Archive for February, 2014

If You Must Celebrate V.D. My Funny Valentines…

If You Must Celebrate V.D. My Funny Valentines….

If You Must Celebrate V.D. My Funny Valentines…


Ah, I have so many wonderful memories of V.D. down the years…

Picasso LoversPicasso – The Lovers

My favourite Valentine’s Day was in Hungary, where I lived with my lovely fiancé, who was a very romantic man, but afraid of heights.  He took me out to this wonderful place on the Great Hungarian Plains then standing in a field of weeds, pointed to a row of couples leading up to a large wicker basket and said, “You are going up in a hot air balloon for your Valentine’s!”

– Yes, he did say YOU and not WE!

As I floated up into the sky, a singleton in a cloud of couples, my darling fiancé waved at me from the ground like my Granddad.  I remember thinking, One day!  – One. Fine. Day! – this romance thing will kick-in like it does in the movies…

My first Valentine’s Card
came through the post.  It…

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Love Poems by Pablo Neruda

Love Sonnet: XVII
I Don’t Love You As If You Were A Rose

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
Or arrow of carnations that propagate the fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
Secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
The light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
And thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
From the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems, or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way
to love,
Except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
So close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
So close that your eyes close with my dreams.

Pablo Neruda

Lovers Pablo Neruda and Matilde-Urrutia

The Potter

Your whole body holds
A wineglass of gentle sweetness destined for me.
When I let my hand climb,
In each place I find a dove
That was looking for me, as if,
My love, they had made you our of clay
For my very own potters hands.

Your knees, your breasts,
Your waist
Are missing in me like in the hollow
Of a thirsting earth
Where they relinquished
A form,
And together
We are complete like one single river,
Like one single grain of sand.

Pablo Neruda

Pablo_Neruda_Ricardo_Reyes (1)

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