Tag Archives: still-life

Beautiful Mother’s Day Tulips…

08 Friday May 2026

Posted by in Reflections, Relationships, Poetry, Mother, Love, Flowers, beautiful, Mother-Child

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© Joan Currie – Pale pink tulips in my mother’s Delft vase.


Mother’s Tulips by Joan Currie

My mother loved flowers–
tulips most of all.

I never asked why.
It was in her Dutch blood,
her Calvinistic sense of simplicity–
upright, unadorned.

On Mother’s Day
there were always tulips:
pale pink,
set in her Delft vase,
its blue-and-white surfaces
catching the light,
holding it quietly
beneath the stems.

I tried, sometimes,
to improve upon them–
those lavish arrangements–
variegated tulips,
blue hydrangea, white roses,
small bright globes of yellow–
but she would only smile,
as if to say:
not this.

She wanted the tulips alone.

Now, after many years
and other flowers–
peonies, lilies, anemones,
even the careful making
of paper petals–

I pass a market stall
and stop.

I bring home tulips,
pale pink,
and set them in her vase.

In the quiet of the room
they open,
and she is there.


For my mother.

Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers!

Beautiful Interior of My Sweet Home…

12 Thursday Sep 2024

Posted by in Art, beautiful, Daily Life, Flowers, Home, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, watercolor

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© Joan Currie – My watercolor of a vase with lemons after Vanessa Bell


My Sweet Home by Joan Currie

Within these walls, my heart does rest,
A haven wrought with love’s own crest.
The strokes of brush on canvas bare,
Birds in flight and animals fair.
Vermont’s wild lands in oil unfold,
Sunset’s fire, winter’s cold.

Here roses bloom in vases old,
Ceramic treasure finely scrolled.
Their petals whisper of the past,
Of father’s gifts – how time does last.
And glass that gleams, my mother’s hand,
In paperweights from foreign lands.

On shelves, the books of poets dwell,
Their words, like spells, my soul compels.
Photographs with faces dear,
In every frame, I hold them near.
This is my world, a soft embrace,
Where every corner finds its place.

Some speak of spaces clean and bare,
Of lives unbound by things they wear.
Yet here, amidst this cherished cache,
I find my peace and hold it fast.
For in each token, vase, or frame,
Life’s rich fabric, for now remains.

So let the world of minimal claim,
Their rooms untouched by love’s sweet flame.
For in my charming abode, I see,
The beauty that belongs to me.

I have just started giving my special treasures to my daughters for their own homes. I love seeing how my belongings look surrounded by completely different color and decorating schemes, and, my daughters’ own art and objects of affection.