Relationships

Cubist Portrait Painted in Words

lillian35 Comments

She led a paper doll life.
Strived to meet expectations from so many.
Put yourself together this way.
Tabs turned down. Pieces in place.

But those over there said, It’s better this way.
Snip snip. Glue applied till she was rearranged.
Someone else said, Add this to your face.
Minimize that part, emphasize this.

And all the hims over the years.
He said, Do this. So she did.
The last him said, Do what I say.
Wear this, not that. Never that.

She cut herself up so many times.
Attributes shed, shards left behind.
Fragments added,
ill fit though they were.

Until one day,
someone gifted her a bouquet.
A mixed bouquet
with twelve different blooms.

Holding them close, she eyed them carefully.
Curled up edges on the violet one.
Red rose, sagged and drooped a bit,
stem too thin for its weight.

Each flower beautiful in its own way,
nestled together in soft silk ribbons.
And at that moment, she decided.
I will be me.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe where today, I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics.

Today’s prompt introduces writers and readers to Thorvald Hellesen (1888 – 1937). I was introduced to this artist at our recent visit to the National Museum of Norway in Oslo. Hellesen grew up and studied art in Kristiania (Oslo). His debut exhibit in 1919, in Kristiania, was met with much derision and he never showed his art in Norway again. He moved to Paris at age twenty-three where he joined the circles of Picasso and Fernand Leger, Cubists who turned the norm of what art should be upside down. He had successful exhibitions in Paris and in addition to his painting, went on to design posters, textile patterns and worked with interior design. 104 years after his fatal debut in Kristiania (Oslo), this is the first museum exhibition devoted to Norway’s first consistent Cubist.

Within the prompt, I provide five different portraits painted by Hellesen, three of which are in the Cubist tradition, including the one I’ve used and posted above, “Suitor. Figure with Bouquet” painted in 1917-1918. Writers must choose one of the five portraits as inspiration for a poem and, of course, give credit to Hellesen.

The Power of Artistry

lillian13 Comments

Gustav, cloak me in yellow.
My golden mantle shimmers
as does my heart in your embrace.
Your mouth meets mine,
a kiss divine.

Surround me in yellow, Vincent.
Bouquet me with sunflowers.
Run beside me round yeasty haystacks.
Worry not my darling,
your works shall be loved

Dazzle me in yellow, William.
Ease my loneliness,
wander with me beneath cumulus clouds.
Dance with me, as daffodils do,
waving brightly in the hills we climb.

Someone, please, mesmerize us with yellow.
Glaze our eyes in sunshine.
Brush merriment into wildflower scenes.
Blend colors into happiness upon your palette.
Make this world a wondrous place.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah asks us to consider the color yellow. My poem references The Kiss by Gustav Klimt; Sunflowers and Haystacks, both paintings by Vincent Van Gogh; and the poem Daffodils by William Wordsworth.

Art work images are in public domain. Daffodils image from Pixabay.com

Friendly Warning

lillian14 Comments

Steeped in amniotic fluids,
ejected from maternal womb –
dropped into parents’ environment.

Simmered in their care, their beliefs,
their modeling behaviors and aspirations.
Children grow roots where they are planted.
Tend your garden wisely.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

Today Bjorn hosts OLN LIVE from Sweden, from 3 to 4 PM Boston time. Click here between 3 and 4 PM EST for the link to join us live with audio and video. Come read a poem of your own or come just to listen. The more the merrier!

A Sorry Tale

lillian19 Comments

Occasionally,
I think back to those times.
Friendship spoiled like aged milk.
Curdled putrid,
far beyond its best-used-by date.

I was impressed at first,
by your confidence, laughter,
your louder-than-life self.
We became best friends,
roommates two years in school.

Slowly I realized
you craved attention.
Demanded the spotlight.
Used people
to make yourself the star.

Life’s circumstances
sent us to different cities.
We married, had children,
successful careers. And then,
we were thrown together again.

You relocated to where we were.
Kids in the same school, same grades,
same interests. Old times linked us
in others’ minds,
at church and kids’ events.

But you lived in the Heights,
we lived in the Flats.
You paraded that, flaunted it.
I was okay with that,
merely irritated.

Your husband
exhausted by your demands,
your goal to shine,
became more than irritated.
Driven to depression and anger,
he fled to the arms of another.

So you, ever the diva, consumed by ego,
picked up a knife, stabbed him.
Just once.
He gave you the spotlight.
He died.

On parole, you called me.
Went on and on
about his indiscretion.
Claimed it was self-defense.
Practiced your defense on me.

I hung up that day. Done.
You went to prison.
I went on living,
loving my husband, my family,
and our life.

Just shows you I supppose,
some friendships
were never meant to be.

Written for dVerse where today we’re asked to a) write about friendship and b) begin our poem with the first line of another poet’s poem posted on dVerse. My first line, “Occasionally” is from Christine Bolton’s Senryu. Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

Sliver of Silver by Lindsey Ein

lillian14 Comments

Moon is a sliver of silver;
stars sparkle, shimmering
steel in space;
silky cirrus clouds
slither across silent sky
searching span for sanctuary.

Solitary soul seeks solace;
a shield from shadows of secrets
searing his serenity.
Scanning skyward, he senses sanctuary in
sacrament of silence, a sliver of silver shining still.

Written by Lindsey Ein and read aloud today at OLN LIVE, at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Image from Pixabay.com

All Humans Are We

lillian19 Comments

I was born to die
pushed out into life
as were you,
screaming curdling wails.

Each night we bid goodbye
slipping off to sleep.
Each day we greet anew,
seek love amidst our trails.

I simply want to clarify,
all one species are we.
Pray tell and think it through.
Reject bigotry, all else that ails.

Hatred twists judgement awry.
Respect provides a healthier view.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Bjorn is hosting and introduces us to a new form, the Bref Double. It consists of three quatrains (stanzas of 4 lines) and an ending couplet. The rhyme scheme is axbc, axbc, axbc, ab BUT the second lines in each of the quatrains do not have any rhyme, hence the x designation. Image from Pixabay.com

The Queen’s Tears

lillian1 Comment

Of course she shed tears
after 70 + years
shared with her one true love.
Since we first saw her Grace
the world is a far different place.
Her long life a gift from above.

I fancied the Royals forever it seems,
listened to their wedding, dreamed my dreams.
In 1947, I was only 9 but in love.
A handsome prince, Philip, stole my heart
but Elizabeth was his mate, never to part.
Little girls like me dreamed of that kind of love.

Mother and I watched Elizabeth’s coronation.
in the middle of the night I was filled with elation.
Crowns, royal robes, jewels reigned from above.
Philip stood tall as she became queen.
Such pomp and circumstance I never had seen.
He looked at her with such love.

Over the years I have admired the queen
wearing colorful outfits, blue, pink or green
matched head to toe, hat, coat, and glove.
Children and grandchildren blessed her life.
We saw very little of her role as wife
until Philip died. Queen’s tears shed for love.

Written by Lindsey Ein and read aloud at our OLN LIVE! So happy to have Lindsey participate and to share her poem with all of you here.

With Folded Hands

lillian28 Comments

Faith came much easier when I was young.
I believed in Purgatory.
That half-way house you might need
before your final reward.
I’d say three Hail Marys for the one lucky soul
who needed exactly that many words
to move out and ascend to heaven.
My lips moved silently,
hands folded, head bowed, like I learned
in Immaculate Conception Grade School.
Then I’d say a very loud Amen and grin.
Good deed done for the day!
These days, as a septuagenarian,
I realize that for some people
hell is right here on earth.
Hail Marys don’t seem to cut it
when a Black man gets shot in the back
while innocently jogging down a street.
I don’t grin anymore
at the end of my prayers.

Shared with dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

Today is OLN LIVE from 3 to 4 PM and OLN. I’m hosting today….so hope to see many folks there. Photo is my hands this morning.

Thundering Voices

lillian22 Comments

A woman’s intrinsic abilities
far surpass chauvinist suppositions.

Our daughters understand. Empowerment
means control. Bodily autonomy.

Your assault, revoking Roe-versus-Wade,
wakes anger. Volatile independence.

Rain, lightning, thunderbolts, precipitate
storms. Crashing. Disturbing complacency.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Laura asks us to consider couples, writing a poem in couplets. She presents a number of forms that are based in couplets including the Rhopalic Couplet. First used by Homer in the Illiad, the Rhopalic Couplet contains two lines. In both lines, each word progresses adding 1 more syllable than the preceding word in the line. The lines need not be rhymed. So for example
x xx xxx xxxx
x xx xxx xxxx

I found this quite tricky to do! Another poetic sudoku for me. Image from Pixabay.com