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I hope Valentine's Day was a good one for you. Were you able to share it with the person who is nearest and dearest to your heart? If not, then I hope you were able to spend the time in a positive manner- perhaps writing a few words for a poem or a short story.

 Now we come to a new month, with new hopes and dreams. This month we will see the return to spring. Has the winter been a bad one for you. We did have a heavy dump of snow at the beginning of January, but since then, it has slowly disappeared. I'm not at all pleased with this, being that I enjoy cross-country skiing. Nonetheless, I did get a fews days in. I had hoped for more. Now, its time to consider spring cleaning.
    Since writing these words, snow has returned to area.  A whole lot of snow.  While some may grumble and complain, I'm thinking to myself- a few more weekends of cross-country skiing!  Still have to do the spring cleaning though, although the yard work must wait.
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 I'm going to do more then a book review this month. I was reading the material by John Hewitt called "Poetry Writing Tips", if you haven't, it gives some good tips for the writing of poetry. He has a number of pages on the web dealing with poetry. One in particular is called 'Son of Poetry Tips'. One of his suggestions is to: "Subscribe to poetry journals. Give back to the poetry community by reading (and paying for) the work of others." To that end, I want to introduce the work of "Pink Flamingo Works". The owner is poet and free-lance graphic designer, Steven Duncan. He is one of the founding members of the "Ducktape Platypus Poets Coalition", out of Vancouver. He has published a number of books. These books have included his own works, the latest being; "Poems my Parents Left Me", and the works of others. If you are interested, e-mail him at: srduncan@portal.ca. He has a mail order catalogue. His latest poetry book deals with the death of his parents and his feelings. It is open, honest and poignant; worth reading.

The book for this month is a collection of short stories by Timothy Findley, called: "Dust to Dust". The stories do not deal with house cleaning but rather mortality. All the stories have to do with death. The stories are surprising and sometimes shocking. The opening story grabs your attention and keeps you reading. The stories examine all types of mortality, from accidental death to murder. Chilling and worth a read. Look for it.
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In Closing Flight

As sand is to ocean                             
washing on its shores
Love is to this heart                           an idle threat
Rushing, pulsing waves reveal Gibralter
                        across vast waters                              
the might of rock is set
                  to ease a solo gull from flight                                       ....no more
There within this wreck of ship                         
in torrent foam and brine of night
No treasures hide themselves in crested shoals
Sands are picked pristine....
                        unmoved, clean and to the bone                          alighted gull concedes                                  restitution
                                                calming heart in song

Ode to a Master
 a fine hot wire
 connects a future
 to this throbbing heart
 I dare not speak
 of unrequited dreams 
fearing connection's spark
 would wrench me
 from my body

 yet you
 you touch me
 with your timeless art
 and stir these
 cloistered phantoms
 to the light
 sobbing
 at your perfect beauty

Silently
Come to me, silently, softly through the haze
Like a thief in the night, like a fragrance on the breeze
Stealing my heart, caressing my soul, loosening the ties
He whispers sweet nothings, softly smiles 'I love you'
soothing like the gentle wind, a gossamer melody
His eyes penetrate the core, knows me for who I am
into my very soul, as I gaze back into him
With eyes that were once blind.
He touches my skin, gentle fingers trace across my body
electric currents ripple through my flesh with every touch.
He steals my heart, my soul, my very being.
No longer am I in control. am I alive?
I  call his name, with a voice once mute.
The predawn light filters in
As the warmth engulfs me,light clears the mists
I turn to call him,
but he is gone
My muse, my heart, the heat in my soul
Come to me, silently, softly through the haze
Like a thief in the night, 
like a fragrance on the breeze and steal my
heart away

Fugue's Dance
Ariel dances lightly
Upon tile flooring
Around wine glasses
Slipping in tipsy
Into the bath
Sweet oat scents
Drift out waters
Wine and dark chocolate ---
 Aromas caress the air
Matok ahoov ahavah
Waltzes in fugues
Etched out shadows
Those dubious places
Where dreams live
Another small mystery
Khamkanee heeshtamtoo
Of wishes spheres
As Ariel exclaims ----
"Ahoovee! Motek shelee!"
Almost believing it
What she can see
Something all together----
Mee-geder-ha-rageel!
Oh, such fairytales
They do surely exist
Etched out shadows
Those dubious places
Of evasive evasions
Where beauty survives
Nodding his head
Whispering within smiles
Smiles and playful winks
As Ariel lights
 -----A dozen wax roses
To color this night!
Nothing’s too sweet
Not for such love
"Ahovee! Motek shelee!"

Unsleep
Two o’clock.
Her mind,full of the day.
Again.Sleep
just out of reach.
Beyond those thoughts,....there.(sigh)
She could almost feel it,
almost taste it...no...slipping away again.
Funny, you get so close.
Damn brain.
Go to sleep.
It’s late.
Much to do tomorrow.
Think of love...comforting, comfortable
warm, fuzzy
mmm ....sounds sensuous...
She adores making love
in the morning
hell...she adores making love
at night,
or at noon, or(smiling)any time.
How he feels,there, deep inside...
that hard slow pace
then the faster...oh man,
how about when he
just stops?
How that makes her ...Gotta stop this
and get some sleep.
Then again...
she could just
roll over...she knows
just what
to do...

My Kingdom

Coffee Table Memories

I get a little teary-eyed, a little misty-eyed
can't help it.
I don't want to lose the present
in the past
I just want to be thankful
that I'm able to share
these memories with myself
again.
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