MAP #171-1 Theme: Be My Valentine
1.
Man's Best Friend by Kelly Evans
St.
Valentine heard the whisper of the little lad's wish,
"Let
Katie be mine forever and seal it with a kiss."
In
wait, he bid his spirit beyond the woodsy shadows,
and
saved the best for last of his cupid arrows.
Dressed
in knickers blue, a suit of Sunday best,
Sir
Nick and his little pup approached the missy of his quest.
A
cherry-shaped chocolate heart filled his tiny hand,
coupling
the other in hers in clandestine they ran.
As
down the hill they went, yellow daisies curtsy-swayed
to
part a path for two young hearts on love's promenade.
With
Cupid's arrow released, little Katie's heart was charmed
and
her dainty shoulders befriended her beau's embracing arm.
Afraid
the moment would pass, ever so tender and meek
Nick
pressed his gentle lips against Katie's cheek.
In
wonderment, a sky of stars appeared though it was only noon
and
February's chill soon became the heat of mid-summer's June.
Amid
this precious moment, though amore filled the air,
the
heart of another grieved this silhouetted pair.
"Where
does this leave me?", Nick's little puppy sighed
as
he stood in pools of salt, close by his master's side.
"What
about puppy-dog tails, snails, and being man's best friend,
does
'sugar-n-spice and everything nice' bring us to an end?
I
bet she can't bury bones, chase her tail, or even fetch a stick,
so,
won't you be my Valentine, my friend - Master Nick?"
I.
[On Realizing] I Did Not Send You A
VALENTINE!
(i
did not "remember you" on Valentine's Day!) by TomM Hall
BUT
I think of you...EVER!
many times! many
days!
"No
Problem!"perhaps you say,
or
perhaps:
"You
DOG! I am injured! You DON'T loveMe!"
?
II.
BEFORE
ever
VALENTINE’S DAY was even a Glint
in
the Heart of ST. HALLMARK
(a
trillion? years back on the Track of Time,
the
true Spirit of Love:
is
as ever will BE!
(true
love Forgives
/true
Love remembers/............
©
1993/2001 TomM Hall.
From
The L*ve Book:Theme and Variations the Book of Days - 20 February
1993
3.
This Valentine’s Day… by Mary Eastham
Remember
an old love with fondness not regret.
Pray
for World Peace.
Send
yourself flowers
give
all but one
to
people who matter.
Kiss
a child's tears away.
Smooth
over love's jagged edges
in
a relationship
you've
been meaning to mend.
Slow
down.
Thank
someone for being kind to you.
Wake
up smiling.
Hold
that smile close to your lips all day.
Bury
a prejudice.
Kiss
someone you love
a
long, slow kiss,
deep
and promising
like
it's the first time.
©
Mary Eastham
4.
After a Picnic in the Park by Hilbert Turner, Jr.
The
rain started falling
you
sighed
we
stopped walking
to
hear the sound
of
fresh water
kissing
an
ancient tree's
young
leaves
you
clung to me tighter
as
if cold
i
had the basket in one hand
umbrella
in the other
in
a fleeting swell of jealousy
you
took and
flung
them gently aside
leaving
me free
to
embrace you fully
you
kissed me
or
i
kissed you
(no
difference
the
euphoria is the same)
while
both objects
sat
on the ground
open
catching
the rain
had
someone seen us
wet-headed
and giggly
and
taken a photograph
we
might expect
to
see it
smiling
back at us
from
a catalog cover
or
in the dictionary
next
to the word
romance.
©
Hilbert Turner, Jr.
5.
Do You Love Me? By Diane Fleming
Do
you love me? Do you still love me?
Gall
durn it pal, I hear they’re offering
French
toast this week
at
the Nudes-a-Popping Waffle House.
So
this I gotta know
Do
you still love me?
Stick
with me baby, I’ll have you
farting
in silk. We’ll lay pipe
while
the trout get ready
to
run to the sea.
And,
pal, there’ll be arc-ing ropes of jism,
like
Niagara Falls during a meteor shower
on
leapfrog day in the stormy month of June.
I’ll
take the falls in a barrel
and
you’ll eat 'mater samiches
and
a mess of greens.
I’ll
have you shitting in tall cotton, baby.
You
won’t look like seven miles of bad road no more,
not
like you did when you were burying the pork sword
with
that girl who’d been hit by an ugly stick;
her
ass looked like
two
hogs wrassling
in
a tater sack.
So
dad-gum-it, sweet dumpling,
pass
the sweet tea and sit back with me.
We’ll
talk about whatever we feel like
because
dang-nab-it, you’re hotter than the
first
day of August in Austin, Texas.
©
Diane Fleming
6.
Just Before Bandera by Jeff Knight
And
if you were sleepwalking on those nights,
quiet
as the cloud-shaped paint on the walls
of
your bedroom back home (here the drifting
clouds
of a western horizon cartwheel
from
a picture frame), I would have heard you,
still,
though your steps were light as cigarette
smoke,
soft as reflected light on water.
And
if you were sleepwalking on those nights,
dream-unreasoning-drawn
to a window
frame,
to feel the glass press back cold against
your
face, the sweet remembered nerve jangle
of
holding a favorite pipe, I would
have
found you there, taken your unwaking
hand,
would have led you dreaming back to bed.
©
Jeff Knight
7.
Small Death by Ryfkah
in
memory of Pablo Neruda
He
makes love to my name
in
blues and gold light
Like
a python
I
swallow him whole
He
pens tongues
of
fire and blood
breathes
his amor
I
am jealous of Mathilde
his
last love
wonder
if he'll tread
gently
with my name
as
he did his prior wife
of
eighteen years
synonymous
to life
His
ship passes into poetry
its
beacon bright
an
ever flaming torch
The
mast pierces my name
takes
me fully
into
passion's small death
8.
Heart To Heart - The Valentine’s Waltz by Mary Beth Essary
As
I slipped into the crowded room I caught his gaze, the deep blue
eyes, the jet
black
hair curved round his straight jaw line, suddenly our eyes locked.
I
demurely lowered my glance, as closing a window shade against the
blazing
noonday
sun, wondering if he was doing the same.
I
carefully raised my eyes only too find he was still standing with one
boot on the
fireplace,
confirming my suspicion that he was good Texas stock.
The
trembling of my hands, the quivering of my heart, the sweeping curve
of my
gown
floating down the stairs, slowly crossing the room, as a moth drawn
to
the
forbidden flame,
His
eyes swept over my body and his dark felt hat tipped my way, in a
sultry fashion,
beaming
approval, without a womanizer's mock.
His
tight jeans and dark boots were headed my way, causing heads to turn,
my
balance
to sway, fully knowing this rugged handsome man had laid claim to
me,
as his dame.
His
arms encircled the satin and lace at my waist, tugging me into a
gentle embrace,
that
would last the night, dancing and dreaming without one peek at the
clock.
We
moved in perfect union without missing a step. Few words were spoken
as our
hearts
kept perfect time, swirling and swaying to the urgent strains of the
Valentine's
waltz, the cowboy and the lady had learned the song's name.
©
Mary Beth Essary
9.
Untitled by Ricardo Garza
Palm
trees flap in this february sky as i wander erraticly like
the
whirlwinds of the hurricane
breathing stripping my body in
the Gulf of Mexico
salt/sun/oil
this is the Rio that flows from
the Colorados
chapped/dry/cracked as I yearn in our border
I a
ruby eyed pale skinned bridge
stretching beyond the musky sweat
of the huisaches
tecate urined air that dances with the accordion
shattered night
the Rio Grande economy thirsty in its barren steam
plains
question the nomadic winds of my rational mind
drift
lazily in clear winged oceans of my pacific
Arizona heat
if
hell is a valley in winter sweating
i want to die in the last
sweat breath of your fire...
©
Ricardo Garza
10.
Timing by Deena Hardin
Communion,
but not.
You’re
playing the piano,
a
hymn that I love,
good
Anglican sedate kind of hymn,
communion
hymn.
Then
you’re jazzing it up,
making
it blues, and I have to smile,
the
piano rocks and rolls, black and blue.
Listen
up, buddy, this is a love letter to you:
sometimes
you do these things
that
make me want to smack you
and
wrestle you to the floor in passion
all
at once. It’s late and I should just
slink
off to bed,
leave
you to your wild improvisations-
but
I can’t.
I
can’t miss a minute of them
or
your turntable retrospective
of
our first years, all the old albums
dragged
out and put on too late at night,
too
early in the morning-too late, too early,
the
way we are.
11.
I Would Seduce You by John B. Lee
I
would seduce you
with
the sound of first fruit
dropped
in an otherwise empty pail
with
the blush
of
berries on the bottom
of
the box
with
the balsa flutter
of
a model wing in flight
with
the rainbow blink
of
bubbles
so
close they sting the eye
with
colour
in
one wet expiring sphere
of
startled light
I
would seduce you
with
the petal pull
of
April
breathing
from a perfume branch
with
a chestnut loss
of
blossom
and
the burn of snow
I
would seduce you
with
a tickle rain
that
does not touch the earth
beneath
the hush of trees
I
would seduce you
with
a fog
that
almost hides the horses
on
the Conklin road
I
would seduce you
with
the foat of orchids
kissing
their reflection
on
my garden pond
where
New England slate
is
marbled grey and marvelously red
and
the foxglove bow
like
slips removed
and
I would seduce you
with
a common love
of
water jewels
a
brilliant silver kiss
so
delicate and strange
it
seems extraordinary
theft
of breath
and
the flexing of a wind enwombed
and
fluttering to be born
as
butterflies are born
to
slow imaginings
of
naked sky.
©
John B. Lee
from
The Half-Way Tree: poems selected and new (Black Moss press, fall
2001).
No
Promises in Paris by Stazja
Saying
goodbye, haloed by
Parisian
gaslight, I clung to you
Who
kissed away my tears
And
promised nothing.
In
unrepentant memory
drizzle
still mingles with misery.
Paris
is not easily forgotten.
Nor
are you, my love.
When
I told you in Paris
my
love would last forever,
did
you think that death
would
make me a liar?
©
2001 Stazja