MAP 54
This week's theme: Love poems that make me smile (because last week's theme didn't)


Upcoming themes:
#55: The Holocaust
#56: Return of the lost sonnets
#57: There's no place like home for the holidays
Send submissions in the body of e-letter. No attachments, please.

Thanks to all who have generously made your poetry available for the newsletter. Y'all made it really tough this week; so many smiles, so little space.

1. Lynne McJunkins, of Austin had me smiling at "an explosion of chocolate")

Kissing You

Kissing you is like
An explosion of chocolate
And tangerine sweetness.

Touching you is like
Feeling satin so pure
It slips through my fingers.

Holding you is like
Wrapping myself in flannel
By a blazing fireplace.

Making love to you is like
Swimming in liquid exctasy
And slipping into the deep end.

Falling in love with you is like
Loosing myself in white dreamscapes
A fantasy that lasts for all time.

© 1998 A. Lynne McJunkins

2. And from Jimmy Smith in So. Cal.

Love electric

I first found you
in my cyber spaced
over the pacific
by a sandy shore
near the antarctic
wasteland
your words were delicious
they had almond eyes
and dark skin,
I ran my fingers over your metaphors
and swooned to see your
adjectives swell
like ripe strawberries
in my hands
I composed a limerick about
each of your breasts
and imagined how sweet your aussie voice
would sound
"not too grotty, eh mate?"
if we ever speak I know
I will embarrass myself
fawning over your
simile
gently kissing the noun
you walk on
i have nothing but
descriptive adjectives for you
and although we will
never verb
you will always pronoun me
in the first person
ah, sweet conjunction
lost in a paraphrase.
love's languor
liquid in my
data base

3. Renewed contact with this old friend made me smile even before reading his poem. As well, I like his "proverbial jiffy". From Nyenga, lately of Tacoma, Washington.

Stop Thinking
Look, neither life nor love come with a help manual
and I doubt that dying is like waiting
in an airport lounge.

That our souls might be mates may remain
the one unturned stone in the universe
if I never again am intoxicated
by the nectar of your kiss
or allowed to bask in the bliss of butterflies
when your lips locate the base of my spine.

The flicker of a fleeting thought in your eye,
is of higher intellect than my brightest reasoning,
the silence of your smile, more eloquent
than my most articulate invocations of love;
Listen, I swear on the first time I saw you
that the proverbial jiffy with you
is infinitely more fulfilling
than eternities in any others company...
and the flutter in my breast agrees.

So come with me
let's carve our initials
in a heart on the bark of a firm tree
while the earth still wears green
and Winter remains in hibernation.

Ah...stop thinking
and just cover my lips with yours...
is it not our emotions that lend life to our intellects?
© 1998 Nyenga

4. Joseph Powell, of Burbank, sent a sweet little piece.

bliss

you are my bliss
let me follow you
the honey of your kiss
let me swallow you;
the caress of your fingertips
let me feel you;
your heart, your soul,
let me steal you.
as your eyes gaze into mine,
let me see the love
that will not let me go.

from your lips,
let loose words that will engulf me
in waves of passion unstoppable;
let our bodies unite as we complete
the circle of that
which was meant to be
since the dawn of time
as we enter eternity,
spinning into infinity;
losing ourselves and yet,
finding ourselves,
changing and growing,
becoming a glorious one.
like a phoenix rising,
spinning and spinning
in a beautiful rapture;
in unmatchable ecstasy,
in sweet copulation,
like Eros and Psyche,
as we dance to the music of the spheres.

(c) Joseph Powell

5. This one by Chris Vannoy, in St. Pete, might make my friend Marla smile, too.

Like Coltrane

she is like
Coltrane
blue jazz
thumping in my chest
each time I see
the sway of hips
and that wink
that tells me she's all mine

late at night she whispers
low, slow words that sound to me like
ice melting in mid summers heat
and like a down beat
she plays me
like a down beat

then there's no holding back
as soft riffs laughter spill around me
and she's cradled in my arms
like a tenor sax
that my fingers are just aching to play

© 1998 Chris Vannoy

6. And introducing Ian Reed, one of the Brit Bradford writers coming to AIPF '99.

Ian explains: (Note: Totty is a semi-derogatory, colloquial, term used to denote young attractive females. Probably doesn't translate very well but what the heck.)

Her new guy's Ferrari
=====================
She was posh totty you know
Not the type to be seen with me down the pub
You could tell she'd never seen the inside of a working man's club.
Everyone knew that this was going to go
Nowhere, fast.

She was posh totty you know
Not the type to be seen with the likes of me on a night out
With all my mates when we'd sing and dance and shout.
Even I knew this was going to go
Nowhere, fast.

Just like her new guy's Ferrari

7. And as my grandfather said, there’s always room for one more. From Janet Buck

The Leaning Branch

Law & order
in the rodeo
eternal love
involves the
blackout of reason.
Lights come from places
we often fear.
The coat rack of flounder
fills up fast.
Lust is a matador
with bright red skirts
that steals the eyes
and blows in ears.
Old” descends
and starts to smell--
slabs of meatloaf
in the fridge.
Bed rails of
a wedding ring
must stand for
necks forgiving swans;
branches lean in
needy winds.
Braille tender,
arms around
a fleeting angel.
Lily pads that chase a frog
and stay afloat
to spite the freeze.

by Janet I. Buck