Mountaintop Tale

lillian26 Comments

Out of lemon flowers loosed on the moonlight,
delectable scents float ‘cross starless sky.
In wild flowered mountain meadow they lie,
hearts entangled, breathing as one.
Alpine aster, lupine, and Jacob’s ladder
their floral bed this night.
Their dreamscape, their anniversary quilt,
embraces their love, embodied again.

When dawn rises, their spirits must dissipate.
Soft sobs and dew drop tears float upon the wind
as each becomes, once again,
solitary luminous clusters.
T’will be one year hence, before they meet again.
Anniversary of that storm laden night, decades ago,
when they stood upon this very summit,
thunder roaring disapproval of their match.

Looking out across the abyss,
alit by lightning’s garish flash,
they defied their families’ opposition.
Hands clasped,
deepest kiss still fresh upon their lips,
they leapt into the arms of eternity.
Premature extinguishment of life, the gods ruled
punishable every night but one, in every coming year.

Out of lemon flowers loosed on the moonlight,
delectable scents float ‘cross the starless sky.
One night in every year, for centuries on end,
they may live and love again.
Lie together, in wild flowered mountain meadow
amidst alpine aster, lupine, and Jacob’s ladder,
hearts entangled,
breathing as one.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa is hosting OLN and will host dVerse LIVE on Saturday from 10 to 11 AM, New York time. We are free to write a poem of our own choosing OR use the quotation “Out of lemon flowers loosed on the moonlight . . .” from Pablo Neruda’s poem A Lemon. The quotation is actually longer, I’ve only used this portion of it for my poem.

If you’d like to join us for the LIVE session on Saturday (video and audio), May 24th , just click on this link at 10 AM New York Time…..and you’ll find a link to join us! We’d love to have you read a poem of your own….or feel free to just sit in. We’re a very friendly bunch!

Image by mcmrbt from Pixabay

I Can’t Believe It

lillian18 Comments

I have no skills for flight or wings. To skim the waves effortlessly, like the wind itself, I’d much rather do that.

I grew up next door to Amelia and her sister, Pidge. We climbed so many trees together. I’ll never forget the day Amelia said she was sure I could fly. So convincing was she, that I lept from an apple tree with arms outstretched. I held a grudge against her for a long time after that debacle.

All these years later, here I am, happily married, still in Atchison. I follow Amelia’s adventures and marvel at her courage. She’s world famous while I’m best known for my prize-winning apple pies. In summers, I always enjoy canoeing on Lake Warnock. Sometimes I stop to stare up at the sky and think about her. Imagine my shock today, when I heard the awful news.


Written for Monday Prosery at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets across the globe.

EXPLANATION. I’ve inserted myself into history in my flash fiction, pretending to be a neighbor of Amelia Earhart in her early childhood days.

HISTORY: Amelia Earhart (1897 – 1939) and her sister, Muriel (nicknamed Pidge; 1899 – 1998) were born and raised in Atchison, Kansas. There is indeed a Lake Warnock in the town. In 1928, Amelia Earhart became the first female passenger to cross the Atlantic by airplane. In 1932, she became the first woman to make a nonstop solo transatlantic flight and was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. On July 24, 1937, she disappeared over the Pacific Ocean while attempting to become the first female pilot to circumnavigate the world. She was declared dead on January 5, 1939.

WHAT IS PROSERY? For this form, we take a line of poetry and place it into a prose piece. The prose can be fiction or non-fiction, but it must be a piece of prose, not poetry. It can be no longer than 144 words, sans title. We are not permitted to insert words into the given line, but we may punctuate it. We must acknowledge the line, the work, and the poet.

THE LINE WE MUST INCLUDE: “I have no skills for flight or wings to skim, the waves effortlessly, like the wind itself” The line is from The Magnificent Frigatebird by Ada Limon.

IMAGES of Amelia and her sister, Pidge; Amelia as a pilot; and Amelia as a young girl.

Are You Out There, Uncle Bob?

lillian7 Comments

Never planned to join the circus,
although there is a hereditary tendency.
My Uncle Bob ran away to the circus,
several times. But he always came back.

Never planned to join the circus,
but what a circus we’re living in now!
Twenty-four-seven news cycle,
clown leading buffoons under the big top.

Never planned to join the circus,
but it’s tempting to become an escape artist.
I’d lose myself in romance novels and Netflix,
or any kind of my own-made cocoon.

Uncle Bob, if you’re anywhere out there,
somewhere in the cosmos,
help us find our way back home again.
Just like you always did.

Kim is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She asks us to write a poem “that starts with a surprising hook, which can be one to three lines, but must develop into a fully-fledged poem.”

A bit of explanation: in a few years, I’ll become an octogenarian. I actually did have an Uncle Bob, who every time his wife became pregnant, ran away to the circus. Absolutely true – he had four children so he ran away four times! But he always came back- well before they were born. He was a wonderful uncle and as my childhood memories recall, had a lot of fun with his kids.

PS: here in the U.S., this is no time for any of us to be escape artists. It’s time to speak out, stand up, and resist!

Join me here to rest, to smile . . .

lillian32 Comments

Might I take a seat here, please,
inside this idyllic photograph?
Feel tall grasses brush against bare shins,
wiggle toes in flower petals and stems.
Gaze at pristeen white barn
settled in among the green,
all quietly still that day.

I would lie back, eyes softly closed.
Breathe in deeply, fresh cool air,
untainted by cruelty, division, or derision.
Eyes open, I would swim deeply
amongst wispy billowing clouds
dancing in sky blue patches above my head.
Then . . . stretching my arms wide,
I would move them up and down at my sides
until a gentle flower/grass angel’s wings appear,
unlike winter’s icey-cold snowy counterparts.

Rising up, I would take two giant steps away,
look down and smile.
There is my impression.
Where grasses and blooms lie flat,
there resides spring’s angel imprinted on the field.

In reality, I hold the photo in my hand.
Its freshness, its simple beauty,
reminds me of that which once was me
many many years of springs ago.
Naively unaware, just living in the moment,
in those myriads of moments,
unaware of bends in the road ahead.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting OLN (Open Link Night). Writers are welcome to share one poem of their choosing, no required length, format, or topic. ALTERNATIVELY, they may use the OPTIONAL prompt which I provide: write a poem inspired by the photograph above.

Lessons from the Bard

lillian9 Comments

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
There is a man among us
who struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
leading others who listen blindly.
His words, a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing that is truth.

What is past is prologue.
Poets shouldst therefore heed the Bard,
his timeless words meaningful yet today.
There have been many great men
that have flattered the people who ne’er loved them.
But how is one to label this man as great?
Perhaps in the way of Satan’s greatness
controlling some, luring others.
After all, the devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
Oh what men will dare to do!
Let no such man be trusted.

What of those who follow, whose integrity be lost?
Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
There’s small choice in rotten apples.

In these chaotic times,
what is our fate, my friends?
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny
but in ourselves.
For each of us can add to the light,
hold our candle high in windows across the land.
One will become many, and many become a multitude.
In light’s refraction, his rabid followers stagger.
They shall greet fear in their mirror.
Positions no longer secure
as multitudes greet them shouting “SHAME”.
Truthtellers stand in solidarity,
voices raised, we cannot be ignored.
THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!

The Bard penned:
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; 
And thereby hangs a tale.
Loud enough, persistent enough, we must be the solution.
Hands that right the scales of Justice.
We must take control of the tale.
Destiny be in our hands.


Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Merril hosts and asks us to consider fate. She suggests we could, for example, consider Frost’s or Shakespeare’s words on fate. I’ve chosen to refer to the Bard himself, within my poem. All of the bolded lines are quotations from Shakespeare. Let the Bard speak to you in these chaotic times!

All images except the scales of Justice are from recent demonstrations I’ve participated in. The scales of Justice image is from Pixabay.com

We stand . . . .

lillian3 Comments

. . . on the precipice, fulcrum loaded,
solar eclipse of political moves.
Millions watch across the globe
piece by piece, light diminishes.
Cold suffocating hot air engulfs a nation
as vitriol spews. Lies repeated hold strong

Sleep marred by days of nightmares.
Innocents assaulted, banished.
Aid rescinded, innocents die.
What power are my words
when thousands follow blindly
refusing to call the man what he is.

User and abuser of people.
Expunger of honest history
repeating tenets of horrific history.
One-armed salutes
multiply behind closed doors.
We live now in a darkly evil tunnel.

Humans hammer on its cold metal walls
scream warnings sadly unheeded.
Spineless creatures grovel in the muck
lick the boot, kiss the ring,
subservient to an orange tyrant
who redefines the words “bully pulpit”.

Poem created and published
* the day after Harvard refused to capitulate to Trump’s demands for federal oversight on admissions, curriculum, faculty hires, and general University policies

* on the day Trump retaliated by freezing $2 billion of federal funds from Harvard including critical research grants to Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston Children’s Hospital, Brigham-Women’s Hospital, Dana-Farber Cancer Insstitute and Beth Israel Deaconess Mecial Center (all affiliated with Harvard Medical School).

*one day after Trump defied the Supreme Court’s order announcing in a press conference while meeting with the President of El Salvadore, that he would not ask for the release of Kilmar Abrego Garcia from an El Salvadore prison, even though his administration admitted his abduction and imprisonment there was an “administrative error”.

*and at least one month after Trump cancelled 5800 USAID contracts including some related to polio, HIV, tuberculosis, and malaria clinics in African countries. “People will die,” said Dr. Catherine Kyobutungi, executive director of the African Population and Health Research Center, “but we will never know [how many] because even the programs to count the dead are cut.”

Image made on Bing Create.

Zoo Keepers See Danger Ahead

lillian23 Comments

A flamboyance followed
the out-of-control antics
of the most orange one.
They dumbly stood on one leg
seemingly unable
to stand on their own two feet.

Conspiracies exploded in numbers
as zookeepers looked on aghast.
These animals were becoming
a colony, a clan,
a bloat on the community,
a herd of blind cows.

Behaviorists know otters may romp,
crocadiles bask, and zebras dazzle.
But humans who gaggle,
needlessly creating a pandemonium,
deliberately crashing the order of things
that’s dangerous to every zoo in the world.

All zoo keepers must issue a warning:
Beware the squeal of a muskrat
in cahoots with a flamboyance.
Remember the movie “The Birds” –
they gather precariously on a high wire,
the murder creating the cacophony.
We cannot let them succeed.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is April Fool’s Day and in keeping with the date, Melissa asks us to write a poem that is partially a lie and partially the truth. She suggests a 60% to 40% ratio.

Not sure about my percentages….but suffice it to say, my poem is not about a zoo. There is much truth here however. Note the use of actual names for groups of animals.
Flamboyance: a group of flamingos (who are orange and often stand on one foot)
Conspiracy: a group of lemurs
Colony: a group of ants
Clan: a group of hyenas
Bloat: a group of hippos
Herd of cows
Romp: a group of otters
Bask: a group of crocodiles
Dazzle: a group of zebras
Gaggle of geese
Pandemonium: a group of parrots
and finally, a Murder is a group of crows.

Image by Kev from Pixabay

Crimson Lady

lillian19 Comments

Bedecked in faux diamonds, rubies and pearls,
feathered cloche hat, and white feather boa,
she appraised the milling crowd.

Her mark still absent,
she remained outwardly calm.
Inwardly, she seethed with anticipation.

Others tried to approach
but her steely cold stare
turned them away without a word.

She was clearly on the hunt.
The barrister would arrive
and only then would she beguile.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting OLN (Open Link Night) and inviting folks to post any one poem of their choosing (no required length, format, or content) OR alternatively, to write an ekphrastic poem related to the image above: Art Deco Vintage Woman Free Stock Photo in public domain.

AND I am also hosting a LIVE dVERSE SESSION with AUDIO AND VIDEO on SATURDAY, MARCH 22nd, from 10 to 11 AM EST! You can find the link to join us HERE. All are welcome! Folks come to read a poem aloud, or to simply sit in and watch and listen. We’re a very friendly bunch and the more the merrier. Come join us!

The Burrowing Owl

lillian15 Comments

Sunrise absent
darkest damp instead.
Steady drizzle chills
steel-toe grey clouds above.

Burrowing owl stands alone
hoot-silent, alert.
Sharp eyes search
near barren treeless ground.

Hungry, ready to sprint should mole appear.
Return to earth-dug warren,
mimic rattler’s tail
should coyote rush to kill.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Quadrille Monday and De is tending the pub. She asks us to include the word “hoot” in the body our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

Photo of this burrowing owl was taken last week at the Living Coast Discovery Center in Chula Vista, CA. The burrowing owl is a small, primarily terrestrial owl. Generally about 9 inches tall, they have a short tail and long legs. They eat large insects and small rodents. They nest in burrows, often repurposing a burrow or tunnel abandoned by other animals. They are known to mimic the sounds of a rattlesnake to ward off predators such as coyotes and badgers.