Friday, February 14, 2014

Intoxication, That's What It Is!

—B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA

Open up
any unfolding chatter
that speaks of love
send off that card
full of homemade hearts
it does matter,
even if that poem
is in barely visible words,
it's the refreshed thought
that memory scatters,
or the fudge cake
so what is it falls apart
and crumbs splatter
on the floor,
think hints of spring
and fluttering blue birds
in a thrushes' song note
something effusing occurs,
when the envelope
is unsealed in a flower
or a tinted ring
or when a printed letter
gets to another door
there is still that faint voice
in a personal greeting
from St. Valentine, for sure.


—B.Z. Niditch

I met you after a hike
in the Seventies
by chance
through Andorra
on Valentine's Day
in the late Seventies
between Spain and France,
you sing heavy metal
psychedelic rock
playing bass and guitars
in a Metallica dance,
playing with precision
speed, power and zest
at all hours of the clock,
you needed no rest
or siesta
by any sea dock
like this navy guy
in this landlocked country,
with your high energy
and laughter
you prefer musicians
with machismo
like punk Led Zeppelin
or Poison masculinity,
like the guys you run after,
yet by a trellis and vine
with humanity's glow,
being quickly possessed
that love was mine
come what may or show,
to Flora,
a sexy Spanish girl
this boy throws a rose petal
and starts to blush
from a faint hand
and in a whirl
of a kiss
vanish out
of your hairy band
all heavy metal
on St. Valentine's day
was my crush.


—B.Z. Niditch

My hands touch
the flower shop door
in the breezy morning
off Martha's Vineyard
over a Christmas wreath
with torn-off leaves
of laurel Evergreen
under the wooden awning
in a yard awash with snow,
it's turned now to rain
and twice removed
on the earthy floor
and has to go,
taken away near an oak
tree trunk
by a guy who seems high
or coldly shaded
without a coat
and slightly drunk by beer,
does choose a bouquet
a card with hearts
with a rose-red petal,
and drives away
with broken mechanical parts
on a pear-colored car
with a boat above
bringing me back
with nostalgia
hearing Metallica's
loud heavy metal.


—B.Z. Niditch

We are at the flower shop
this early morning
the valley sun follows me,
cards with hearts commingle
for an hour under the table
with letter or distant cable
is it possible to enable
a Muse for
love's mystery,
as nature shows
by rocks up on the sea
a swan slides by
under branches of wistaria
near the snowy pine tree,
suddenly by the dock
a Canadian red robin's wing
wakes me up to sing,
making this wintry day
full of secrecy,
now in a cafe cafeteria
my hands hang by my sax
and am offered a free drink
of a large glass of latte
then a touch of Burgundy
to relax,
losing all reason or reality
this week of a winter season,
with a smudge of cool rain
on my overcoat
reminding me February 14th
has a Valentine of cordiality
which may remain remote.

—Photo by D.R. Wagner

—B.Z. Niditch

Let a thousand roses
be intoxicating
to my distant Valentine,
days of mine do lengthen
with so few wishing words
of love to strengthen
but now at this moment
let rows of wild rose petals
find you out in the sand
by an hourglass shadow
over the mountain or sea
to retell in a world's letters
wanton love stories
by my betters
that we not be exiled
or stop to compose;
in Virgil's Aeneid's Italy
Amor makes Dido
with Aenaes be enraptured,
recalling how magnificently
Troy is captured,
or like Dante falling
for his beloved Beatrice
at his legendary land,
let a thousand roses
drop from my hand
in this nosegay shop.


—B.Z. Niditch

Your memorable face
sometimes escapes me
yet on this grey rainy
February day when hands
receive a bouquet
and a heart-edged card
at your door
from an old love
called Ms. or Mr. Poem
who never ceased
to remember us
with wild flowers
at the ice pond,
we still picture you
in a school yearbook
or at the prom,
by a water cooler
or near a river
for an informal picnic,
playing tennis, golf,
at a first or last job
in life's startup,
or when we shivered together
muffled in our new coats
we purchased together
even when your laughter echoes
in the crunchy snow
on cross-country skis,
or on unploughed fields
hearing foreign tongues
wanting to be home,
or sensing you
by redwood trees
or near a cat whom we nursed
back to health,
today a poet's radiance
revives again in one act
of random kindness
not staged except by love
from many chanced horizons
now turned into our memory.


—D.R. Wagner, Locke

                       for Lisa

The bridge always seemed to glow
At that time of the evening.  The lights
From the businesses along the river
Were mixing their reflections in the river
And one could still see all the way
To the far side of the woods where what
Remained of the sun was putting its wonderful
Coat away until the morning.  We were hoping
For a few late-calling birds and we got them.

I was told this place was its own magic
But with you in it, it was Valentine’s Day.
The moon about to practice its etudes,
Coasting across the night sky without missing
A beat, scratching the tops of the trees just
To wonder us as we walked here together.

O do not let anything impure or violent
Into this place for at least a few hours.
For a time let it not perish but be filled
With the gifts of love and its nourishing flame.
Keep the chaste ornaments of our lips
Touching each other, a country of wonder.
Our arms able to hold each other.  Birdsong
Filling all the things we know, a house like
No other, keeping the light of childhood
Close as the blue and yellow flowers
Of the field are close.

And to think I might never
Have said any of this if it wasn’t for your
Body against mine and your quiet breathing
On my chest. 


Today's LittleNip(s):

—Katy Brown, Davis

Lilies are white
roses are red
You said you'd love me
until you were dead.

Looking for a hitman now.


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.

—Michael Cluff, Corona


—Medusa, wishing you a Happy Valentine's Day, whatever the state of your love life!