Cherished

Namrah

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Namrah soared through night skies,
finding his way back to the Pepperdine home.
He’d not returned for many years.
He’d spent that time in Europe,
delighting so many children,
guiding them through star dust fields
until they grew beyond what adults called
their pretend years.

Namrah is not an imagined creature.
He appears at night, silver wings softly flapping,
golden beak tapping upon a child’s window.
He hums softly, the reverse of a lullaby tune,
waking them from the deepest of sleeps.
They climb upon his back, fingers entwined in crimson feathers,
flying past Venus into the glorious galaxy.
Namrah tells them wondrous tales and listens to their dreams.

Once the elders agreed Namrah was ready to join the fleet,
Jarrad Pepperdine had been his first assignment.
He remembered Jarrad’s soft brown eyes, opened wide as they flew.
The whispered secrets he’d shared and how carefully he listened.
His job was to instill everlasting wonder and hope in children,
understanding that far too soon, they would inevitably part.
Tonight, Namrah breaks every rule he agreed to long ago,
returning to the Pepperdine’s street,
hoping for a glimpse, if not a visit, with Jarrad, the adult.



Written for Day 12 of NaPoWriMo where the prompt today is to “write a poem that plays with the idea of a “tall tale.” American tall tales feature larger-than-life characters like Paul Bunyan (who is literally larger than life), Bulltop Stormalong (also gigantic), and Pecos Bill (apparently normal-sized, but he doesn’t let it slow him down). If you’d like to see a modern poetic take on the tall tale, try Jennifer L. Knox’s hilarious poem, “Burt Reynolds FAQ.” Your poem can revolve around a mythical character, one you make up entirely, or add fantastical elements into a real person’s biography.”

Namrah is a wonderful creature I wrote about frequently in the early days of this blog. Go to the search function on this page and plug in the word Namrah and you’ll find some very early poems about this wonderful imaginary friend. Have not written about him in many years so very fun to revisit him.

Image created in Bing Create.

Ode to a Family Table

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Praises to the table,
the one our family gathered round.
You held court with meals,
never minded spilled morsels.
Gained rings in the process
from sloppy milk glasses.

You listened without judgement.
Heard the hijinks of Mrs. Piggle Wiggle,
knock-knock jokes, teacher complaints,
family disagreements, high school gossip,
vacation plans, college choice deliberations,
and joyfully sung table graces.

You welcomed guests
who crammed in extra chairs.
More elbows leaning in,
more spills, raucous laughter.
Birthday party guests and gangly teens
who occasionally kicked your legs.

Now in another house
but still in the family,
serving another generation.
From toddlers punching playdough
to kids’ paints slopping on your surface,
you still stand proud after all these years.


Written for day 9, NaPoWriMo. The challenge is to write a poem every day in April, which is National Poetry Writing Month.

The NaPoWriMo challenge today, takes a page from the famous poet Pablo Neruda. His poetry, translated to English, is treasured by many. Among his poetry are a series of Odes. An ode is a poem written in praise of a person, place or object. The challenge today? “Write your own ode celebrating an everyday object.”

Photos are of our family table over the years….could not find any when our kids were infants or toddlers. We sure celebrated many a birthday at this table! The table has been at our daughter’s home since her children were very young. They grew up at the same table their mama and uncle did. Last two photos are of our daughter’s and son’s children sitting at the table in more recent years.

They said it wouldn’t work . . .

lillian1 Comment

There are certain phrases we hear so often
we just naturally assume they’re true,
or at the very least, in our experience
we never hear them as new.

All through our married life
we always had dogs, as in two,
because everyone knows
“two is easier than one” is true.

You’ve heard that well worn phrase,
“they fight like cats and dogs.”
We always assumed adding a cat to the mix
would result in a myriad of scrappy conflicts.

So it was with great trepidation,
we agreed with significant hesitation.
Buckling under to our daughter’s frustration
we agreed to her pleas, with much consternation.

We added a cat to the mix
expecting a storm of scrappy conflicts.
Blossom was a Siamese kitten
so cute, we were all quickly quite smitten.

And weren’t we incredibly surprised
when our fears were never realized.

Lyra stretched out her long Shepherd frame,
Blossom circled round, staking out her claim.
Lyra settled in for a nice long nap
and Blossom curled up, at home in her lap.

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 8. The challenge is to write a poem every day in April, National Poetry Writing Month.

The prompt at NaPoWriMo today is to “write a poem that centers around an encounter or relationship between two people (or things) that shouldn’t really have ever met – whether due to time, space, age, the differences in their nature, or for any other reason.” Photo is of our very large German Shepherd, Lyra, and our Siamese kitten, Blossom: taken many many years ago when our kids were very young.

We Are Family

lillian2 Comments

Family gathering
love, laughter, reminiscing.
Like the inevitability of spring,
our connections bloom again.


Written off-prompt, for NaPoWriMo. It’s National Poetry Writing and the challenge is to write a poem every day in April.

Written today, on the occasion of a family gathering this weekend in Chicago, to celebrate the lives of Joanne and Ed Schnackenbeck.

To be blessed is to . . .

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have some aches and pains
but able to walk
and reach dishes on the second shelf.
Enjoy a good book
sleep beside the love of your life
and have family that cares,
said the septuagenarian.

To be blessed is to
be with your forever family
who plays fetch for hours on end,
lets you get on the couch with them . . .
occasionally,
and get kibble treats for just sitting still,
said Zoey, the dog.

To be blessed is to
enjoy sunshine filtering through your leaves
provide shade to a couple’s picnic beneath your branches
sport reds and burnt oranges in the autumn season
mourn the dropping of leaves and skeleton shivers
knowing your resurrection will come next spring,
said the seventy-six year old Metasequoia.

Written for Day 5, NaPoWriMo where the prompt is to “try your hand at writing your own poem about how a pair or trio of very different things would perceive of a blessing.” The line “to be blessed” and the idea for my poem is taken from the poem used to illustrate the prompt, “The Blessing of the Old Woman, the Tulip, and the Dog” by Alicia Ostriker.

*There is indeed a Metasequoia tree planted in the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University in 1948. It is one of the oldest and first of its kind to grow in North America in over two million years according to the City of Boston official website. The photo, however, is of a tree in Boston’s Public Garden taken during an autumn walk several years ago.

Prosery for today . . .

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One of four children, her parents died before the age of sixty from massive heart attacks. Her two sisters did the same; as did her brother. She buried her youngest sister on her own birthday and did the same with her only son, who died at fifty-one, also from a heart attack. Her husband died at seventy-three, from complications following open heart surgery. She defied familial medical history and lived to eighty-one, her own heart having been broken many times. She was my mother.

When they called, I rushed to her side. Congestive heart failure finally took its toll. “We’d like to operate,” the doctor said. She quietly shook her head. “I’m so tired, Lillian.” I held her hand and she smiled. But that smile was the last smile to come upon her face. I whispered, “Go and find dad, mom.” And she did.

Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Lisa asks us to use the line, “But that smile was the last smile to come upon her face” in a piece of prose, no more than 144 words in length, sans title. The line is from the poem Ballad of Birmingham, written in 1968 by Dudley Randall. My mother, Helen Cecile Petitclair Gruenwald died in 1998. I had the privilege of being at her side as she transitioned to another world. I remember it clearly.

Recipe for My Son and Daughter to Discover Their Family Tree

lillian21 Comments

Discover with me your family tree.
Ignore online apps promising filigree.

Instead, help me decorate my Christmas tree.
String tiny lights round and round with glee.
Stand on tip toe to place Grampa’s ribbon rose
at the very top, where it always goes.

Hang wooden orange giraffe
beside spunky little brown horse.
Decades ago they made you laugh,
hanging above your crib, of course.

Be extra gentle with the pink glass bell,
fragile as a thin egg shell.
Your grandmother’s as a small child,
looking at it, she always smiled.

Add red ornament with letters painted white,
Lillian spelled out, still brings delight.
Made by my teacher in first grade,
her love for students proudly displayed.

Treasure these ornaments year after year
so many belonged to family so dear.
Behold this memory filled Christmas tree,
see and touch your ancestry.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Grace provides us with the last prompt for 2023 as we will now be on hiatus until January 1. She asks us to write a culinary rhyming recipe poem.

While we do indeed have a number of recipes handed down from generation to generation in my family, I’ve taken a bit of poetic license and written a poem with a “recipe” for my adult children (now 47 and 49; I’m 76) to discover their ancestry/family tree by looking at the ornaments on my Christmas tree. Just a few are mentioned in the poem. There many more including a fragile airplane that was on my father’s tree when he was a little boy. You can see it in the photo, next to my mother’s pink bell. There are ornaments made by my children’s babysitters; two painted by my father; some made by neighbors from the house where we raised our children; some made or given to us by aunts and uncles; sadly some given to us by relatives now gone from this earth. There are ornaments made by our kids when they were 4 and some when they were in grade school. There are ornaments collected from family vacations. It is what I often call a memory tree. Almost every ornament has its own story. In a way, they are the ingredients, melded together and on display, that enable us to reconnect with our family every year, no matter the distance or time that separates us; no matter if they have left this earth and only reside in our hearts.

Whatever holidays you celebrate, I hope they are joyful and shared with loved ones. I also wish everyone a happy and healthy New Year.

December Walk

lillian31 Comments

Love.
Snow mist
nature kissed.
Evening stroll
through quiet street.
Bells chime afar.
Carolers’ voices carry
through neighborhood.
Candles glimmer, lights shine.
Thoughts turn to memories.
Eyes tear from cold
or yearning.
Family members gone
still cherished,
warm my spirit
this time
of year.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Bjorn asks us to use the word “snow” in our quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image created on Bing Create.

A Prayer at Day’s End

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As the sun sets on this day
may we pray to remember
the good that surrounds us,
the good that can be.

Help us to find our way
to a kinder world.
May each of us
contemplate sameness.

Our sameness. Our humanity.
May leaders from all countries
all religions, all ethnicities,
strive for gentle caring.

May we look in the mirror
eyes and hearts open,
and find each other.

Written today for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. In today’s world, with so much strife, division, and warring factions, I thought it important to offer this prayer.

dVerse will go live today from 3 to 4 PM EST. Folks from around the globe are invited to post a poem and read it aloud or simply to come and listen. A link will be provided at 3 PM EST HERE to join us on video and audio for one hour. We will do the same on Saturday morning from 10 to 11 AM EST. Would love to have you join us. The more the merrier!

Photo from sunset in San Diego some years ago. The photo feels peaceful and serene to me….and somehow the sun and the rolling hills in the background remind me of hope for a new day.