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VALENTINE WEATHERS

January is like navigating

ice floes – then eventually heading east

for aromatic landfalls, or west

following the setting sun, or south

for the long haul like some latter day Cook,

journeying without guides into foreign parts.

 

The first port of call is in February.

Love fills the sails, the swell lifts the bow.

We met one July, married one August.

In May our daughter will be fifty one.

The bow lifts in the swell, the canvas fills with love.

 

Fearing the doldrums, I write each poem

as if it were to be the last – whistling up

favourable words speaking of love,

voyaging without charts.

 

 

 

© Copyright David Selzer
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2 Responses
  • Keith Johnson
    February 22, 2018

    Fearing the doldrums, I write each poem
    as if it were to be the last …

    Only you can see it through
    Time its tide is keeping
    On the path that bears us two.

  • Mary A Clark
    March 4, 2018

    On the rise of warm spring days
    the precious tides shift
    in leagues of time
    before we go back to the flow
    of home in the universe.

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