Thursday, February 14, 2013

Love is a Lamb

Tuesday and mom, Freckles
—Photo by Taylor Graham

—Taylor Graham, Placerville

Just the two of them, square dancers
without a square, clinging at the cliff-edge
so far above the breakers—waves
that seek the undercutting caves are just
a lazy pattern-rhythm of a wordless
call that sings with wind under filaments
of light as—breathless, skip-a-heart-
beat—they swing their partner as a part
of the figure: circling the square,
squaring the circle—a perfect pair
for this pivot-at-the-cliff-edge chance,
this moment of the dance.


—Tom Goff, Carmichael

Love and convalescence find
themselves competing for the mind;
pacemakers and wheelchair races
now rule the REM state. Fairest faces,
to say nothing of embraces,
wait their turn while patient’s weak.
But soon, self-urging speech must speak.
New blood must flow, life circulate,
eclipsing all need to cogitate
why potion or pain sat throned and orbed.
The pitying party self-absorbed
(leave took from the heart’s peculiar banquet)
relearns to dine on a not so bland diet.
His thoughts reshape towards this end,
to love those who upon him tend.
As whales do burst to breathe and breach,
he seeks relief. Will it be sweet reach
of hand to tender hand and touch?
Return of love for love is much;
he hopes to repay that largest share
lavished by that same wife whose care
Barbados with softly caressing air.
Of couples, wives are the truest royals;
husbands the humbler household loyals.


—B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA

We heard a rumor
in the city
new cards
for love
change hands
more rapidly
now than ever,
with so many
bittersweet dreams,
memorable occasions
uncovered by name
in this unshaven
cosmetic time,
here's my sentiment
and heart talk,
for you,
you remember us
as we acknowledge you
in cards, poems, roses
and assorted chocolates,
calling out to our mates,
spouses, partners, 
for heaven's sake
whatever your gift is
please arrive safely
at our back doors
on time.


—B.Z. Niditch

Half listening
to your amanuensis
of another script
inside your card
of unguarded moments
I know Valentine's Day
dares us to believe
that love chills us
to dare the future
will be less solitary,
as we poets forget
the cynic inside
and every comical
outside feeling
of abandonment
and isolating desire,
you hold your card
in Cambridge's logs
to the uneasy fire.

—Photo by Taylor Graham

—Michael Cluff, Corona

Those days of gloom
left the room
when Allie reappeared
and warmth ever neared
the lack of something dearly missed
the brighter edges of life seldom kissed
until she blurted
"you never flirted
with me, no way
that is, not until today."
Now joys exist
weeds no long desist
the harrowing pain of isolation—
she now gives constant exaltation.


—Michael Cluff

Valentine's is a special day
when love comes out to play
petty dealings and the daily fray
disappear under its heady sway.
Please therefore, do not delay;
get your love a dainty nosegay.
If you do not, start to pray
that your amore does not go away
into another garden's aromatic sway
and possibly, just possibly be led into clay,
encrusting the heart against you who then will stray.


—Olga Blu Browne, Sacramento
If ever I loved you, I'll
cry tomorrow.

And the cradle is empty
and the rains have come.

(first pub. in DADs Desk)


—Olga Blue Browne

Poetry, etched in pen, exposes
secrets and sins.

And shadows of rejection take me to
places you or I have never been.

Unknowing of love or joy, where dreams
weep, and the soul is left thirsty.


—Patricia Pashby, Sacramento

Youthful hearts
. . . ache
. . . palpitate
. . . break
. . . rejuvenate

Aging hearts
. . . ache
. . . palpitate
. . . break
. . . defibrillate


Our thanks to today's poets and photogs! Taylor Graham's three new lambs named for days of the week continue to thrive (love is a lamb); Tom Goff celebrates his wife Nora Staklis's help in recovering from a wee bit of surgery; and BZ Niditch sends us a Valentine's greeting from the storm-ravaged East Coast (no damage to his house), as do our other four eloquent poets today. It's not too late to send us love poems, though—love is never out of style, and Love is our Seed of the Week, for which there are no deadlines. Is love a lamb for you, or a roaring lion?

Area poets will be saddened to hear, however, of the passing of Mary Zeppa's mother. Our thoughts are with you, Mary.


Today's LittleNip:

—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove

“Just remember, kid,” said the dentist.
“It’s just as easy to marry a rich woman
As it is a poor one.  And considering
Your teeth, I’d recommend rich.”

—Medusa, sending a happy, loving Valentine's Day to all of you from this most tempestuous of Gorgons!

 —Photo by Taylor Graham