Cherished

This I’ve Learned

lillian45 Comments

When two become one, the base remains two.
When two multiplies to four, the base remains two.

Time invested.
Birthing and unconditional love.
Your child’s everything
until independence blooms.

Time apart increases.
They see more, learn more.
And you step in and out,
never fully immersed again.

And they leave.
You are the beginning two again.

Memories, age spots,
and more love.
Knowing as they become two and multiply,
it is a cycle born to repeat itself.

And the most important arc is the base of two.
That is the constant.

Sharing with Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today there is no prompt. We’re free to post one poem of our choosing, Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! 

Soar O’er Us in Painless Flight

lillian34 Comments

Warrior, intrepid spirit
woman of heartfelt substance.
For two years
you wore a mantle of prayers,
held fast to hope and faith.

Rest now, dear friend,
your spirit on angel’s wings.
For surely your downright obstinacy
in the face of overwhelming odds
has earned you the right to soar.


My friend, Louise, lost her two year battle with ovarian cancer Sunday night. She fought so hard to live. She will be missed by so many. 

Louise

lillian4 Comments

She stands on the precipice
life before, a memory
life after, a question
life now, a quest.
In the shadows,
she seeks hope.

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Photo taken some years ago in a beautiful church in Tallin, Estonia. Update: My dear friend Louise lost her two year battle with ovarian cancer on Sunday, February 12, 2017. She was a woman of incomparable spirit.

Sunshine the world . . .

lillian28 Comments

unfurl hope
march, sing
stand resolute and tall.

Answer the call
to freedom this world,
compassion for all.



A second verbification poem for http://dversepoets.com dVerse today. Using nouns as verbs — sunshine and freedom. Saturday, January 21, 2017. First day of a global movement that has the potential for immense power. Photos from Boston’s Women’ Walk for America which included 100,000+ women, men and children. dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Come join us!

. . . and their spirits shall descend

lillian68 Comments

like tears gathered in veiled mist.
No loud incendiary words
nor rattling of chains.
Whisper soft,
they cling to mountains
obscure city views,
tall buildings topless
windows moist with deeds past.
They await a new awakening
renewed warmth of will,
a dawn of hope.

Quadrille (44 words) written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today’s word is “whisper.”  Photos: left, taken on our trip to Alaska; right by Jesse Miksic.
May the spirit and hope of Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy, Barrack Obama, and John Lewis infuse our land.

For Louise

lillian41 Comments

Littered path
fallen leaves like trodden dreams.

Though the way be narrow
quaking aspen still shimmer gold.

Sun shines through tallest trees
as faith dissipates clouds of doubt.

Lean. Push. Persevere.
March through unmarked trail.

Steps may stumble, pace may slow.
Hope shall light your way.

jennifer-vranes-new-beginning

Poem dedicated to my dear friend. Her two year battle with ovarian cancer inspires so many. She reminds us that every day is a new beginning.

It’s Poetics Tuesday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Mish reminds us the New Year means new beginnings. She provides paintings of 8 gifted artists and asks us to choose one or more “and let the words flow.”  The pub opens at 3 PM Boston time….stop in and add your thoughts or just enjoy the words of so many.
Painting credit: New Beginnings. “Jennifer Vranes is best know for her large and vibrant paintings of Aspen Forests and European Landscapes. Her trademarked technique of using a pallete knife to ‘sculpt’ in thick textures has become a favorite among collectors and Art Galleries world-wide.” ~ About the Artist-Jennifer Vranes~  jensart.com

for unto us a child is born . . .

lillian2 Comments

Sweet fawn, framed by forest clearing
breath vapor hangs in air,
eyes wide alert, stare through snow.

Crystal flakes cling to coat,
velvet brown ears quiver
hear soft cries and crooning sounds.

Hooves muted by drifted snow
young woman and man oblivious
as wet nose pushes stable door ajar.

Innocent deer stands quietly,
sees calves lying in tussled straw
lambs nearby, quietly sleep.

And there, wrapped in woolen shawl,
a small babe with contented smile
held close to mother’s breast.

A simple pastoral scene,
Love and Light born this morn.

christmas-in-the-mountains-4-1383623

Photo credit: Benjamin Earwicker.  Title from Isaiah 9:6
Poetic license taken (creativity beyond the traditional story).

 

 

That Christmas Eve . . .

lillian4 Comments

White crystalline flakes
cascade from dark skies
falling, drifting quietly,
upon the rural scene.

A lowly ass plods slowly
pulled forward by a bearded man.
They lean forward,
tandem force against the wind.

The young woman huddles, sways,
shifted side to side by the animal’s gait.
Feeling movement from within,
she burrows into her woolen shawl.

Talons sunk in frozen bark
feathered body blending into frigid tree,
the snowy owl stares steadily
at the slow motion scene,

watches the couple disappear
over the hill beyond,
unaware, in the darkness,
of the Light that is to come.

animal-17317_1280

Photo in public domain.  Poetic license taken (beyond the traditional story).

Christmas in Boston

lillian3 Comments

Splashes of red brighten everyday winter mood.

Cardinal perched ‘top snow laden branch
holly berries ‘mongst waxy green leaves
stocking-capped girl on ice-covered pond.

Cranberry garland round grandma’s tree
foil-wrapped treats with ribbon-tied bows
cinnamon red-hots on gingerbread men.

And then . . . on a star lit night
Old North’s steeple glows tall and bright
draws us to her warmth within.

History fills this sacred space
softly lit by candlelight,
voices lilt from loft above.

Spirits lift and faces shine,
voices raise as all join in
oh come all ye faithful . . .

celebrate that gift of hope.
Love born this very night,
so long long ago.

IMG_4297

Old North. Paul Revere’s church where lanterns were waved that infamous night, immortalized in Longfellow’s poem.
We shall walk to Old North on Christmas Eve when the church will be aglow with candles lit in her brass chandeliers and sconces that are 200+ years old.