lillian the home poet

Introvert

October 5, 2015October 6, 2015lillian10 Comments

Like a blurry scrim
hanging on the back stage wall,
she veiled her feelings
as she played her role in life,
in the spotlight but aloof.

In response to WP Writing 201: Poetry, Day One. Three prompt options: 1) write a haiku or tanka; 2) include the word “screen” or write about some type of screen; 3) use alliteration. I’ve hit 2 out of 3. This tanka (syllabic lines of 5-7-5-7-7) uses a scrim as its primary image. A scrim is a piece of gauze cloth that appears opaque until lit from behind — often used as a screen or backdrop in the theater.

Caught in the Blur

October 4, 2015lillianLeave a comment

Pointillists paint millions of dots
until one image appears.
Up close blur
becomes meaningful
with three steps back.

Even a merry-go-round stops
lets passengers on and off,
provides a straight steel pole
to ease the way
in its calliope whirl.

Perhaps the answer then
is a palette or a shiny black steed
to guide me through
and make some sense
of this place you call life.

Morning Aperture

October 3, 2015October 3, 2015lillian8 Comments

Boundaries between this world and the next
blur as I stand in mist
feet upon the earth, arms raised
billowness seeping from the sky.

I tip my face into the hovering cloud
spirit worlds surround me
and you are here,
my cheeks moist from your caress.

Slowly, sadness comes with warmth
as sun clears the air, blues the sky
eyes tear to realize
I am grounded, and you
are truly gone.

In response to Daily Post Challenge: Boundaries. Photos from dome car ride near Anchorage, Alaska.

Helen Cecile

October 2, 2015October 1, 2015lillian5 Comments

My mother lived with Amy Lowell.
Wrong preposition.
In, she lived in
a Boston housing complex
with a plaque.
Did you know her?
Amy, not Helen.
Tomboy turned poet-ess.
Way before Maya.
Not Emily.
Less famous.
Except there’s a plaque
where Helen Cecile lived.

Photos: Amy Lowell Apartment Complex in Boston, the plaque and Amy Lowell (1874 – 1925). Born in Brookline, MA won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry posthumously in 1926. First published poem appeared in the Atlantic Monthly in 1910. First published collection of her poetry, A Dome of ManyColured Glass appeared in 1912. Maya refers to poet Maya Angelou; Emily to Emily Dickinson. Last photo is Helen Cecile, my mother, in her last year of life. She was born in Waukegan, Illinois and moved with us to Boston in 1997 – lived in the Amy Lowell Apartments and died in 1999.

Memories in Black and White

October 1, 2015October 1, 2015lillian8 Comments

Phyllis Groat, Billy Behr and Timmy Drew
Francis somebody with Jimmy Fisher
and Mary Buckley too.

Black robed nuns that seemed to glide
feet and hair a mystery
rulers that reached a mile.

Lunch time stools swung in and out
from tables that disappeared
into Mary blue block walls.

Holy card for first place prize.
Priests mumbled Latin mass
and girls watched holy backs.

Third grade fell out of mother’s drawer,
a stained photo stuck between dried up pens
and a Tupperware orange peeler.

Three days after we buried her
in a Catholics only plot,
she made me remember
what I deliberately forgot.

Photos: 3rd grade class photo mentioned was tossed….but these were also in the drawer. Me in my 3d grade Immaculate Conception School navy blue uniform and my first communion picture. I actually won a third grade competition to see who could learn the altar boy responses in Latin first (our third grade boys were lagging in this important task — it was thought this would spur them on). Silly me – I thought if I won I could be an altar boy. See that word? “Boy.” Nope. I did win a gold embossed holy card of St. Francis of Assisi and the boys all went on to assist with Mass. Memories…..

Color Their Love: cherished series, opus 10

September 29, 2015lillian5 Comments

Their love never showed itself
in word or touch.
It simply travelled
through a colored atlas
of their own making.

Sunday rides in a battered Buick,
state highways traced in orange.
Twenty-fifth anniversary in Hawaii,
circled in pink
like their matching floral shirts.

Retired early, she insisted,
they sold all their worldly goods.
Left a three bedroom colonial
for a small motor home,
and rambled through forty states.

College towns starred in blue
for the young at heart.
Green highlights for favorite parks
and the Grand Canyon’s purple X,
the greatest site of all.

Now, in a pastel assisted living center
map of colors upon her wall,
she gazes out the window
at red and yellow tulips,
his ashes beneath their blooms.

With quaking hand
she touches coffee cup to pane,
then slowly to her lips.
This, their morning kiss, a ritual
now the road is still.

One Sentence Ode to Provincetown

September 28, 2015lillian7 Comments

She listens to the waves
gently lapping on the shore
the gurgle before the swoosh;
feels the sun upon her face
watches it glisten on the sea
and feels content to sit and do
absolutely nothing.

Sunday Seaside

September 26, 2015September 22, 2015lillian5 Comments

Sight line ends
where water creases sky.
Rhythmic waves,
the breath of wind.
Gulls glide by in slow motion.
Clouds first pink,
turn violet grey.
Glisten paths upon the sea.
Surely I am in church today,
my knees upon the sand
seeking intercession
in genuflection,
closer my God to thee.

Photos from beach by our deck in Provincetown. Assignment from my September 21 Day Challenge was to write a poem using the strategy of litany (listing) and end with a longer sentence, with a stronger meaning.