Relationships

Poet’s Parisian Interlude

lillian38 Comments

Sipping bordeaux, afternoon delight.
She, the queen of hearts, oblivious.
He, her soul’s sustenance, sits restless
in the tangles of foment.
His love, her peace and windrush.
His lust, her quicksilver.

Poetry is a testament to noticing.
Journal upon the table, pen hesitates,
writing stammers, then suddenly stops.
Eyes look up, gaze high.
Sentinel Eiffel Tower looms
overlooking this changing scene.

Her hands shake, tears form.
Looking at him, she knows.
This seasonal song has no coda,
final movement complete.
He nods slowly, touches her hand,
whispers I’m sorry and leaves.
For her, the summer is done.

Written for Tuesay Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Merril gives us a list of names given to roses and asks us to write a poem including at least five of the names. We cannot use the word “rose” wtihin our poem. The rose names are Afternoon Delight, Bordeaux, Brass Band, Cayenne, Desdemona, Ebb Tide, Eiffel Tower, Golden Gate, Mermaid, No Surrender, Peace, Penny Lane, Queen of Hearts, Quick Silver, Restless, Sea Foam, Summer Song, Tangles, White Wings, and Windrush. I’ve included the ten that are in bold print.

Image AI generated on Bing Create.

“Poetry is a testament to noticing” quoted from Poetry Unbound, 50 Poems to Open Your World, by Padraig O Tuama, Irish poet and theologian.

Garden’s Dilemma

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In his dodder of thyme,
the current head DC gardener
continues to uproot and rip out
Justicia, Honesty, and roses of all kind.
As if they were the weeds.
In their place he sows and propagates
Crown Imperial, Wormswood, Snakesfoot,
King-cups and Creeping Cereus.

This prickly pear of a man
is in no way a humble plant.
More like a mouse-eared-chickweed
forever noshing on Fool’s Parsley,
basking under the shade
of his pruned Judas Trees.

Outside his sphere, weeping willows
flail in dire need of gentle balm.
They must find a new sage, soon.
Both Burpee and the
Farmer’s Almanac warn
the upcoming planting season
will be a crucial one.

NAPOWRIMO Day 19. Today’s prompt: Using Kate Greenaway’s Language of Flowers, write a poem in which you muse on your selections of flowers names and meanings from her extensive list.

*** All of the flowers and plants I’ve used from her book, are italicized in the poem. I’ve kept the capitalization only on those that are actually used in the poem as the plant/flower itself. Reference is paid to the Old Farmer’s Almanac and the Burpee Seed Catalogue.

IMAGE of the Jacqueline Kennedy Rose Garden at the White House, courtesy of the National Park Service website.

Damsel of the Night

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Into the night she fled
nerves awry, feelings dead.
Tricked by his deceitful lies
no one had listened to her cries.

Castle and dreams now miles away
heart faltering, heavy as clay.
Past the forest deep and dank
she came upon a riverbank.

Exhausted, she gave in to pain
collapsed as thunder struck with rain.
Hands to breast, as breath grew short,
she smiled as Death offered his support.


NAPOWRIMO Day 18. Prompt: Today we don’t challenge you to write all of a long, dramatic, narrative poem, but we invite you to try your hand at writing a poem that could be a section or piece of one. Include rhyme, include unlikely and dramatic scenes…basically a poem with the plot of an opera!

AI image generated on Bing Create.

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!

Street Art in Chile

lillian21 Comments

I believe this is us forever dear,
painted image on a neighbor’s wall.
We hold hands in permanence,
street artist’s portrait of love.
His rendition, always young.
No furrowed brows from worries,
no age spots upon our arms.
He sees us somewhat oddly though,
large heads upon small bodies.
But we do lean in, faces touching,
projecting forever togetherness.
Feet dangle above his painted ground,
hovering above reality’s sidewalk.
He’s placed us in suspension here. . .
and I can imagine, my love,
this was us so many years ago.
How did he know?



Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m hosting today, and folks are invited to post one poem of their choosing, no required format, topic, or length. OR they may post to the optional prompt I provide which includes three photos of street art I saw in Valparaiso, Chile some years ago. The one above was one of my favorites.

AN INVITATION TO YOU: I’m also hosting our LIVE session (audio and video) on Saturday, April 11, from 10 to 11 AM EST. Please consider joining us! You may read aloud a poem of your choosing, or just come to sit in and listen! We are indeed a global group with folks from Australia, Trinidad Tobago, Kenya, the UK, Pakistan, Sweden, and across the US often in attendance. The more the merrier! If you’d like to join us, go to https://dversepoets.com on Saturday a few minutes before 10 AM EST, and click on the link provided there.

Jump Roping Rhymes for the Times

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One, two,
what can we do?
Three, four,
can’t bear any more.
Five, six,
need a fix.
Seven, eight,
it’s not too late.
Jump ahead to twenty-five,
that amendment’s power drive.
Then go back to the standard rhyme,
he exits out in rhythmic time.
Nine, ten,
a thankful amen.


NAPOWRIMO Day 7. Prompt for the day: Write a poem that can be a “song: something to clap, snap or jump around to.” I’ve changed the words here to the childhood rhyme, “One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, shut the door. etc”

If you don’t want to read a political statement in explanation of the poem above, stop reading here.

Today, the President of the United States is playing the “proverbial game of chicken” with an unstable and violent regime. “A whole civilization will die tonight” if Iran doesn’t open the Strait of Hormuz by 8 PM EST. Note: the Strait of Hormuz was open until the US and Israel bombed Iran. Listen to President Trump’s recent public appearances: IE standing beside the giant Easter Bunny at the annual Easter Egg Roll, talking about Iran, how great his military is; telling children they can sell the pictures he colors with them because he’s signing them and his autograph is worth a lot of money. But they couldn’t sell anything from President Biden because he had people follow him around with an autopen. Look at his Truth Social posts in the last few days: laced with expletives. The man is more than unhinged. He is seriously mentally ill. He is not competent or fit to be in the office of the Presidency.

It is time to evoke the 25th amendement and remove him from office. At the very least, his family should stage a serious intervention meeting with him; as should members of Congress. Handle it discreetly and quietly if they wish. If he won’t resign, invoke the 25th amendement. We can not allow this man to continue in this powerful position.

Dizzy’s Spot

lillian12 Comments

Smoke filled jazz club.
Those in tune tap fingers on sticky table tops,
keep time while rhythmic brushes
swish on snare drum tops.
Others slump in chairs,
empty shot glass littered tables.
I lean forward, waiting . . .
for Sandburg’s oozing saxophones.

Escapists. Jazz aficionados.
Musician wannabes.
Tourists like me.
We all sit while tired bouncer
stands outside struggling to hear riffs
between terse turndowns of fake IDs.
Another night. Another dollar.
A job’s a job. Music or not.


Written for Day 1 of NAPOWRIMO. April is National Poetry Writing Month and the challenge is to write one poem, every day in April. Prompts are given daily at  https://www.napowrimo.net

I’m joining my Australian friends and writing to the early bird prompt for those “whose geographic relationship with the international date line means that April 1 arrives a bit earlier than it does at National Global Poetry Writing Month HQ.” Here in Boston, it’s 9 AM on March 31 but it’s the start of April 1 in Sydney.

The early bird prompt? “Write your own poem in which you refer to a specific writer or artist (or work of literature/art) and make a declarative statement about want or desire. Set the poem in a particular, people-filled place, like a restaurant, bus station, museum, school, etc.”

NOTES: References to Dizzy Gillespie, famous jazz musician; and Carl Sandburg’s iconic poem, Jazz Fantasia. Image from Bing Create.

Set Aside

lillian23 Comments

Summer of letters.
Days of thinking slowly,
rolling words around
until they landed just right.
Days of ink to vellum,
sometimes blurred by tears.
Hidden away for so many years.
Flowers beneath ribbon ties,
now brittle and dry.
Love never consummated,
memories still blush.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. It’s Quadrille Monday and De asks us to include the word “flower” or a form of the word, within the body of our poem of just 44 words, sans title. Image created on Bing Create.

A Plea on January Twenty-Sixth

lillian19 Comments

I seek a trip to calm.
A land called Calm
where love abounds
all people are valued
leaders seek to unite
children skip confidently to school.
Where lies are confessed,
not repeated bragadociously on the news.
Who can help me find that land?

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Quadrille Monday and we’re asked to write a quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title) that includes the word “trip” within the body of the poem. Image from Pixabay.com