Dr. Hurley’s Digest, Week 50

As a happy Valentine’s Week from Dr. H’s editors, this week we featured some great poetry from friends old and new, including Sandy Day and Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke, both longtime Snake-Oilers. We also saw a great Smithsonian post based on one Dr. Cadmus (a fellow physician), and photography from newbie Patrick Joust. To read these and more, click below!

Valentine’s Week




Remember to keep submissions coming in for our Short Story Contest!

Valentine’s Day Potpourri: A love-ly Limerick

to v.

i never again want to miss
your gentle but oh so hot kiss
on mouth and on cheek
that is what i seek
you’ll send me to ulitmate bliss

i want you here under my cover
it’s a place to enjoy not to suffer
when you touch my skin
i feel better than sin
don’t you ever stop being my lover

A limerick by Ella Hansen

Valentine’s Day Potpourri: A St. Valentine’s Day Gift

for Irina

Flight will merge us, answer our quest
For what transcends visible things;
For now, as each hemisphere sings
Differently, I wonder if you’re dressed,
Watching the open moon as I suggest
With these words my moth-like wings,
My fluttering being seeking meanings
That, once consummated, will rest.
And when time has concertinaed,
When the butterflies near the blue
Tropical water keep time our rhythms,
When the aloneness that made us add
A search for love so undeniably true
Has ended, the universe quietly hums.

by Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke

Valentine’s Day Potpourri: Expectation

after Gustav Klimt

She is a woman
of triangle and circle,
made of curled fog
and rolling squares—

I want to hold her there
on my tongue, and know
what the shape and shine
of gold tastes like.

by Rita Banerjee

Valentine’s Day Potpourri: The Lady in Gustav Klimt’s “Expectation”

On a cold and brown, old December day,
she swapped those gold stacks for a single fold.
Before her, pyramids lined up of gold
Her hopes were malleable as new clay
wrapped in the dress of remembrance, she prayed
Triangled roads swirling around her, bold
The air was curling with vines, heart untold
Violets waited, unloud with a faye
She ostentatiously measured her hair
and looked left, beyond her plane, beyond ours,
to upturned pyramids, she paid no hours
Her brows, eyes, and lips dourly reclined
to the Opal Land, “I wish I was there”
while nine tassels held onto their sea wine.

Petrarchan Sonnet by  Diana Norma Szokolyai