Allow me to be perfectly clear on this: I don't do Valentine's Day.  Enough said.
Having said that, however, I will share with you two of my original poems that fit the theme of that made-up holiday.  If you do wish to read some wonderful love poetry, I refer you to two of my all-time favorites - "Jenny Kissed Me," by Leigh Hunt, and "Proud Word You Never Spoke," by Walter Savage Landor.  They hit the spot without all the hearts and flowers nonsense.  My verses follow.

Valentine

 

At dusk a dozen deer are in the field,

feeding where winter's ice and snow had laid

waste prior to the temporary thaw.

I count them, difficult because they blend

too well with barren ground and dark tree lines

from the rear window of the passing car

they seem to ignore (though, of course, they don't).

And then I'm gone; no longer their concern.

But that evening and months beyond I dwell

upon one line for each, that they might be

as fresh a bouquet, gathered in that field ,

time and again after your roses fade.

 

 

     The next piece took five years to complete, all because of my search for one word.  Which one, you ask?  The word "stay" in line eight. It offers two completely different meanings, both of which are appropriate for this poem.

 

  You, Again

 

"I know.  It's just habit,"

he says standing too close

to an old memory;

trying to warm himself

against a coal burner

some weeks ago removed

from ever offering

to stay the cold again.

I smile, thinking of you,

and wish I did not know

exactly what he means.

 

 

     Finally, I wrote this last poem during the period of Lent in 2012.  I include it here because Lent begins on  February 13th.

 

 

Lent

 

The man to my left once again abstains

from alcohol.  He does so every year,

and each year hears the same exclamations

of wonder at the change when he's sober.

Several stools to my right, a middle-aged

woman with gray hair is swearing off sex,

eliciting a loud but nervous laugh

from those around her.  This is how it goes -

the list of personal crosses to bear

includes the deprivation of cuisine

from chocolate to pizza, and vices

such as foul language, tobacco, gambling.

All of which pales in comparison

to the sacrifice my neighbor describes

later when, alone, she turns my corner,

just as she had when walking her small dog

each night these fifteen years.  The words come hard:

"I had to put Fritzi down yesterday."

 

 

 

Cheer up - Phil was shadowless this morning.  Happy Groundhog Day!