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DEDICATION:  From Mary Margaret Carlisle to Leo F. Waltz:  Happy Nineteenth Anniversary on Valentine's Day!  @-------<---

CONTENTS

• LETTERS
• Judges & Sponsors
• PICK A TOPIC - WINTER
• THROES OF LOVE
• WINTER GARDEN
• IT'S JUST TWO, TOO, TO, MY DEAR
• BEST POEM OF FEBRUARY

OTHER ENTRIES COMMENTED UPON BY OUR JUDGES OR EDITORS
============

False Spring

Pristine
In the evening
On the morrow though
Criss-crossing the landscape
Small tracks in the snow
Snow angels making
Snow angels baking
In the withering glow
Of the eye of
El Sol

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA

The Banquet

In my dream a wedding banquet's almost set--
the bride and her maidens, attired in white
with scarlet accents, enter as I, a woman
of a certain age, fuss over flowers, purple and gold.
"My table," says the bride, "represents the seasons.
You're arranging autumn"--pointing to a cake
with dancing scarecrows"--and down at that end--
where the crow stalks and hoarsely cries--
that's winter--where you'll be going next."

SuzAnne C. Cole, Houston, TX, USA

Draught

His eyes mirroring defeat sweep across
Stunted corn stalks shivering in long rows
Skeleton fingers of bare trees
Scratch the crimson sunset
Stark reality of foreclosure drains his will
Silence is broken by the lonely
Cry of a crow

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA

Maiden Moon

Lit
Window
Shaded bed
Silver spackle
Face in a dark sky
Her halo is forming
Round the corners of our sleep
Frozen pitch I nestle under
Straining for a sign of life from an
Alabastrine Platter on black table

Lisa Andrea Gayle, Calgary, Alberta, Canada

The Crow

The crow on the power-line outside my bedroom window,
seems to know when I should not be sleeping,
for it is his relentless squawk that ceases sweet slumber; I peer through sleepy eyes, out the window, at the crow; he peers back, with beady black eyes of mirth, and looks away, indifferent;  Before taking flight, his mission complete, the cry of the crow will be-screech my ears again;  this time I just shake my head and wonder who he thinks he is, waking people up, that cocky crow.

Tanya Larson, Kamloops, BC, Canada

Paw prints

With all his three years old might,
he stomped his tiny boots,
embedded deeply, in the heart of the snow.
Then, he looked behind to admire and compliment,
what he referred to as, - paw prints.
"Oh no, they're foot prints," I tried to correct.
But who am I, to ague with the wild, innocent,
imaginative mind and spirit of a child.
Tracks in the snow, be it of man or beast.
confirms, that winter is for fun, not only hibernation.

Alma Philbert Linton, LaSalle, Quebec, Canada

To the School Bus

Bundled against the chill,
a boy trudges through snow,
leaves tracks which I follow
with my motherly eyes.
"I want to walk alone,"
he says, and I agree.
In that moment I feel,
joy and grief intertwined.
He's left me already;
I'm the one who's alone.

Terrie Relf, San Diego, CA, USA

Snow Moon

Clouds float in stupor demure,
A moon's careless dreams in white,
All except one in angelic vision,
Floating still on sky space rented.
Angels in heaven silent in watch,
A lonely cloud, pained in rain,
A teardrop in slide on rainbow wishes,
Parched minds and souls in wait,
Snow moon in shadows undressed,
As depths of truth ripple in mist.

Prakash Rangarajan, Coimbatore, Tamilnadu, India

Simplicity

Winters heart has risen far
Writhing within heats lost aroma
Smile, Snow Moon, as you withdraw,
Wish for me an episode of solstice.
Filter thoughts through my emotions,
Time them there to coincide with pleasure,
Leave me without worry, tears or hunger,
Tease my senses with spring imagined,
Kiss my soul with tempest fragile.
Smile upon me, Snow Moon, smile.

Barbara G. Scroggins, Williston, VT, USA

Sunday Winter Morning Silence

We sit in Sunday winter morning silence
In the month of the raccoon moon,
You and I at opposite ends of the couch
Cradling each our thoughts and first cup of coffee,
Our toes and minds entwined
Beneath one fuzzy blanket.
This peace, of which we've years-long dreamed,
Becomes our mantle in this warm, old house
New home to us amid this stately stand of snow-flocked pine,
Quite undisturbed by one raucous cry of a crow.

Gary Wade, Williston, VT, USA

We asked that poets tell of a less than happy Valentine's Day.  While each of these poems was written in a different perspective, some seem to be from that oddball place where only laughing poets seem to wander!
 

OTHER ENTRIES COMMENTED UPON BY OUR JUDGES OR EDITORS
=============

Pull my finger, Valentine ...

It was silent, but deadly, and
I knew if he asked I would marry him
For trying not to embarrass me as
He gagged and began turning green

SJ Baldock, Lancaster TX, USA

Sr. Citizen

When the old guy stopped bringing me a Valentine
His snub and change of heart suited me just fine
The only tears I've shed are the artificial kind

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA

A Rare Gift

My love's
Valentine gift--
a belly-button light.
Whose "innie" confused with my rare
"outie"?

SuzAnne C. Cole, Houston, TX, USA

Left in the Oven

baking
edible hearts
just for my valentine
then he surprised me, home early -
burning

Deborah P. Kolodji, Temple City, CA, USA

My Oddest Valentine

I opened the door expecting chocolates and a single rose
to my horror stood a gigantic cupid spouting songs and prose
My love looked so ridiculous curtseying on his tippy toes

Tanya Larson, Kamloops, BC, Canada

What Goes Around, Comes Around

Being treated like the ugly duckling
Once spurned, he went away, dejected.
Only to return later as prince charming
And dumped me, like a hot potato - burning.

Alma Philbert Linton, LaSalle, Quebec, Canada

Fire and Ice

"Be my Valentine! Let me take you to the moon!" he crooned,
I was his "all," his "everything" through June.
Now in snow and ice he whistles, blithely, someone else's tune.

Barbara G. Scroggins, Williston, VT, USA.

Brass Love

College band bus merrily bouncing.
College freshman cavorting brazenly.
Off flies his cap, in two breaks her pencil,
True love encountered en route to Valentine’s concert.

Marsha Steed, Roseville, CA, USA

A Rose

I thought
so delicate
as I touched a rosebud
you flew, a dandelion seed
in wind.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA

OTHER ENTRIES COMMENTED UPON BY OUR JUDGES OR EDITORS
============

Furrowed rows of snow
portend the tiller's journey
bent stakes pray for spring

Ron Blanton, Alpharetta, GA, USA

two bare sycamores
crooked white branches angling
in the empty air

SuzAnne C. Cole, Houston, TX, USA

under dead wood fern
a ladybug shivering
on a curled shoot

Elaine Gentry, Houston, TX, USA

Snow-ghostly seedlings
in muzzy coffin of earth
labor for rebirth

Maryann Hazen-Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA

confused spring bulbs
sprout then freeze
western climate’s trickery

Marsha Steed, Roseville, CA, USA

green strawberries
waiting to redden in spring
winter’s dessert

Marsha Steed, Roseville, CA, USA

morning sunlight shows
cold periwinkle spires
silver dripping glow

Craig Soderquist, Universal City, TX, USA

Some poets used our three chosen words as a writing exercise.  But others took the opportunity to allow a quirky sense of humor full reign, or let imagination soar into unexpected places.  We are glad they did.
 

OTHER ENTRIES COMMENTED UPON BY OUR JUDGES OR EDITORS
=============

Toddler Trip

Today we took
Our two year old
To town to see the zoo
She loved the tawny tigers
And they seem to like her too

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA

Sins of the Flesh

"It's just too delicious, my dear,"
she said, bending close to my ear.
"I hear she had two at once last night;
can you just imagine her delight?
If I cared as little for opinion as she;
I'd also eat my weight in baked brie."

SuzAnne C. Cole, Houston, TX, USA

For Words

You're just Too marvelous
to be Two of you
and; so I sing of love
To my Dear and only, True

Louie Levy, Thousand Oaks, CA, USA

The Numbers Game

I'm in serious pain here.
"Too bad", you said. "I'll call you in two days."
As if "two" is some mystical number...
I've always preferred odd numbers to even,
so I turn to your page in my phone book,
where rows of seven numbers each beckon.
I dial your home, your office, your cell.
Still no answer.
I turn to another page in my book;
those numbers worked like a charm.

Terrie Relf, San Diego, CA, USA

Two Too Many To Do

Two too many to do. He looked at the computer,
With the list of the day and its duties and Do-Fors.
Ten things here; can do eight in the time set for working.
Still he rolled up his sleeves and dove in without shirking.
Someone asked, "By the way, can you help get this typed up?"
"And you know, this needs sorting," another one piped up.
Every hour that he worked, someone else was there asking,
"Can you help get this done?" It got more and more tasking,
Till he threw up his hands; in frustration he thundered,
"Two too many to do? No, it’s more like two hundred!"

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

A Sweater

Knit one, purl two.
Needles flying quickly like a falcon.
A cable here and there,
Should I use one bobble or two?
To the yarn store I need to go,
Panic sets in,
I'm out of supplies!
Would you like to come with me, too?

Venus Tadrzak, Lakewood, OH, USA

There is no immediate prize associated with a poem having been picked as the Best Poem of a particular month, only the knowledge that our editors picked it over all the other prize winners of that month.  However, all poems chosen for BEST POEM of each month in the year 2002 will be automatically entered in the BEST POEM OF THE YEAR 2002 competition, voted on by Sol Magazine Members at the end of the year.  The winners of that contest will be awarded prizes and will be invited to enter Sol Magazine's Poet Laureate 2003 Competition.
 

Last Night

Did you
hear the crow cry,
see the wolf's silhouette
beneath the snow moon and did you
weep too?

Judith Schiele, Brandon, MS, USA

Sol Magazine will mail no book prizes to poets outside the United States of America.  Electronic book gift certificates will be substituted.  No exceptions.
============
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Note: We choose poets for our interviews from among our membership.  On occasion we consider other poets from recommendations we receive from other editors.  Please do not send us poetry unless it is in response to an open competition posted to our website or in one of our newsletters.  Our editors do not accept poetry or articles on speculation.

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