love letters

June 22, 2019

Write me love letters with your fingernails on my back, and I’ll write poetry with my tongue between your legs..

Cannot breathe

March 23, 2019

My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.

John Keats
Love Letter To Fanny Brawne – 13 October 1819

Sappho in Her Study

February 26, 2019

The files in the filing cabinet
Are all talking at once.
Mumble jumble, say the files
In the filing cabinet.

The desk, discreet,
Discloses nothing.

Rough drafts live
A roustabout life,
Tumbling from shelves,

While books, published
and smugly replete,
No longer feel the need
To compete.

Stationery sprawls,
Casual as sunbathers.

In the locked drawer,
Love letters lie.

Kelly Cherry


October 29, 2018

Exploring a dead relative’s dusty attic. Ghosts here crying over lost love letters, or the two porcelain dolls with putting red mouths, the ballerina shoes, the tinsel Christmas decorations from another age, the ancient travel brochures, and a broken egg-timer. Boxes of secrets. A chaos endured to maintain secrecy, these pieces of a life, of a soul, the hopes, the desires, the dreams unfulfilled and discarded here in the shadows. Christ, it is so disheartening.

Time for a poem instead:

A Faith, Rotting

She wore the kind of cross necklace
you would find in a bargain box,
the holy rejects of sacrilegious salesgirls,
their pearls undulating, effulgent.
She didn’t care that the gold shed
itself into a bastard green, branded
and belligerent against her pale
butterfly of a throat. To her, there
was a beautiful irony in the decay
of something so consecrated by
sadness. To her, there was no
religion without the ululation of
a mother’s lamentation, rotting
into romance, idolatry in the
immaculate inferiority: a necklace
losing sight of heaven faster than
she did the night God weighed
her losses, wrote them into being.

Megan Mealor


Rage is bitter as acid and tastes like a mouthful of wasps. It makes you want to shout, scream, ROAR out feckin’ loud at the world, at everything, at specific people, whatever! But you both show such patience and understanding. That’s what love is in the end – it’s the thing we’ve all learned. To love is to overlook, to comfort, and understand another’s anger and hurt.

So I kiss the colours of you. Mess up your hair (again). Breathe you both in. Make you laugh with my absurdities…Then cook a vegetable omelet the size of Bill Gates’ bank balance, and feed the cat her creamed chicken.


I miss you when you’re away, but then at times it’s good to have solitude. The peace of it is profound –

It gives me time to think, to reflect on all that I’ve become. My many mistakes, my hopes, dreams – old lovers, too…I keep them stacked on dusty shelves at the back of my head; poignant memories of them, slowly discolouring there like old love letters in a suitcase…those sad reminders of empty glances, of failed promises, of what should have happened but didn’t…And the many silences that finally turned to doubt.

And that has its own special sound – like a door slamming!


Then there are times I need to hold you. Inhale your scent. I need to hear you speak – any exaggerated phrase will do to make me feel wanted…to make me feel loved. At such times only your presence will assuage my bleak anxieties.


Nostalgia whispers in our ears but we shouldn’t listen. It whispers lies, nothing but lies. Tells us things were much better back then, when they weren’t. Oh, no. My past is a dark forbidding place…Don’t listen!

Love Letters…

March 16, 2009

This is a link to 300 love letters. See them HERE.

Hell, this sort of crap is alway a worry, isn’t it?

“TORONTO – You, too, can own love letters apparently written by Prince Charles to a British-born Canadian woman — if you have a minimum of $30,000 to spare.

The six letters are up for grabs on the online auction site EBay with a starting bid of $30,000.

So far, there are no bids.

The letters are written to a Montreal woman named Janet and most were written in 1976.

The Janet in question, is reportedly Janet Jenkins who worked for the British Consulate in Montreal in 1975 where she met the prince. She now lives in Toronto.

But the latest letter is dated June 8, 1980 and in it, Prince Charles discusses how he was under tremendous pressure to get married, but assured Janet he would give her fair warning before that happened.

He married Lady Diana Spencer in July 1981. ”

See Here.

I don’t know what the hell I’d do if someone put any of my old love letters up for sale on ebay? Piss myself laughing, maybe?