Monday, February 14, 2011

Love Hurts - A Valentine

A beat-up photograph of an assembly in 1955 in St. Mary's auditorium.
 It was on the top level, which – not then – but now overlooks a freeway.
I am there on the edge of a row.

Pretty maids row in a light cockleboat
Torn and battered as an old photograph
Tossed by a fury in up-and-downdraft,
Split by cockle shells, as silver bells gloat.
Hailstones pommel with layers we wrote.
Ice crystals, water drops dance then accrete.
Pine seed and savage in orchards who meet
Build walls of words meaning what to connote?
Mysteries we know we cannot deny.
To mirror we’re laced up in our tower
In hollow too hidden to tell a lie
Truth is an arrow piercing our bower
A danger to faith and to love’s long tie;
Contrary to love, emptiness, power.


  1. This one soars, or dives, right to the mark. And provides a much better answer to what the opposite of love could be. Cupid is the earlier incarnation of Eros, a boy tearing off the wings of flies and tormenting the townsfolk with his indiscriminate barbs. Eros grew up when he got his immortal wings burnt tending Psyche. Great, great poem.

  2. Lovely textures here. An intriguing melding of the nursery bower and power. This one is my favorite so far. Very nice, Ann.

  3. Truth is an arrow piercing our bower
    A danger to faith and to love’s long tie;

    Truth has a way of finding its way beaneath many surfaces... I loved the crumpled snapshot from another time.

  4. Amazing words and a photograph which takes me back to another time - a million years ago when I too was a convent girl (still am I suppose - they say one can tell a convent girl from a mile away!)at a boarding school in England.