An Attempt at a Timely Rap

lillian14 Comments

Wrap it man, this ain’t no flash in the pan.
People startin’ to see he’s a chump,
that crookster, narcissistic Trump.

Rap it up man, Jack’s lined ‘em up.
Thirty-seven counts along with hide-and-seek.
No more Come on, I’ll give you a peek.

My boxes, my boxes, don’t touch my boxes.
Who wants to man,
when they’re in your john?

Except thousands of guests.
Some of ‘em spies, some of ‘em minions,
too many lummoxes, too near your boxes.

Everybody’s gotta pee, man.
So show ‘em right in. Let ’em sit or stand.
Maybe they’ll read while they use your throne.

Wrap it up man, you’re goin’ down.
Documents as toilet paper just won’t do,
even the Brits know, not in the loo.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Written for Lisa’s challenge to “choose a musical artist, song, or genre of music and write a poem inspired by it or them.” AND shared again for today’s OLN LIVE.

I thought this photo from Pixabay.com a good metaphor for Trump’s situation. If I’ve offended anyone, I apologize….and at the same time I ask you to read the indictment in its entirety. It’s a short read and is factual in its details. I do believe every person in this country should read the indictment and then make up their mind about this trial. Far too many demonstrators in Miami today, probably on both sides, have not even read the document and therefore are simply demonstrating from their partisan values rather than from an informed decision. Also, I urge everyone to recognize that the DOJ did not bring this indictment: a group of randomly selected Floridians on a Grand Jury brought the indictment after seeing and hearing evidence.

Awaiting the Dawn

lillian47 Comments

I sit in darkness,
blanket-wrapped against damp chill.
Squawking gulls pierce my quiet,
spar over fish carcass washed ashore.
Dawn will present herself shortly,
streak sky angry crimson-orange
or smudge it gently in soft puffs of pastel pink.
How will she start my day?


Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and ask writers to include the word “present” or a form of the word, in the body of their quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words sans title.

Photo taken at dawn in Cape Cod’s Provincetown some years ago. We treasure our annual two-week visit to Ptown. I often wrap up in a blanket on the deck, in that chilly dark time before the sun rises, hold a coffee cup in my hands to stay warm, and watch the day dawn over the ocean.

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.

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.

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.

Lady of the Dunes

lillian3 Comments

She lives her life as a barnacle would,
clinging tenaciously to existence.
A recluse without the vanities
and banalities of everyday life.
She escapes it all, lives in the far reaches
of Cape Cod’s shifting dunes.

It is said she journals each day.
Pecks words into being on an old Smith Corona,
sounding every bit like gulls pecking again
and again at stubborn crustacean shells.
She imagines a kind of Victorian love,
creating a lover of her design.

Humpback whales serenade her
from the depths of Stellwagen Banks.
Red fox slink past her,
pay their respects with nary a sound.
All maintain her privacy,
be she substance of spirit or legend of yore.

Should you walk the beaches,
search the National Seashore’s length
in sunlight or by the path of a glistening moon,
you shall never find her.
She is known as the Lady of the Dunes
to all who live on this spit of land.

She floats amidst the salted winds
companion to the ocean’s ebb and flow.
She is the past, the present and the future.
She is the one who comforts Portuguese fishermen.
Those brave men who disappeared many years ago
as ships went down and women wailed.

She is the forever inhabitant
of this land called Cape Cod.

Image from Pixabay.com I must admit poetic license here – the Lady of the Dunes legend is my creation

Written to share at OLN LIVE which will meet Saturday morning, April 22nd, from 10 to 11 AM EST.
Come to https://dversepoets.com to find the link which will take you to a live session of poets from around the globe as they share a poem of their choice. Come to read a poem of your own, or just to listen. We’re a friendly bunch!

An Alternate Reality

lillian18 Comments

Take my hand. Travel with me
through starry starry nights
to a new place not yet discovered.
Not yet befouled by humanity,
but still palpable in its existence.

Happiness, serenity, joy,
jubilation, celebration, exuberance
good works and caring,
and most importantly,
optimism shall color this world.

All peoples dwelling here
shall live within the light.
None shall be unseen, unheard,
besmirched, assigned to the shadows.
If I were to paint this place . . .

it would be spills of pastels
and primary hues
beginning at the bottom of the canvas
and rising until they meld
into a crescendo of love.

If you take my hand this day,
this hour
this moment
to embark upon this journey,
might others join our endeavor?

Can it only be achieved on a small scale,
two people within a cocoon?

Or can we gather together
creative spirits of master artists
from centuries past?
Might they join today’s artists
and somehow . . .

paint our dreams into a reality . . .
into a place of life
and joy and hope
for you and me . . .
and for the many.

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

I’m hosting OLN LIVE at dVerse on Thursday from 3 to 4 PM EST and again on Saturday from 10 to 11 AM EST.

It’s an opportunity to join us via video and audio, to read a poem of your choice and listen as others do the same. OR, just come to sit in if you prefer.

Go to https://dversepoets.com beginning at 3 PM Thursday, EST, and you’ll find a link for Thursday’s LIVE session and one for Saturday – just click on the link and you’ll be with us LIVE!

Image is of course, Starry Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh and is in public domain.

Hey you!!!

lillian8 Comments

Do not come round me
with doom and gloom,
tales of burnt toast, Trumpian despair,
woe-is-me whines about this country.
I desperately want instead,
to believe happiness lives.

Let us walk outside.
Look for children skipping rope,
sharing colored chalk,
drawing sidewalk art
that regales the urban streets.
Let us look for smiles.

You do know we can vote?
We can demonstrate.
We can share our thoughts
in poetry and blogs, letters
and chats with our neighbors.
We can choose to spread the good.

When you come to visit me,
bring into my home a jubilant spirit.
In return, I shall give you a welcome gift,
bundles of daffodils tied in crimson ribbons.
Can you see the joyfulness in that?
Together, we can concentrate on hope.


Written for dVerse the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa is hosting, offering up a new poetic form for us to consider called Line Messaging. “Line messaging is a poetry form created by Angel Favazza where the poet seeks to utilize the last line of each stanza to bring forth and represent an idea, a thought and notion . . . the last line of each stanza, when read separately from the poem, should deliver an independent messsage or be a poem all on its own.”

Thus the last lines of each stanza above create the following much shorter poem:
Hope Lives:

To believe happiness lives
let us look for smiles.
We can choose to spread the good.
Together, we can concentrate on hope.

Photo from Pixabay.com

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