Noir Valentines

Calling You Back – Steve Klepetar

Calling you

back from memory’s


feels like smoke

and ash, ragged leaves

scratching the earth,

lungs aching in frigid

air.  Your face blurs,

music of your laugh

shatters, tinkling

on concrete, your subtle

hands go on

weaving intricate, colored

webs. Tonight

even the ravens are gone,

lost in showers

of frozen stars.

Your eyes hang

in the sky,

gray-green gems


holes in the face of a meaningless moon.

* * * * *

snap frozen ~John Holland

this image of you is tiny

all tattered and yellowed from

living in a box with other lies

and some clever half-truths

can a life be made small enough

to hold in one hand?

can it be flattened?

all the guts sucked out of it ?

you were smiling when I took

the snap 

which is strange

because you were looking at me

when the shutter clicked

* * * * *

The Black Cat – Mark Kerstetter

Tonight I’ll dream of a black cat.
She ran to me out of darkness
as I began to fall into night,
so entrancing me with beauty
and grace that I could not help
but pry open my heart.
The black cat ran inside
and hid so deeply
I cannot find her.
I’ve searched and searched,
but there’s no bottom,
only a cat black wilderness
in which I wander,
lost to all.

* * * * *

Groin Beliefs – Alesha Aris

Tonight she will close the pace,
your vows will meet their nervous break.
Her gaze will rob you of your oath.
Strip you bare of your seven coats
Drag you from your mercy’s sake
Commit to her in your lustful wake
A sinful twist steadies her waist
Yearning desire drives your haste
Her aura swept with a forbidden haze
Intoxicated by its fruitful taste
She’ll whisper for your rising face
Entangled in her damp embrace.
Stepping down from holy grace
Your temptress’ lips, your heart now craves.
Her hips her breast her body’s ache
Committed to her, she is now your faith

* * * * *

Dark Valentine – Philip O’Neil

The smell of fresh begonias fanned

by rooks and sparrows

from the black ‘n’ white tiled balcony

glowing in a sunset the colourof lovebites

then the candle-glow dims

in the fanfare of light

you switch on from the hall

filling the frosted door like cancer

announcing another re-run

of a once OK drama

played out night after night

wearing me down with your claims

to what you believe is rightfully yours

Excalibur arm pointing your ways

I’m either paralysed or paralytic,

hard to choose as I’m dumbed down

by the never ending story

of your nightly return mocking

the symmetry of your eviction

which gave me a callous, relieved joy …

I’d put your bags back on the threshold

right back where you’d stood

with your Betty Blue smile

expecting me to invite you in

with a pout and a shout

about that bastard kicking you out

Good God, then as now you struck

fear into the very heart of me

Is it still enchanting?

Do you thrive on eternal return?

You linger, shadow filling in the flakes

With your useless key before knocking.

Stop. You. Again. Shape-shifter

Black strychnine swab

Running through me like a swallowed blood clot

making my emptiness fistula full

Listening to your black-bordered rap

of funeral amazement delivering your message

That you’ll return every night

to reclaim what you say is yours

buried in these walls like a tic.

* * * * *

Love – Lindsey Bellosa

It’s a picture in your mind:

round, symmetrical. Decorative

as a vase of tulips.

Everybody’s shopping around:

hoping to get a special,

brighten their drab tables.

Take it home; things change.

It blooms, thumps messily

and demands blood.

It has dark chambers

that echo.  Desire,

desire desire.

Thin-skinned as the mouth

of a tulip.  It will snare

on rusty edges of words.

It shreds its pinks and reds

all over your pristine

table cloths.

You can’t display love.

Try to serve a nice dinner;

it tips the table —

Wild animal, ferociously

tearing things to pieces:

with impossible hunger.

* * * * *

                                                                                                                    Valentine Macabre – Dale B. Tisdale

Dare you loving look on one, such as I?
So through open words, a bond could grow,
Betwixt and between the dark earth and light filled sky,
A union to comfort us, when we are old?
Or is it true, what is said of flesh?
Alone we enter this world, warm or chill,
Being neither damned, nor being blessed,
We enter, we live, we die, against our will.
Is there hope then for that final hour?
While I lay entombed in wizened sack,
If we should meet within the bridal bower,
Would then you be with me as death attacks?
And do more then than simply hold my hand,
Be my companion also to that land.

* * * * *

Getting Ready for Valentine’s – gemma meharchand

sawed off shotgun


sports bra

ice bucket

champagne bottle

black Russian caviar

a French baguette

The list belongs to Melody who is aiming to spend Valentine’s Day with her Ex.

She drives to the rendezvous point on the Humber shoreline, sets up an inconspicuous tent. An inconvenient coyote eats her.

* * * * *

A Poppy For My Valentine – Diane Dehler



Barest breath

of Spring on skin.

Rain trickling

down curve of



A slip of

poem on paper.


“Everything around me greater

than I.  I sing of poppies, I sing

of love.”

                        Monsieur de…..


Still you left and

French crows on a

shiny tree branch

welcomed you home.


I will send you black

poppies for your villa.

A requiem for your

dead heart.


I will embalm my

traitor beau… in

poet’s ink.


Shredded poppies; a

rage of your purple lies

gush from my heart

into the sewers of Aix.


Poor Monsieur

dressed in red ink.

Frozen globules

flow through your

chilly veins.


“I overdosed you with black

poppies while you slept.”


Nightshade blooms &

gravestones murmur in

Pere Lachaise, for you

are buried deep beneath

them all dead love.


Ink of vampiric prose

for mon amour.

* * * * *

Happy Valentine’s Day – Paul Strohm

I’m buried here in the big house
Finned up for that duck soup job
I got no kick
Your daisy boy did a sneak
That’s the crop
I’m a lug for going dizzy for a skirt
I hope I’m not tooting the wrong ringer
If so, please put me wise
Give me the rumble, savvy?
This palooka’s goofy for you
I want you for my girlie
Pipe that!  My pump is yours
That’s on the square too
If you think me a wrong number
 take the run out
If not I promise you won’t find a
 Chinese angle on it
You cooled me!
Happy Valentine’s Day* * * * *

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