Travel Muse

One Night in 1891

lillian7 Comments

On craggy cliff she stands
wind whipped hair obscuring view.
Brushes dampened curls away,
strains to see past white capped waves
searching, praying, waiting not so patiently.

She dare not disturb the keeper again.
Daily this past month she’d asked
news of tides and his predictions.
Fresnel lens flashes bright,
her beacon of hope these rushing days.

Against her pa’s advice
she’d married her sailor man.
Now she prays for his return.
Do not allow these ocean waters
to stake their claim.

Hands clutch railing,
winds gust strong.
Swollen belly tantrum rolls,
sharp quick little kicks
announce time is drawing near.

She trudges slowly up the lane,
returns to humble cottage.
Coaxes crimson embers to flame again.
Falls fitfully asleep in padded rocking chair
dreaming dreams to will him home again.

Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

I will read this aloud on Saturday, October 14th, at OLN LIVE. If you’d like to join us in our 1 hour live session from 10 to 11 AM EST, click here and then click on the appropriate link for Saturday’s LIVE session with audio and video.

Photo was taken on Thursday, October 11 on the last stop of our Boston/Maine/Canada cruise. This is Portland Head Light on Cape Elizabeth in Portland, Maine. Construction began in 1787. It was first lit on January 10, 1791 using 16 whale oil lamps. The first keeper’s house was erected in 1816 and the first Fresnel lens was used in 1864. The lighthouse was totally automated in 1989.

Interesting fact: Boston Light, built in 1716 on Little Brewster Island, is the oldest continually used and only staffed lighthouse in the United States. In November 1989, just as the Coast Guard was preparing to automate the light and remove personnel from the keeper’s house, the U.S. Senate passed a law sponsored by Senator Ted Kennedy requiring that Boston Light be permanently manned. The law also required that public access to Little Brewster be facilitated and in 1999, the island and lighthouse grounds officially opened to the public. Until 1998, the keeper climbed the stairs twice a day to maintain the light. Finally automated in 1998, the light is always “on”, ending the keeper’s need to climb the stairs. But a keeper still lives on Little Brewster, maintains the lighthouse and provides tours to the public.

The Gift of Silence

lillian2 Comments

I close my eyes
face tilted to sun’s warmth.
I listen with my entire being.
Rhythmic ocean’s waves
continually roll in.
Their soothing sounds
existed long before me.
Will exist long after me.
Sea breeze ruffles hair
as closed eyes see glow.
Darkness in any form
cannot invade this moment’s grace.
This place calms my soul.
I breathe in this moment.
I am embraced by sun
and wind and ocean,
afloat in serenity.

View from our deck in Provincetown – 23rd year we’ve rented here. Poem written this morning – and yes, it is just like this. I’ve always called it our happy place. I actually think it’s more about serenity and calm.

Morning’s Promise

lillian7 Comments

Provincetown’s prequel to dawn.
Nature’s sky palette,
her brush strokes divine.
Palest of pastel pink ribbons
and cotton ball fluffs,
ombre into muted blues and greys.
Profound quiet punctuated
by gentle waves lapping shore.
Day awakens as I gaze
mesmerized by her calm.
Her promise, a lovely day.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Lisa gives us three options as prompts for our poems. I chose the second: to write of an experience, preferably in the first person, where we’ve asked for a sign of something to come. Here in our beloved Provincetown for two weeks, I awaken each morning to watch the skies, wondering if we will have a clear, cloudy, or stormy day. No matter the weather, Ptown is always beautiful.

Photos taken this morning from our deck – those magical moments before sunrise. And it has indeed, been a beautiful day.

Provincetown Pall – ’tis but a moment

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Mist and fog ~
marauders of the night,
muffle morning’s sun.
Drip moisture on decks,
lush grass, drooping hammocks
and once tall hollyhocks.
Grey ocean meets putty sky,
nature’s pall like widow’s veil.
But my view today?
My spirits shall not be dampened
nor my view dimmed
of this wonderful place
called Provincetown.
I know the sun is there,
simply biding her time to appear.

It is indeed a foggy morning in Provincetown today. I shall simply wipe down the table and chairs on our deck and sit outside to savor the myriad shades of grey presenting themselves between ocean and low hanging sky, all the while listening to the ebb and flow of waves lapping on to shore.

Join Me by the Shore

lillian25 Comments

Walk with me along Provincetown’s shore.
We’ll stroll through ripples of time,
these oft etched sands.
Some days smooth,
some days ribbed like corduroy wale.
Some days strewn with seaweed turned black
from upheaval by tides in stormy rage.
Walk by children’s sand castles,
knowing that by night’s end
waves will fill their moats,
capture make-shift popsicle wrappers
turned turret flags.

Farther down the coast
remnants of wharves and docks
once sentinels for Portuguese fishing boats,
stand ghostlike in their dampened pallor.
Imagine Wampanoags and Nausets here,
long before pilgrims usurped their land.
Think about artistic genius in this community:
Eugene O’Neill, Norman Mailer,
Jackson Pollock, Tennessee Williams,
E.E. Cummings. More recently,
Mary Oliver lived here for over fifty years,
inspired by the raw beauty of this place.

And at night’s end, watch the sky with me,
painted in pastels or crimson reds.
Tip a glass of wine my friend,
sit now and relax.
Allow your muse to enjoy every sip.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and asking folks to take us on a walk in their poem! Come join us – my guess is we’ll be walking many enjoyable miles through the words of many!

Photos are from our many two-week sojourns to Provincetown – at the very tip – the very end of Cape Cod.

One day in Rome, 85 AD

lillian17 Comments

Excited citizens rush through archway thirty-three.
They take their seats on marble slabs,
cool to the touch this sweltering summer day.
Lions roar. Giant bear paws rattle cages.
Slaves strain, work a pulley system,
lifting up beasts on stone slabs. Trap doors open.
The crowd gasps, then screams approval.
Eighty thousand men lusting to see lion against tiger,
grizzly bear against bear, or prisoner against beast.
These to-the-death spectacles, the opening acts.

Last bout of the day,
stirs the crowd to mad frenzy.
Two gladiators trained to fight,
slaves by night, warriors by day.
They leave their training complex across the road,
make their way through dark, dank tunnels
connected to the Colosseum.
One a slave with wealthy master,
fights to earn his freedom, bout by bout.
The other slave, a wealthy man’s business investment,
simply tries to stay alive.  

Entering the arena, they pause, adjust to glaring sun.
The adjudicator signals and the battle begins.  
When deep wounds pore blood and exhaustion sets in,
one man is declared a winner. Both barely alive,
they are carted off the field as the crowd roars its approval.
Back across the road, medical treatment given,
they collapse in their cells.
Crowds file out of the Colosseum.
A day’s respite with excellent entertainment.
Who can ask for anything more?




Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe, where it was Open Link Night on Thursday, August 24. I’m a day late posting. BUT, it’s also Open Link Night LIVE, coming up on Saturday, August 26th from 10 to 11 AM EST. Hope you can join us! You’ll find the link to on the dVerse home page, HERE!

We already had OLN LIVE on Thursday and had folks from Sweden, the UK, Jerusalem, Pakistan, Michigan, Iowa, Vermont, New Jersey; Portland, Oregon, Missouri, Washington, and Trinidad Tobago reading a poem of theirs aloud, and chatting with each other. We’re a friendly and appreciative bunch! So do join us on Saturday if you can!

Yes, these are PHOTOS from July when we were on our month-long trip. First stop was Rome and its antiquities. We had a day’s tour with an archeologist which began with an extensive visit to the Colosseum. Everything I’ve written about here is what it was like back in the day! And yes, you can still see the original XXXIII on the archway where folks who had seats in this area entered. The photo bottom left shows part of the floor rebuilt, and you can see the circular shape with the tiers of seats. Photo bottom right shows the partitioned off “rooms” or “cells” where the animals were kept. And yes, there were trap doors in the floor and animals were raised up to suddenly appear on the colosseum floor. It turns out that animal to animal fights were always to the death of at least one animal. Animal to prisoner would most likely end in death to the prisoner. But the real gladiators, unlike in the movies, who fought here, never fought to the death. There was an adjudicator who called the contest and named a winner. The gladiators were actually slaves and had a “school” literally across the road from the colosseum where they trained by day and were locked in their cells by night. As slaves, they were a business investment, owned by wealthy people. When you learn that, you understand why they didn’t fight to the death. Some slaves had the opportunity to earn their freedome by winning X number of battles. Sometimes they managed to do that, but not often. An incredible place to see. Construction on the Colosseum, the largest amphitheater ever built, began in 72AD and was completed in 80 AD. It held 50 to 80,000 people. And there was indeed a “gladiator school” across the road. There was daily entertainment here, provided to the citizens free of charge, and sponsored by the Emperor.

Basilica Cistern

lillian1 Comment

Walk down with me, into this dark ancient place.
Sixth century engineering feat.
Wander round three hundred thirty-six columns,
sentinels to Constantinople’s water supply.
Discover Medusa’s inverted head
carved into marble base.
Outside, sun blazes.
Istanbul’s teeming streets
jolt us back to present time.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today we’re to use the word “water” within the body of a quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words sans title.

I’m home again and back to writing after a month’s hiatus, traveling the Mediterranean on three back-to-back-to-back cruises with two overnights in Istanbul, Turkey. I’d been to Istanbul a number of times with my job before I rejuvenated in December 2012 (never say re-tired). It was a thrill to finally share Istanbul with my husband.

Istanbul’s Basilica Cistern was built in 532 AD, during the reign of Byzantine Emperor Justinian. It is slightly west of the Hagia Sophia and literally down the street from the old hotel I used to stay at during my sojourns in Istanbul. According to ancient texts, seven thousand slaves were involved in building the cistern. Many of its columns were salvaged from ruined temples. It provided a water filtration system for the Topkapi Palace and other buildings on First Hill in Constantinople. After the Ottoman conquest in 1453, Constantinople became Istanbul. Locals drew water from the cistern until 1565. The Cistern was featured in the 1963 James Bond movie, From Russia With Love, where it was fictionally located under the Soviet Consulate.

All photos from our visit there last week. Last one shows me standing outside the bland entrance to the Cistern.

A Tall Tale with Sandgrains of Truth

lillian18 Comments

Beatrice caterpillared her way through life,
cocooned away in a dune shack
on Provincetown’s National Sea Shore.
Aware of her eccentricities,
town criers and town folk alike
let her live her reclusive life.

In the summer of nineteen seventy-nine
crowds gathered outside the Lobster Pot,
salivating at the new restaurant in town.
Suddenly, mouths agape,
they gawked at the brightly clad gal
who fluttered out its door.

Dressed in beaded striped chemise
gauzy wings mysteriously attached,
she looked vaguely familiar.
She smiled tossing menus to the crowd,
sand clinging to ginger ringlets,
long eyelashes and sunburned knees.

Beatrice had left the beach
and butterflied her way into town.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah asks us to write a poem in which we verbify an animal or two. Among the examples she gives are dogging someone’s footsteps and badgering someone. She provides us with a list of animals to verbify, or we may choose our own. I chose the caterpillar and butterfly.

Photo is from one of our many annual two-week stays in Provincetown, on the very tip of Cape Cod. The “sandgrains of truth” in this tall tale of a poem are 1) the Lobster Pot first opened in Provincetown in 1979; and 2) there are indeed dune shacks on the National Seashore in Provincetown. People still use them today and they are considered by many as historical treasures. At different times, Jackson Pollock, E.E.Cummings, Norman Mailer, Jack Kerouac and Tennessee Williams lived in them.

Imagine with John

lillian10 Comments

Image blurs reality.
One long gone, etched in charcoal,
hangs on wall.
Me frozen, living within his frame.
Trick of lighting,
reflection merges life and death.
Imagine all the people
livin’ life in peace.

I meander through gardens,
gardens he skipped through as a child.
Strawberry fields forever.
My words, set to this page,
meaningful to me.
His words, set to music,
reverberate round the world.

Imagine what words died within him,
unborn, silenced by those bullets.
Creativity treasured by so many,
silenced by that gun.
Children. Adults. Their voices
treasured by friends, family,
silenced too. By guns. Those bullets.
Their velocity rips through humanity.
Bullets sprayed in schools, grocery stores,
churches, movie theaters,
at concerts and in prayer,
on streets, on porches, in homes.

Image blurs reality.
The living stand with dead loved ones.
Framed in happiness on a shelf,
a dresser, hanging on a wall.
Reflection merges life with death
as we think, sing within our heads.
Imagine all the people
livin’ life in peace.
Oh dear God, please let it be.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Will share and read aloud at OLN LIVE on Saturday, May 20th, from 10 to 11 AM EST. Come join us to hear and see poets from around the globe. Click here, and then on the link for Saturday’s session with audio and video connection.

We did a Beatles themed excursion on a recent British Isles cruise. It included a visit to Liverpool and the actual Strawberry Fields that John Lennon wrote about. Strawberry Fields was and is the name of a facility run by the Salvation Army for children. It’s surrounded by gardens. When Lennon was a small boy, estranged from his mother, he lived with his aunt within walking distance of Strawberry Fields. He often went through the red gates to play with children in these gardens. While visiting the gardens and a building that includes information about John Lennon’s relationship with the facility, and the actual piano he composed Imagine on, we viewed an artist’s exhibit of charcoal paintings including the first image at the top of the page. This image was the motivation for my poem today. John Lennon was assasinated; shot 5 times outside the gates to his New York City apartment. My poem refers to his assasination, as well as the Beatles song, Strawberry Fields Forever; and Lennon’s song, Imagine, written and recorded after the Beatles broke up.

Privileged to Cruise

lillian1 Comment

World slips away, hands-free sailing the seas.
Unbroken expanse lulls calm into being.
Softly undulating waves
stretch from ship’s edge to straight line –
where pastel blue sky caps azure blue waters.
Sparse, feather-edged clouds gently smudge the scene.
My mind, my body, sigh in unison.
I wish this peace for everyone.

Up earlier than most, I so enjoy sitting in a quiet space with a cup of coffee, contemplating the vast calm ocean before me. It is my muse this morning. By the time I took this photo, the scene had shifted a bit – but still it’s a quiet calming for me.