dVerse

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

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.

Colorful World

lillian36 Comments

Picasso’s blue period.
Shades of cobalt,
streaks of cerulean,
periwinkle pops.
Hues of humanity
brushed on canvas.
New Orleans blues
strut the streets.
Brassy sounds.
Bourbon crowds.
Indigo girl hopscotches
hair flying, double-dutches.
Skip-to-my-lou
my darling denim clad child.
Love you always,
true blue.


Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m hosting today and asking folks to include the word “indigo” in their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image made on Bing Create.

Let’s Talk Today

lillian16 Comments

ME: Want to know the fourcast? As in f-o-u-r?

YOU: The forecast? Don’t you mean as in f-o-r-e?

ME: No, the four year fourcast.

YOU: How can meterologists do that?

ME: Well, they can do it now. They watch the gulf-stream pattern, from the Gulf of America and the blow-hard-wind data from Mount McKinley. They even have access to X-rated data.

YOU: So what’s their prediction?

ME: A four year blizzard! Be prepared!

YOU: How?

ME: Just head to a fabric store.

YOU: Do those exist anymore?

ME: Go to the one on Blue Avenue and head to the left side of the store. They have a good supply of outerwear patterns. Get plenty of heavy fabric. Take it to a seamstress and tell her to make of it a parka. For your soul then, wear it outside every day and resist the storm!


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Prosery Monday and Lisa is our pubtender. She provides us with the lines
“Make of it a parka
For your soul.”
from Before you know you owned it by Alice Walker. We are to include these exact words, in this exact order, in a 144 word piece of prose/flash fiction. We are however, allowed to add punctuation or change the punctuation. Image made on Bing Create.

Here We Are

lillian14 Comments

Carousel? Too genteel.
Merry go-round? Definitely not.

Music profoundly distorted.
Charged, dissonant, cacophonous.
Maniac spraypainted stallion,
nostrils flared, madly races.
Those in front? He pushes on.
Crazed, dazed followers?
Cold steel pole spines
pierce once-feeling hearts.
They gallop blindly in his tracks.
Up. Down. Up. Down. Round and round.
Reality beyond ignored,
blurred by gullibility and greed.
Hands reach out to slow the pace.
Severed bloody limbs litter ground.

Where is the carousel beloved by all,
once built by craftsmen’s hands?
What happened to the rules?
Timed tickets. All can ride.
Adults protect the way for young.
Old-timer carnival buskers grow hoarse.
Clown make-up drips real tears.
And here we are.

Written for Open Link Night (OLN) at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Bjorn in Stockholm, Sweden is hosting, inviting folks to post one poem of their choosing. He also provides an optional prompt. Photo from Pixabay.com

Aphrodite’s Offspring Still at Work

lillian14 Comments

Eros lives among us.
Sweet crushes blush teenage acnied cheeks,
struck by arrows dipped in cotton candy.

Arrow tips plunged in passion fruit
aim at fertile hearts.
Friendships turn to lust.

Ancient arrows, patina dulled
potency still strong,
add zing to elders’ love affairs.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De is hosting Quadrille Monday and asks us to use the word “zing” in a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

Image created on Bing Create. In Greek mythology Eros is the offspring of Aphrodite, and is the god of love, passion, and fertility.