Relationships

Stuff It Stuff It . . .

lillian25 Comments

Her suppressed feelings:
cacophony of colors
ready to explode.

Written for OLN (Open Link Night) at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, I’m hosting and folks can post any poem of their choosing…no required length, format, theme, etc. OR they can write a poem motivated by the painting above: “Mme Kupka among Verticals” painted by Frantisek Kupka (in public domain). It’s displayed at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.

NOTE: come join us Saturday, January 17th for our LIVE session (audio and video) from 10 to 11 AM EST. Go to https://dversepoets.com for the link to join us live.
Come read a poem of your choosing or come to just sit in and enjoy. We usually have folks from across the globe…all in English. We’re a very friendly bunch!

Grief

lillian3 Comments

He lost one wife to family genetics. Her parents and siblings suffered fatal heart attacks before the age of sixty. He woke one morning to find her cold body next to his. Thank God he passed away before his eldest son suffered the same fate.

He lost his second wife to religion. A devout, and some would say overly zealous Christian Scientist, he watched her cold symptoms worsen. After arguments that went nowhere, he stood by as she prayed her pneumonia away. He held her hand as she died.

If we are all actors upon a stage, Grief enters with or without directional cues. A sudden drop-in as if let fly from an overhead catwalk. A slow unraveling as clues and evidence appear, until the perpetrator is revealed and the curtain falls.

We – the family, the friends, the audience – ultimately leave the theater with only playbill in hand. But Grief hangs on to the one left alone. It may dissipate ever so slowly, but the void remains. And at times, sometimes unexpectedly, it grips the heart like a vise. Grief, a character in every script, is simply masked at times or hovering in the wings.

Nature airs her grief.
Loud thunder sounds her anger,
soft rain weeps her tears.


A haibun dedicated to my dearest uncle. His “story” is in the first two paragraphs. He has been gone many years now. I loved him dearly. Also dedicated to my dear friend, Mary Nilsen.

Haibun: a Japanese form consisting of prose (usually nonfiction) followed by a haiku that contains a nature reference.

Image by Vilius Kukanauskas from Pixabay

Meandering Through Life

lillian15 Comments

I roam this curving shaded path.
Hopscotch through my youth in rompers
skinny legs, scraped knees, curly hair.
Naively sweet and unaware.

In my myopic teenage years
I roam this curving shaded path.
Blinders on, friends all important.
Time flies, motion undetected.

Parenting years, our sweet children.
Together we laugh and love as
I roam this curving shaded path
encouraging strong roots and wings.

Now approaching eighty years young
with less trail ahead, we rest more.
Your love, holding the light high as
I roam this curving shaded path.

Written for Meet the Bar Thursday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Laura asks us to write a Quatern. That is a poem of 16 lines, divided into 4 quatrains (4 stanzas, each with 4 lines). Each line must have 8 syllables. There must be a repeated refrain that is the first line of stanza 1, the second line of stanza 2, the third line of stanza 3, and the 4th line of stanza 4.
Photo from a vacation some years back.

Moving On Without

lillian2 Comments

Out of reach.
Shiny brunette hair ~
     with squinted eyes, grey is silver.
Unstoppable energy ~
     spurts are good, naps are nice.
Confidence on stiletto heels ~
     comfort is better.
Faded memories ~
     photo albums roll back time.

Loved ones miles away,
some forever gone.
Living with empty spaces.
Closets of clothes, clocks ticking,
rocking chair, couch, kitchen table.
All are there but emptiness fills us.
The question becomes
what is within our reach
and how do we gird ourselves
to move on, step by step,
as we are left behind.


Dedicated to dear friend, Mary Nilsen.

Grateful . . .

lillian22 Comments

You are my sunrise
as are friends, family,
birthdays, holiday celebrations,
graduation festivities
hot fragrant coffee
smiles from passersby
crescendos in concertos
hugs and kisses
toddlers stomping in puddles
charitable donations
springtime flowers
random acts of kindness.
Sunshine, a constant,
even behind the clouds.

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m tending the pub and asking folks to include the word “sunrise” in their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

In all the chaos across our world, the sun still rises every day, even when it resides behind the darkest of clouds. For me, that is representative of hope – the idea that love and goodness are always present – even in the stormiest of times. Sunrise photo taken in Provincetown, MA – at the very tip of Cape Cod.

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

Parenting

lillian12 Comments

Chrysalis like. Our arms, our home.
Enveloping, nurturing,
encouraging evolving independence.

Teaching skills. Helping. Watching.
Too soon the dividing line appeared,
between the now and what was coming.

Responsibilities increased. Yours not ours.
Your departures, more frequent,
measured at first in hours, not miles.

Your wings. Expected, prepared for.
We marveled and smiled. Waved at you . . .
and then you were gone.

Distance multiplied. Time stretched separations.
Hairline fractures of the heart,
smiling our love through goodbyes.

Parenting children to adulthood.
Learning to live through changing times,
adjusting to the moving margins.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Dora asks us to write about a poem that somehow talks about margins. She gives many examples of margins. As a septuagenarian with two happily married children and five grandchildren, I thought about living through moving margins as a parent and thus, this poem.

Still I Love

lillian31 Comments

Crepe paper streamers,
I used to string them
for birthday celebrations.
Now I have crepey skin.

Shiney brunette hair
blow-dried just so.
Now grey, held back with barrettes,
away from eyes with sagging lids.

I used to chase little ones
in games of duck-duck-goose,
hike glaciers
and dance till dawn.

Morphed by scores of years,
still I smile.
Time slows my pace,
cherished memories accrue.

I occasionally put on hiking boots,
they just don’t trek as far.
And I do dance,
but not nearly as late.

Most importantly, still I love.
More deeply,
more completely
with every passing day.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Dora asks us to write a “despite and still” poem. Photo taken two weeks ago on the heliport of Celebrity’s Constellation during our 24 night back-to-back cruises, including a TransAtlantic from Barcelona to Tampa, Florida. Thankful for every day.

Landscape Resolved

lillian39 Comments

Recessed window’s wide ledge
holds spirits for drinker’s escape.
Time out desperately needed
from hatred, tyranny,
spewed vindictiveness,
misogyny, racism, and lies.
Broad brushstrokes have not,
cannot hide, underlying malevolence.

Clean canvass craved,
painted in meaningful hues.
Foundation layer of iridescent justice.
Calm cerulean waters
governed by tides of crimsoned love.
Emerald-kindness speckled shores of honesty.
Sun-flowered happiness rollicking
beneath cobalt cloudless skies.

Is there a bard to create this script?
A Dali, Miro, or Kahlo
to produce this surrealism?
Who among us
will ensure it becomes reality?
Human dignity bathed in light,
tinted with opalescent caring,
glowing in a patina of hope.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting Open Link Night where folks are invited to post any one poem of their choice, no form, rhyme scheme etc. required OR use Van Gogh’s painting, Studio Window, to motivate their creative juices.

AND you are invited to join us LIVE (with audio and video), on Saturday, March 16th from 10 to 11 AM New York time. Simply click here, and then click on the link you’ll find for dVerse LIVE. You’re invited to read a poem of your choosing, or simply come sit in and listen. Drop in for a few minutes or come and stay the hour. Although we’re an international group, all readings and conversations are in English. We’ve had folks from Sweden, the UK, Trinidad Tobago, Finland, Pakistan, the US, Kenya, Australia, and India. I do hope you’ll join us – the more the merrier!