Three Poems by Belle Valentine

sc july 18


The wet sight of hanging dew hearkens
back to a softer lighting, suspended on the same string,
silhouetting one slender form through the
cracks of faded curtains
What song had been playing then?
I handle the aged drape and
wring it with furrowed brow delicately,
conscious of its dotage
To reap those words would
spare me the burden of avowal; if such a woman
had choired my affections already,
had connotated our shared experience,
my kind of disquietude may subside
Hours slip in and out of grasp.
When these lost words finally manifest,
I unfurl my tightened fist, wrap the scene
in ribbon, and send it on its way, heard and
hopefully to be reminisced upon

Stranger’s directions

Hallucinate the revolting lake of summertime
wavering hot on the tar surface of the road
Crunch one hundred locust corpses
underfoot, only one way to go:
through the field where the
crops once failed but now cut
your calves like shivs
By nightfall, the coyote’s call
will whip you to your senses,
enough to feel the moon
looming on your scalp
And when you arrive, you will find
nothing but bronzed bottles and
broken windows betraying your boyhood memory

At first hearing

“The wind’s favorite sweetness is honey”
The merchant beamed from his post
in Sky City, red halo setting on the mesa behind us
I bought no wares, but his tales and countless others
were toted onto buses where I relayed them clumsily
“Can I say a prayer first?” my seatmate
asked, as if anything I would say
was from an unholy few;
it was not within any realm of his
to put faith in the devil’s passivity
But I fashion a small jar
for every route through the dust,
and I never let my third knot undone

Three Poems by Belle Valentine



Margins adorned with your image
It’s an enthusiastic exercise performed
This hour; how might satiny hair
Settle softly today?
Habitual glances may struggle
To accurately establish candid expression,
But that cocked smile is my prepossessing muse
Even in your absence my grasp flexes with
The phantom of a pen
As I receive your likeness
Sincerely in the regards of all whom I meet
This pining will treat me with solace
Until you unselfishly sit for me again

Sweet strawberry

Watered down liquor cupped generously in two hands
Glisters with the lowering grave of sunset
I devour it desolately just as nightfall
Shatters my skull, hammer and nail
Splintering cracks into shivery eggshell
Through the shutter of darkness I am witness
To the shining of his eyes
At the sight of my gorgeous red blood
A feverish rush to unscrew the cork
Rewards him with ecstasy:
Syrupy wine spilling gluttonously
Out from all sides of his flask
The excess collects in a rancid pool
Gushing, receiving low on hands and knees,
He imbibes this waste as well


Feline effigy emanates gold
Silver, bronze; I count these coins
Conferred to me, rolled down the bastion
He has belonged nobly atop this mountain
For years: Always Leo, in his prime.
It was with lofty reverie I feel I conceived him
Four strong legs carried aloft on airfoil
His deliverance granted me ground
To stand with shaky fawn props
Now fleshed, firm, flourishing amongst the base

“To what do I owe you?” I plead now
Gawking skyward with awestruck eyes
His maw only mutters tenderly,
And with this he unwinds his wings
Lifting off from an empty throne:
A beacon that beckons,
A call that is answered by
The beginning of a climb

Three Poems by Belle Valentine


What My Season’s Greetings Hold in Promise

In my core seats honey
Drank from a glass handed to me
On that sprayed stool, sitting pretty
If I had grabbed for more,
Would it have settled in so nicely?
Swivel room stopped short,
I gave my low gaze gently to the branches
And realized for you,
That flushed recollection was fanciful
“I’m happy to just have you here.
Why not enjoy the moment?”
In what way then would I work my words,
If not for in sealed envelope?
“Don’t worry so much…
Just relax and lay here for a bit.”
Our bodies ironed warmly to the bed
Left my heart safe to wander towards the winter
A Christmas card, I thought wishfully


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