Venus Trines at Midnight: Love Poems from Linda Goodman

Venus Trines at Midnight: Love Poems from Linda Goodman

by Linda Goodman
     
 

View All Available Formats & Editions


Linda Goodman is the world's best-known astrologer. Her three books, Sun Signs, Love Signs, and Star Signs have sold over 40 million copies in many languagaes. Known to her friends as both a poet and a romantic, Linda Goodman's view of the world was influencd by the astrology she understood so well. That unique combination of talents

See more details below

Overview


Linda Goodman is the world's best-known astrologer. Her three books, Sun Signs, Love Signs, and Star Signs have sold over 40 million copies in many languagaes. Known to her friends as both a poet and a romantic, Linda Goodman's view of the world was influencd by the astrology she understood so well. That unique combination of talents produced this charming and profound book.

These poems about love and loss, death and reincarnation, beauty and romance, all seen through the prism of an astrological landscape, teach us how this fascinating science helps weave the fabric of our lives. But even more than that--like most great poetry, they make the heart sing and the spirit soar, and give us the wisdom to appreciate that the dance is eternal.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781571740847
Publisher:
Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc.
Publication date:
02/28/1998
Pages:
128
Sales rank:
1,467,845
Product dimensions:
5.74(w) x 8.51(h) x 0.37(d)

Read an Excerpt

Venus Trines at Midnight

Love poems


By LINDA GOODMAN

Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc.

Copyright © 1998 Linda Goodman
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61283-229-6



CHAPTER 1

    Venus Trines at Midnight

    Why do I fight sleep so hard?
    You're a fine one to ask, I must say

    as if you didn't know
    how I toss and turn in my bed each night
    listening to the sheep dog snore
    muffled sounds outside the door
    a scream on the street that dies away
    then far-off laughter

    The witching hour passes
    leaving the same, old, empty ache
    like a wisdom tooth
    with a cavity that needs filling

    By two a.m. or so
    the shadows seem to take form and shape
    but nothing especially familiar

    Finally, I sink into sleep
    where you wait

    and it happens
    again and again and again
    three times

    Then suddenly, angrily
    I leap out of slumber

    to stay up till dawn
    reading and eating cinnamon toast

    Look, something just has to be done
    I refuse to have an affair with a ghost
    Now that we're so intimately acquainted in dreams

    for old times' sake

    couldn't I run into your arms just once
    when we're alone—and awake?


    A Taurus Ascendant Is Sensual but the Bull Is Conservative

    I don't know why I bother to analyze him
    That is, there are times you can run out of words
    with some people
    except for maybe "Good grief!"

    For example:
    He says he's glad that pot and nudism have
    found us
    "They provide valuable insight into the world
    around us"
    UNQUOTE (and there's more)

    He walks alone by the ocean, collecting pieces of coral
    and thinks Helen Gurley Brown is reasonably moral

    (but he doesn't go much for drunks
    or people who waste money)

    He creates undeniably exquisite photography
    though frequently I've heard him defend pornography

    He develops naked women
    in a dark room
    with chemicals

    Still,
    he did make several very fine prints of an old tree
    back in 1963

    He hates the establishment with a violent passion
    and he follows his dreams, after a fashion
    Sometimes his conversation is esoteric and deep
    but he doesn't believe
    people astral travel in their sleep

    and speaking of traveling
    he takes a slow boat to China, by way of Japan
    painting poetic symbols on an oriental fan
    He digs Hopi philosophy—those Indians think he's great
    and I can't deny he knows that "Kismet" means "Fate"

    Once I thought I saw him
    wearing a strand of love beads
    around his heart

    But he can't even say "Om myoho rengay kiu"
    to make a cab appear like magic, in the rain
    or make a wish come true, by chanting it slowly
    like any self-respecting flower child can do

    He's a phony, Victorian hippie
    shall I tell him?


    Gemini-Gemini

    I'm sorry I kept you waiting
    Look, don't cry
    it was only an hour or two
    Couldn't you find something to do?

    I would have
    if I had been you


    Jupiter Prayer on Christmas Eve

    I'm in a panic

    the mistletoe and holly
    are tacked where they ought to be

    and the wine is chilled

    but the ghost of Christmas last
    when December turned into a block of solid ice
    between us
    is leering through my shuttered window

    You told me it was ghoulish to trim a dead tree
    like hanging jewelry on a corpse in the parlor

    (Yours is naked throughout the merry season
    carefully tended in a pot of earth
    later planted outside where it can grow tall)

    This year, mine is bare and potted too
    and I give it lots of water

    Yes, you'll like the tree

    it's the rug

    that huge, spreading warmth
    of the glossy, satin-brown Iceland Pony
    on the floor

    I never thought ...

    what should I do?

    I can't hide it in the closet
    It's jammed with other things that make you frown
    my Frank Sinatra albums, all those ash trays
    strings of colored lights and tinsel
    and the poems I wrote last winter

    But I can't just leave it there
    I don't think I could stand the look on your face
    when you see that fur
    and the reflection in your eyes
    of the pony's pain when he was murdered
    (or did he die a natural death?)

    Never mind, it's still unkind
    to have him stretched out on the floor
    and walk across his beauty

    I hope it didn't hurt him—I really do
    and I hope it didn't hurt the steer you served me once
    at your house
    when he was struck in the head with a bloody axe
    by a butcher singing Noels
    with no ether

    or the gentle, brown-eyed cow
    who gave her life for your shoes

    I find I'm crying now
    for all of them

    and I didn't want to cry again this Christmas

    There's the lobby buzzer
    you'll be at the door any minute

    Oh, will you forgive me for the pony?
    I won't walk across him anymore

    I guess I know how that is ...
    like people you love
    when they walk across your heart

    back and forth
    every day
    every night
    and think you have no feelings
    just because you lie there so still


    Incantation of a Moon Child

    Abracadabra rippled water tears
    pickled pumpkin butterfly ears
    north winds, blow across his years

    I'll have my madcap moonlight way
    no matter how many fiddlers call you
    to a dance of wooden marchers

    I'll leave my trace upon you
    like a witch's hex
    streaked through your hair
    lingering in your silver eyes

    I'll sear your palm with an eternal scar
    so all the canny Cassandras will whisper

    Ah, there goes one of the lost

    he has been visited by a vagrant solitaire
    singing a morning sonata
    he has been wheedled by a will-o'-the-wisp
    from the midnight moors
    he has been kissed by a flickering firefly
    brushed by the touch of a wild gypsy spell
    he has heard the cry of a loon

    he has been loved


    Venus Exposed

    Don't stand there
    looking at me like that

    At least give me time
    to put on one of my masks
    there were seven false faces
    I brought along to this costume ball
    just to be safe
    but I seem to have mislaid them somewhere

    Independence was stolen one stormy night last year
    while I watched you follow someone
    into a room
    and close the door behind you

    Anger I haven't been able to wear
    since the day I hurt you with it

    Pride I impulsively tossed out the window
    when I called

    to tell you I was sorry

    Detachment, I guess, is permanently lost
    now that your smile
    brings a lump to my throat
    I can't swallow

    Amusement disappeared without warning
    the morning I first knew
    what your eyes were asking

    Frigidity melted forever
    the moment you touched me

    Now, stripped of my protective cloak of poise
    I toss my hair too often over my shoulder
    tear napkins to shreds
    order drinks I never finish
    break match sticks into small pieces

    What will I do to cover my trembling
    when all my disguises are gone?

    The only one left is Caution
    and it almost flew out of my hands, just now
    when I turned to go
    and thought I heard you say

    "Please stay"


    Taurus

    Is it you?

    or is it just that I've made you wear those love robes
    I've been saving
    since the days when my sand castles
    were big enough to walk around in
    and strong enough to stand against the tides?

    I can't remember who first said
    that "what you don't know can't hurt you"
    but whats his name was wrong

    Supposing I climb al the way to the top of the tree
    and then find out

    it's not really you

    How do I get back down again
    all by myself?
    I've always been afraid of heights


    Aquarian Awakening after Sundown

    The skylark has stopped singing
    from the roof of the Tin Pan Alley Record Shop on
    Broadway
    if he ever was a skylark
    I was never sure

    and I don't reach out for your hand anymore
    sometimes I stumble, without it
    but at least I've kicked that habit of clutching air

    How long has it been
    since your arms were a rock of peace
    to rest my head against

    three years already?

    You passed by within inches of me this afternoon
    while I was having a Hermit in the Muffinburger
    what did we used to say, as kids?

    so near
    "if he was a snake he would have bitten you"

    Caught off guard
    we looked at each other the way familiar strangers do
    pulling the shades down quickly
    over the transparent windows of our eyes
    but not quite quickly enough
    to hide the cluttered, broken dreams inside     like old furniture left behind
    when love moves out suddenly

    Your cool, casual nod
    was almost a warning not to speak
    so I didn't
    It's just as well
    What could I have said?
    "How are you?"

    I know how you are

    You're sorry
    and empty
    and alone
    like me
    and it serves both of us right, I suppose
    for being so proud and al

    It's crazy, but I kind of thought you might call
    after seeing you like that

    I forgot
    you can't
    even if you wanted to

    When you changed your number
    I changed mine
    and they're both unlisted now


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Venus Trines at Midnight by LINDA GOODMAN. Copyright © 1998 Linda Goodman. Excerpted by permission of Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Read More

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Write a Review

and post it to your social network

     

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews >