There is much of the Valentine celebration that is temporal in nature;  cut flowers quickly wither and are tossed, candy is eaten and the pretty box is thrown away or recycled and even the card will be displayed for only a week or two.  The dinner will be eaten, the bill paid and then forgotten.  What is left for all the effort?  The memories are one thing, the emotional ties are another.  The fact of the commitment each item represents is the other aspect of the celebration.
    For the emotion we consider to be permanent, we surround it with much that doesn't last.  Then again, in our day and age, even the commitment of love is transcient, from the vows of 'til death us to part to the harsh reality of the divorce statistic, love doesn't seem to want to stay around much anymore.  Love however is permanent, we desire to love and be loved.  It is not a fad that passes, but a commitment that stays.  So find someone you love and share that love with them.

    This is a full issue, poetry from old favourites to new contributors.  We also have a CD review and a quick email interview.  Enjoy.


Poetry

This issue commences with three poems from a new to this ezine poet.  I invite you to visit her website and read more of her fantastic work.  She says of herself: "I have been published in e-zines and literary journals. My work has appeared in “Romantic Short Love Stories” “Remark” “The Noyse” and others. I am currently compiling a collection of poems on love and erotica, which I hope to have published in the near future."  I hope to read them in the near future too.

Sacrifice

To the edge
Of  life,
I will
Travel.
If
It is
Your love,
I
Will
Be
Meeting.



The Kiss Of Death

I will always love you, ever so much
But this will be your last touch
Need no more, for you to be lying
Need no more, for me to be crying
Pain, no more, will I feel
Soothe it not, there's no need to heal
When I have recited in my mind all the pages of your lies
And you've never taken the time out to listen to any of my cries
But when I feel upon me, your lips, so soft and tender
My soul so helplessly, to the spirits I'll surrender
My heart is standing on the edges of despair
Because your love for me, never was completely there
I will rid myself of this never ending sorrow
When I walk the path I'm choosing to follow
It will leave my suffering moments to see not another day
It will let me know that heaven is on its way
So I'll take never, another precious breath
After one kiss, from the kiss of death


Creation

My emotions
are written
within the
journal
of my heart.
Due
to my
inner tears
descending
into
words.
I find
When I look into your eyes
I find truth lost by ancient loves
I find
Tenderness that breaks my heart of stone
When I kiss your lips
I find
Strength that carries the weight of my love
When I hold your hand
I find
My dreams in you
When I touch your skin
I find
A home   Security   and faithfulness
When I’m in your arms
I find
My destiny     My happiness     My life
Only with you
I find

Edwinna Bryant

http://members1.blackplanet.com/poetry14

Scattered Remnants

You never said forever
yet you seep in so slowly, 
pores not having time to close
before the sweat of you is gone.
I savor the glisten that
you leave upon me,
moonlight casting sparkles
across still drenched skin.
I open up to you like a
blooming rose and you
pick each petal apart
so languidly, until I am
nothing but  the scattered
remnants of having worn you.

Paula Gordon
pdg2850@henderson.net

To you my little bear a quick good night.

May your dreams be filled with sweet thoughts of all the greatness you so deserve.
And if by chance this night’s fantasies should include a Molly lying next to you.
I think that I shall just quietly and gently hold onto your paw too.
I’ll whisper a prayer really soft and low-
So as not to wake you but surely God will hear,
“Please take good care of My Little Bear and always keep her Guardian Angel so very near.
And with that in my heart, I leave you to the stars
And the yellow moon that pales above your bed.
And as you sleep, you may just feel my paw
Once in a while caressing your lovely self gently as we lie in our bed.
I love you.
Good night.

A Constant Companion

One less brushing of your lips to mine,
As passes lethargically another hour.
And whimpering cracks crevasse
What used to be sheltered in my heart.
It gets lonely passing moments without your laughter--
Without your little caresses
As my constant companion.
Anymore,
I don’t ever imagine
I would wish to be
Devoid of your opinions
Nor
The trusting bond we have assembled together.
I do believe in two souls belonging to each other
When there is no logic to be philosophised about such a phenomenon.
Reason then be the reasoning,
I believe in an “us”.

THE DANCE

Enticed was I
To cross the threshold into
This once forbidden territory of
Freshly painted ruby-red fingernails
Which were tenderly intermingled
Alongside swaying hips.
Each couple’s dipping cleavage
Strained into “much too tightly” attired
Low-cut gowns of crimson cherry and
Begged to be liberated with each sensual beat of their hearts.
Under lighting soft,
She took my hand seductively
And smiled as though she had me
All to herself
In every sense plausible.
Spellbound by the mere thought of it all,
Her curiously flushed cheeks
Matched my very own--
And I had to close my eyes,
Not out of embarrassment,
But because of the harmonies she had unearthed;
Now quenching my soul,
That I secretly wished would never end.
I told her it had been a long time since I had danced with a woman,
And she just smiled
Gazing more intently into my thoughts--
Pulling me ever closer to her warm breath.
I matched wits, bumps and grinds with her as my
“Devil may care” attitude surrendered any and all
Previous thoughts I had toyed with in not joining her in the dance.
And damn,
If she hadn’t already recognised that needed desire in me long before
I had chosen to ignore it.

Aaron LaFlora

I plan to feature some more works of Aaron on the podcast.  Go to paulg57.podomatic.com and click on the link for February podcasts.

Valentine’s Day

Sunday morning at Mill Race Café
Bonnie reports on her evening.
We regulars lift our coffee cups,
open our ears for her latest story.

Seems she walked in the door, feet ablaze
from a day rushing around the café,
blinked in surprise at the dozen red roses
stuck in a jar beside a card syrupy
as the See’s chocolates in a heart-shaped box
on the coffee table.

Her man offered to drive
forty miles each way for dinner.
Bonnie sighed a drooping no.

So he concocted a gourmet feast
of steak just the way she likes it
and plump prawns simmered
in wine, tarragon, garlic.

While we gasp in wonder,
praise her catch,
picture the romantic scene,
Bonnie growls, Trouble is,
he’s still a man! He left the mess.

Valentine

Godiva chocolates and cards
gooey from sentiment dripping
are several years in the past.
Now you give me Valentines every day.

Love shines out of your eyes
each time I help you
button your shirt
guide arm into jacket sleeve
trim a horny toenail
rise from your armchair
reach a high shelf
open an aspirin bottle.

Sadness is in that eye-shine too
for the lover you used to be
who still cherishes me
in the old ways
and new.

Patricia Wellingham-Jones has been widely published in print and online journals and anthologies. She is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee.
Her website is www.wellinghamjones.com .

In His Hotel Room

in his hotel room
he made a shrine
on top of a bureau

 
memorabilia of his life
 

a Bible
his expired passport
a baseball card
protected by a plastic sleeve

 
a Miles Davis CD

 and a photo
from the Wizard of OZ
with Judy Garland

MrLucky82951@aol.com

MrLucky is his name, and it's a very nice poem.

This next contributor Lillian Brummet is a free-lance writer and author, along with her husband David.  Here's what she wrote: "My husband and I are free-lance writers/authors (British Columbia, Canada). Dave is also a photographer, while I am a poet and book reviewer as well - my reviews can be seen through a link on the 'About Us' page on our website. Our book, Trash Talk, was released July 21, 2004 and my book, Towards Understanding, will be released January 23, 2006 - but is now available for pre-order. We are presently working on our third book now.

We were recently informed that we won  an environmental award through the Recycling Council of British Columbia's Environmental Awards 2005 for the category: Journalist and Media Educator - "In recognition of outstanding use of various media in ongoing outreach work to reduce waste in our environment."". Their website is http://www.sunshinecable.com/~drumit/

They are coming out with a new book Towards Understanding which she describes as a: "book of 120 poems is written in chronological order. It is a story of survival, of breaking the chains of inner demons, finding value and purpose in life and growing towards understanding - but not quite reaching it. The poems also embrace the environment and question society. Towards Understanding will reach today's female audience because it is a true chronological story of a young woman growing through childhood trauma, being independent at age 13, moving through healing, finding self-worth and questioning society".


WOMEN'S JEALOUSY
 
The girl in white lace and shiny gray stockings,
Attacks every man with her nightmarish taunting.
Her beauty is rare, her movements are sure.
Her casual flirting leaves minds in a blur.
Women both hate her and dote on her too.
They wish they could be that woman anew.
But they're only themselves - though jealous they be;
Thinking from women like that, no man would flee.
But she's covered in make-up and shading and light.
And she'll take many photos until she gets it just right.
These women wish with all of their foolish might,
That they forget who their man's with tonight.
As they wrack themselves over this orchestrated myth,
They enlarge the distance from the one they're with.

the above poem is taken from the book Towards Understanding.

Other work

TERMS OF LIFETIME LOVE

I just want you to understand,
How I feel, for it's what I am.
I just want you to be around,
To be my one and only man.
I just want your trust and love,
For I just can't seem to get enough.
I just want you to lift me high,
And see through my bluff.
I just want you to understand,
To wrap us up in a silver band.
I just want you to be around;

© Published in 1999 in The Last Good-byes - National Library of Poetry
Editor's Choice Award for Outstanding Achievement in Poetry.

FEBRUARY'S SILENT EMBRACE

The waves softly touching desert-like sands...
The sea gulls making known their demands...
The wind whispering through budded leaves...
The water rises as the snow grieves...
Familiar birds fly back home,
To ready their nests for the unborn.
Colors change from gray to green...
As the rain washes earth's face clean.
The stars shine brighter than before...
As the do the eyes of those who adore,
The glorious feelings from this wonderful place;
Brought by the tides of February's silent embrace.

© Published in 1999 in The Great Beyond  - National Library of Poetry Editor's Choice Award for Outstanding Achievement in Poetry
Published 2002, by Country Connection Magazine as 'Spring¹s Silent Embrace¹
Published 2005, by Communicator Newsletter

A Tree On The Beach

Her eyes gazing far over the sea
Her lips touched by the ray of sun
She stands alone like a tree on the beach
For whom she waits no one knows

Romance

her soft lips part
to devour a fried chicken leg
while a man is very serious
about convincing her
she is beautiful

her long nose
is stuck in a tall wine glass
while a man is very serious
about convincing her
her nose is elegant

I do love you
he proclaims
she has belched

Suchoon Mo

suchoon@aol.com

Suchoon also provided another poem and an original composition, which will be featured in an issue of the podcast.

BLIND DATE

The two of you have tripped
over each other’s steps,
an interminable dance floor,
small-talk about beehives and
TV reception, the cost of
tickets to a show.

In her eyes, a world spins
Amazon jungles, the steppes
of Mongolia, the streets
of this town, where you can
walk for free, the two of you
silent under the moon.

QUERIDA

He wrote you in your language
where thinking rhymes with dreaming,
and those with nearly half
the things a man can do.
Lurching as he does through words
and grammar as if they were
a minefield, and not the current
of the heart and mind,
he's amazed to be
smiled on by your family.
They take his fumblings
like an open hand. Here
is no knife wrapped in flowers.
Here is the poor raw tongue
wishing to come clean.

SECRET

Why do they speak of love
as dark and bottomless,
and tangled as roots?

Or, in a nostalgic mood,
as the song the wind sings
as it passes, always gone?

The secret lies at our feet:
our two shadows cast by sun
and bound to earth, moving

beyond summer not fast
nor slowly; moving together
as the shape of our lives.

Taylor Graham

The Pictures of Russian Winter

1.  Russian Troika on the Roads of Night

Night.
A snow field.
The moon pours silver light.
It is good to sweep in sledge now!
Horses will rush
Into whirlwinds of snowflakes,
Somewhere a wolf will howl,
Somewhere, the owl will cry.
Stars are reflected in a snow.
They and trees in white fur coats
Listen to the crunch of snow
Under the sledge,
Crying of guitar
And song about unhappy love.
Three beautiful horses
with sleighbells ringing
Will carry someone
On the roads of night. 


2.  Two snowflakes

Nobody.
Only the snow flies and flies.
It lies on woods and fields like white lace.
The Earth is sleeping.
Trees are like an ice fairy tale.
They are silent and fine.
Above them is stillness, quietness, rest of stars.
In a pink window is the splash of wine
And clinking of goblets,
And two snowflakes rush somewhere together.

3. Snow garden

The snow covers the earth
Already many, many days.
Magic snow garden is
Blossoming in Russia.
It is created from blizzards and birches,
It is pure and silent
late Evening.
Dome of stars.
Somewhere the violin sings

       Dina Televitskaya, © 1-14-04

    Next month's issue will be on the theme of Fluffy Bunnies.  By this, I don't mean necessarily poems about fluffy bunnies, although if you feel so inclined go ahead, let your poem start with the line fluffy bunnies in the field.....  What I want is whimsical poetry, material that giggles and laughs and is not based upon the serious issues of the day, or the depressing muses of people.   You know what I mean, the fact that artistes are filled with feelings of angst and spread their gloom through the written word.  Let us have fun.

    I want to encourage you as well to consider doing a reading for my podcast.  I have had one will soul already and after a few efforts at using Audacity it sounded not bad for a first attempt.  To submit your spoken words the simpliest method is to dial 206-202-0454 and start talking.  The message will be saved as an mp3 file and I can use it in the next issue, if you feel so inclined.  My podcast is located at paulg57.podomatic.com and you can listen to the present and past issues of my podcast.  The format is simple, an introduction, some music and then me reading some work from the monthly issue. 

    I'm always looking for new writers to showcase and so if you know writers who are seeking places to submit their works, let them know about abovegroundtesting.  The contact information is paul@abovegroundtesting.com, and please put the word 'submission' in the subject box. 

Until next month


www.abovegroundtesting.com