Twin Brooks Writing Group - Poem: Happy St Valentine's Day to the Man in the Next Room

It's 16 degrees outside at 5:19 pm.  Wore the warmest clothes I had to our writers group. Good turnout!

Sipping on hot tea to keep warm.... St Johns Wort. Hypericum perforatum is native to parts of Europe and Asia^[6] but has spread worldwide as a cosmopolitan invasive weed, including to temperate regions of India, China, Canada, Africa, and the United States.

Luscious flavor.

 While falling asleep last nite I was very cold and knew I wanted to write a short story about being cold, but had no idea how to do it.

At the UM Libe this morning, Adam led our novel-writing group, where Maria and I wrote exercises. I had hot Starbux coffee. Decided to work on my short story which I titled COLD. Wanna submit it as flash fiction.

On the cold windowsill The Amaryllis fully bloomed when I returned from the group. This morning it was just beginning to unfurl.

I arrived at B's place half an hour late. Carly was reading her short story BURNS AND ALLEN. Nice tribute to the great comedians. At Glori Dei, where Carly and Charlie work, they're gonna do a skit on the duo.

Hmmm. Mayhap I should ask em to appear at our Second Annual Artist's Group at the Giant.

Loved all the different shades of Red in Carly's hair. How's your coffee w cream, Carly?

Allen left early, having been summoned!

His next two chapters of The Village of Blood and Stone read well.

Floyd returned at last. I was his "reader" of the next chapter of his memoir. All about Gus, fake name. The water plant is over 100 years old and it's amazing that with all the vitriol among employees that anything gets accomplished.

Very well done, Floyd. He said if he publishes it, he'll have to change his name. How about keeping the same initials?

Frank Bonney Jamison.

The job was so lucrative few people ever left. He called it "wearing golden handcuffs." 

 Bob read a piece called SECRETS. Back to the drawing board, Bob.

Donna wrote BEHIND CLOSED DOORS about her experiences with ECT. Great start but she needs to flesh it out.

Her white nails were striking from across the room. Up close it looked like she painted them with Sherwin Williams house paint.

Rem sifting through his folders - short stories and poetry.

We were impressed!

He's one-third finished with his memoir, which, in the intro he mentions is written by a pathological liar who is writing so as to clear his head of his dreams.

As we remember from last week, its a series of dreams with chapter titles of tunes. From a Moby Grape song, "I'll just lay here and die here."

Tonight Rem is going to the Keswick to see Renaissance, reminiscent of Yes. For sure, I would like them.

In the story, the main character says he writes bc he wants the dreams to go away.


His poem, with a one-word title - possibly Alien - is about the poet's abduction by extraterrestrials. When Rem was a kid - maybe 8 - he was terrified by the idea. He wonders if perhaps he's actually been abducted.

Beatriz does her careful marking-ups. We were so glad to meet there again.

My short story was simply called COLD.

Floyd said he and his grandfather used to deliver oil to people when it was really cold outside.

Will look at the comments later on my story.

Can you see Kalie, the white husky, outside her house? When I go out, I say, "Hello Kalie Barker." And I often bark at her.

Carly and Charlie are eating at Bertucci's for Valentine's Day. Scott n I stopped going there.

We're going to Buona Via in Horsham. I made a reservation for 1 tomro afternoon. Any later and we'd both be asleep at the table. Better than the wheel, though.

Wrote a poem I'm hoping will be published the morrow called Happy Valentine's Day to The Man in the Next Room.

 HAPPY SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY TO THE MAN IN THE OTHER ROOM

Dedicated to Bella of Troop 7063, Willow Grove, PA

I hear him snoring in his favorite chair
my husband, the professor, with
his long snowy-white beard

We met at a pub in
Philadelphia, each sipping a
beer. He took my hand
and said, "O nameless woman
I aim to marry thee. Dreamt
about you only yestereday, in your
pink and purple scarf that frames
your cheerful face just so."

Sixty years went by.
Children, grandchildren
Book shelves filled with
books lined up from A to Z.
Julie Child cookbooks,
bios of presidents,
my slender volumes of poetry
his four tomes of ancient
history

Never dreaming that we too
would get ancient, memories
dim as fading stars at twilight.

I hear him awake from the
next room, fumbles around,
then, "Darling Mary! I've
bought you a Valentine gift."

Stutz Candy? The
Whitman Sampler? But, no,
this man of mine, wearing
his polka-dot pajamas, shuffles
into the living room bearing
a box of Girl Scout Cookies,
Thin Mints, we will share over
a glass of wine.