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Humanity Will Continue to Live an Inferior Life Than What is Possible Until the Two Halves: All Individuals in Them: That Make It are Absolutely Fundamentally and Jubilantly Equal at Liberty


Year Gamma: London: Sunday: October 22: 2017
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Poets' Letter Magazine Archives Poetry Pearl

 Poets' Letter Magazine

Published in the 90s and then between 2004 and 2009

Victoria Valentine in Purely Poetry : February 2005

Victoria Valentine is an established New York author who publishes 2 literary/art ezines. She has created and maintains 5 literary websites, and although she has devoted much of her time to promoting the talents of others, she now feels the need to share her accomplishments. Victoria has published a book, At The Stroke Of Midnight, 24 Tales of Terror and penned the lyrics for her CD, Eyes of Ash, with music composed and performed by The Unintended, a New York alternative rock band. Buried in work for so very long, she now emerges from her shell to share a few pieces of herself with The Poet’s Letter. Previously published in print by Fresh Literary Magazine, online Red River Review, Poetic Reflections, Poetically Speaking, Greek Poetry and Art and others. Two of Victoria’s short stories have been translated and published in the French magazine, Place aux Sens; Philosophie & Literature.
Skyline Magazines:
She is the host site of Skyline Literary Arts Community founded by Victoria almost four years ago. Victoria’s print Skyline Magazines archived in the New York Public Library, other libraries across the USA, colleges and many other locations in the USA and Abroad. The last print issue came out in March 2004, however, Skyline will print again! Descendent of a Czechoslovakian princess, Victoria is a dreamer, forever a romantic soul. Her latest book in progress, Worn but not Broken, is an emotional collection of triumphant stories and passionate poetry accented by art and photography.

Victoria Valentine's Poetry


In Your Shadow

Across the bluff you danced
While I tiptoed in your shadow
Wavering as a flame in March eagerness
Hastening toward a fertile spring
Emotions are as seasons
Blowing freely thru time
Ever shifting, challenging as the
Rise and fall of unpredictable oceans
Your steps led nowhere yet I followed
Tripping over my faith
Blinded by the dust clouds of your confusion
My knees ground in dirt as I began to crawl
For one who once wore gold
Ashen turned my face and I crumbled
As that pedestal, from which a goddess loved
And plunged to shame
Only dust remains and my eyes are sore
From exposure and loss
Weary from a journey that must cease
Yet a universe is endless
Now the clouds on a stormy day
Form your face
And fill my mind with regret
I asked of you one solitary tear
And although my sea awaited
You crossed it as a desert
Dry-eyed as I drowned
In my own creation
Everlasting is the mystery
While planets spin never losing momentum
And although you are sand slipping thru my fingers
My grip I refuse to loosen



seems everything breaks at once
tree limb outside my bedroom window
heaved to the weight of ice and snow
crashed thru my windshield
five phone lines in this cold house
and not one works who knows why
on a calm day the power cuts off
and they blame a snake for crawling
into one of their junction boxes
appliances follow timed patterns
as women living under the same roof
electric and menstrual cycles
they fail and flow together
snapped off my fingernails chipping ice
from the deck to reach the hot tub
seems the LCD died and
water began to freeze so mr fixit finally
arrived after a three week wait to perform a
heart transplant but seems administration
sent the wrong valves so he left
wire veins hanging and said
to call the office on Tuesday but they
never ship overnight so don’t get your hopes up
soon there’ll be a windshield replacement
and these fingernails will grow back like
buds on the branches outside my windows
natural as spring
with a new heart the hot tub pumps like all hell
but who’ll repair what you left behind?


West of Salem – Jewels Drown in Silt
You go in and out
like the sludge-swept Hudson
down that thousand meters
we call perdido en tiempo
past diamond studded lanterns
magnetic coves booked for love’s semesters
chiseled by emeralds and silk worms,
grazing nothing
bleeding sensuous pearls
I refer to as thought
which I bury like precious rubies inside
disengaged turrets.
Chaining sea-strained gates with velvet
You go in and out
like flickering moon
thru symphonies of night fog
trying to fathom the holes in
the ozone layer
with meditation and gospel,
as a monk
who strums pastoral rhythm
to the beat of muffled war drums


Elements of Water

I am for you an ocean,
your strength
my waves
life's rhythm
my ripples
your gentle teacher
my currents guide you
to the safety of my harbour
lulled in misty intentions
ebbing to the shore
i find but a few raindrops
yours, sprinkled upon my sands
my tears
flood in torrents
as you drift from my tides
Into the floor of a seaside cave
i carve my thoughts
i bury things
and myself


Hunting With White Nails

Her nails are strong and white.
She sips sarsaparilla from Doulton
with a curled tongue,
while a tasty breeze overrides
Pacific tides
lured by a slash in window dressings,
nuzzling neat accordion tapestry
in a mansion overlooking
green cliffs.
She has settled for midday tea
in his oversized drawing room.
As she licks the tip of her finger
flipping another page of the morning journal,
she reads other people’s thoughts
with critical curiosity;
While a mutt in a ransacked house, downtown
circles last month’s news, pacing
for a place to leave his mark upon her article,
Her Mastiff sniffs vaulted air,
above even her head as
she peels back another page of print and begins
to search the want ads.


Copyrights remains @ Victoria Valentine 

Back to Poets' Letter Magazine Archives Poetry Pearl

A mind at war…  

You come leading a flock
so I know you will not be staying.
Wearing appendages
you sweep and wash and scour,

while I wake in an upstairs bedroom, alone
white silent walls meet closed doors,
glaring bruises freshly dress
sunlit parts of fleshy pallor.

Yet, I am unaware of their origin.
Only sorrow and tears and worry and loss
are the curiosities of mystery plundering
my troubled mind;

an arm here, a leg there, such dreams!
Things in china that should
be carried upon shoulders,
not in wet ceramic bowls.

Beneath the tunnel we fled.
Not many emerged.
Finding myself hidden under a blanket of snow,
in the cold I strained to see the two of you

Had been left behind…


I bathe in holy water
Delivered in plastic vials thru the mail
Wondering how life ever
Got so empty
And what would fill your void
That has formed mine
I lie in state in my upstairs bedroom
Tucked under tons of Down
And propped as high,
Filled with as much misery
As that bedding that I plead to
And burrow my soul in
And hear the wane of the garage door
And the mellow mufflers of his car
And know too well the entrance chime
And the thirst of his steps on creaking carpets
And murmur “oh fuck, he’s home”.
He comes to me for what he calls comfort
I turn my face from his shadow to the ocean
And past lives break the tempo
And I want to scream
Beneath the weight that is killing me


Bridge of Time

Into the misty morning she stepped
Cautiously at first
For her thoughts were as cluttered
As the forest’s depths swallowing
In a chilling dew
Long blonde hair clung
To the softness of her face;
Gently yet firmly
As she had done to him
At another time which now
To her seemed so very distant
No visible sky for the overbearance
Of pines and oaks towering above
Obscured her vision
But not a memory was blurred
She wandered for a time
In calm yet not at rest
Engulfed rather in this
Cloud of limbo
The forest and her mind
The echo of a morning bird’s
Sweetness broke the silence
Drawing nearer
Driving the mist high above
The mountains where blue
And white air swirled majestically
Challenged by a brilliance of rising sun
There stood a bridge
Arched in stone and mortar
Hinting a tale of long ago
When horsemen crossed
Its heavy wooden planks
To their maidens or to war?
She fell victim to its lure
As she had done with him
Making her way toward the
Brooding medieval structure
The wind grew wild
Whipping gleaming strands of hair
Into a furious mane
She was overcome
As she had been with him
Strides quickening
Within moments a
Damp, gritty ledge
Brushed her palm
With a story that was
Good, and warm, overflowing
With kindness and love
As the feelings she remembered
Foreign to her at this time
There she poised in awe,
As she had done with him
The magic of those days took flight
With beautiful vengeance
As images soared
She sighed
The view across the way
Was splendid
Emerald grass danced
With invitation
Flaming colors
Of rainbow petals
Beckoned as his call
Dreams blended into
Reality and she awoke
As she had done with him
She never made it to the
Other side of that old bridge
The girl whose silken
Hair now ruffled softly
In mid morning breeze
Chilling a tear that skimmed
Her cheek
For the wood had
Aged and splintered
And missing planks
“Don’t cross…”
The bridge had been
Destroyed by
Heaviness of hooves
And careless masters
And time left unattended
That bridge cried
With the story of her life
Left in ruins
As he had done to her


Copyrights remains @ Victoria Valentine 

Back to Poets' Letter Magazine Archives Poetry Pearl





The Lake Eden Eye





The Window of the Heavens Always Open and Calling: All We Have to Do Is: To Choose to Be Open, Listen and Respond




Imagine a Rose-Boat

Imagine a rose floating like a tiny little boat on this ocean of infinity
And raise your soul-sail on this wee-little boat and go seeking out
All along feed on nothing but the light that you gather only light
Fear shall never fathom you nor greed can tempt nor illusion divert
For Love you are by name by deeds you are love's working-map



Only in the transparent pool of knowledge, chiselled out by the sharp incision of wisdom, is seen the true face of what truth is: That what  beauty paints, that what music sings, that what love makes into a magic. And it is life: a momentary magnificence, a-bloom like a bubble's miniscule exposition, against the spread of this awe-inspiring composition of the the Universe. Only through the path of seeking, learning, asking and developing, only through the vehicles and vesicles of knowledge, only through listening to the endless springs flowing beneath, outside, around and beyond our reach, of wisdom, we find the infinite ocean of love which is boundless, eternal, and being infinite, it makes us, shapes us and frees us onto the miracle of infinite liberty: without border, limitation or end. There is nothing better, larger or deeper that humanity can ever be than to simply be and do love. The Humanion


Poets' Letter Magazine Archive Poetry Pearl

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The Humanion Online Daily from the United Kingdom for the World: To Inspire Souls to Seek

At Home in the Universe : One Without Frontier. Editor: Munayem Mayenin

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First Published: September 24: 2015