person I met on that idyllic campus,
I announced my name as Lill
and that’s who I became.
Years later, titles attached themselves.
Mrs. Hallberg, high school teacher.
Dr. Hallberg, the PhD kind.
Dean Hallberg, career topper.

Now rejuvenated (never say retired)
I’m happily back to Lill.
Except when I’m lillian-the-home-poet.
Capitalization not preferred
because after all, it’s just me.


NAPOWRIMO Day 21. Prompt: Write a poem in which you muse on your name and nicknames you’ve been given.

PHOTO of my mother and I and my new two-wheeler bicycle. From tricycle to this. In the 1950s, either they didn’t have small bikes or “training wheels” for kids to learn on or else my folks could only afford to buy me one “big girl’s bike”. One distinct memory I have of my childhood is my dad hanging on to the back of this bike, running along on the sidewalk while I was trying to balance, feeling like I was flying and then looking back and seeing him half-way down the block behind me! I don’t recall if I immediately fell or not….I just remember that feeling and then seeing him so far away, realizing I was riding on my own!

Phoenix Among Us

lillian10 Comments

Still I rise
writ Maya Angelou,
ParaOlympians say too.
Said John Lewis while making
good trouble and Martin Luther King
as he dreamed aloud that day. Say organ
donors and recipients. Smiles Albus Dumbledore
on the big screen every time we see Fawkes reborn.


NAPOWRIMO Day 20. Prompt: Write a poem that includes an animal that shows up in myths and legends as a metaphor for some aspect of a contemporary person’s life. Include one spoken phrase. Image from Pixabay.com

Click here to see and watch Maya Angelou read her iconic poem STILL I RISE.

Also shared at OLN April 23rd with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

‘Tis True, Mr. Wordsworth

lillian2 Comments

Daffodils interrupt doldrums
break through badgering news.
They brighten my day,
my thoughts, my views.

They do indeed flutter and dance,
providing a joyful scene.
They grace the banks of the Charles,
greet me with bright ruffled faces.

They are sunshine
atop green leafy stems.
How can I be lonely
as they smile at me?

NAPOWRIMO Day 17. Prompt: Write a poem in which you respond to a favorite poem by another poet. My poem is in response to William Wordsworth’s famous poem, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud. See below for his complete poem.

Photos taken two days ago on my walk along the Charles River, from the Boston side. (Cambridge, Harvard and MIT are on the other side).

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The Message of Sunrise

lillianLeave a comment

There is a calming
an acute listening
as I sit enveloped in darkness
waiting, watching.

Darkness dissipates.
Low-lying orange-red layer
ombres into blue-black sky.
Then . . .

. . . ever so slowly . . .
a sliver . . . an arc . . .
an entire glowing orb.
Nature’s metaphorical reminder.

Even in the darkness
hope does rise
and become
reality.


NAPOWRIMO Day 16. Prompt: write a poem in which you describe something that cannot speak, and what it has taught you or told you.

Images are photos I’ve taken over the years at our beloved Provincetown at the very tip of Cape Cod. Same rental, on the ocean, for 25 years. Sunrises from the deck never disappoint.

Where Does Love Go?

lillian12 Comments

Family of four,
both mother, father gone now.
Their love still lives on
in the way their children love.
Circle of love unending.


A Tanka written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Kim asks us to write a poem using the title Where Does Love Go and answer the question within the poem.

Go to https://lillianthehomepoet.com/2026/03/24/a-haibun-family-tradition/ to understand my personal meaning for the Circle of Love. Image from Pixabay.com

Tanka: a Japanese poetic form of 5 lines with the syllabic count of 5-7-5-7-7 Some say it’s a haiku that keeps on going!

Mary Alyce and I

lillian3 Comments

We were
two third-grade girls who often roamed
through a nearby overgrown plot of land.
In our minds, the vast Old West.
That mound of dirt about half-way in?
Boot Hill where we’d tether our steeds.
We were certain the Lone Ranger rode these parts.
We’d gallop many a mile in those days.
We’d capture bad guys with unholstered guns
using only one index finger and thumb.
After a long day of protecting Dodge City,
when the sun was about to set
we’d adjust our cowboy hats
and mosey on home
to Martin Avenue
in Waukegan,
Illinois.



NAPOWRIMO Day 13. Prompt: Write a poem about a cherished landscape. It could be your grandmother’s backyard, your schoolyard basketball court, or a tiny stip of woods near the railroad tracks. At some point in the poem, include language or phrasing that would be unusual in normal spoken speech – like a rhyme or syntax that feels old fashioned or high-tone (“mosey on home”).

True story from my childhood days. I have no idea what ever became of Mary Alyce.
AI image made from Bing Create.