EMILY
Emily has - of course - not been on so frequently since it is term time. She spent one evening answering her mail and producing some zippy replies to us all. Especially to Carl, and Porcelina.
:
EWAN
Ewan has had a prolific month, his work includes some of the most moving poems I've seen him write. Those to his daughters, which are being edited as a Song Cycle after the manner of the great poetic masters with a bit of luck and good management.

He's gone back to his studies now, I notice that he is posting songs to the apple and the mac. (grin)

Among my favourites this month was the rather fine:

       And I Thought

       Of you in the hills and mountains
       Surrounded by snow capped peaks
       Deep valleys and running clear waters
       Leaping deer and snorting pigs

       And then I thought of tarmac
       Bitumen, concrete and home now
       Where telephones are linked
       And computers whirred
       Screens were saved and keyboards jammed

       And then I thought again
       I've never lived in the hills!
       The "Rolling hills of ...."
 

Another which has stayed with me throughout the month was:

              A LONGING 

        Of a hunger for ground
        Open and windswept
        Of hills rugged and wild
        Of streams tumbling clean and cold
        From distant sparkling peaks

Finally, one which may well appeal to any writer, or poet:

               20/20

   Weeping, rolling and seeing
   These phosphorescent readers are tired
   But the mind behind them refuses to sleep
   Rolling words out of no where
   Ideas spring like wounded cats
   Clawing you to the ground
   A word is written, more follow
   Unbidden and unasked
   They flow as in a dream
   But they won't stop.

Believe it or not, I know the feeling, Ewan, and its a good piece of work. 
 

TERRY: As Yet Unsung.
Terry is doing a great deal  of work, largely unheralded, on the Nexus Prose Site, and has been kind enough to comment and make recommendations on the new Scribble Web Site. He's been mentioned several times in the Nexus News, but I feel that you folk too need to know that this busy man makes himself still more busy on your behalf, dealing with aspects of the internet that very few of us have ever had cause to see or take notice of, but which can affect us profoundly. All this as well as the work he does to keep FidoNet itself up and running smoothly. I'm taking 
this moment to say, on behalf of us all 

                  T H A N K   Y O U ,   T E R R Y ! 

Terry posted one poem, this month - the remarkably interesting Cobb Valley and Power Station. He had posted that before we sorted the CPP convention so I'll have to ask if we can post that on the Web. He also brought us up to date on Christine's Shift.

TRISH
Trish posted 'Apples' a most enjoyable memory for me, of gran preserving fruit, with a rather disturbing ending.

       He is cutting in quarters
       potting without water or sugar
       the fruit begins to burn
       mushing to a fine glue
       O God how I hate it when I
       am not allowed to cook them
       my way, just as old recipes
       say and Grandmothers used to do
       the tasty way, the right way.

JEF:

We don't see nearly enough of Jeff here these days. His, Parasite is already up. A twisted, dark little poem which had me rather worried, despite it's give away title,  until I came to the ending. Another nicely crafted work Jeff, and one which doesn't lose it's punch on more than one reading. Full marks for these opening lines:

                              Parasite

                I suckle from your witch's mark,
                grow strong upon your bleeding teat.
                I'll swallow more the more I grow -
                I'll soon become my own defeat.

                The flowing spice - your crimson milk
                might halt without a moment's note.
 

ROCHELLE
It was good to see Rochelle back. I'm becoming rather fond of her restrained, classical style, and the problematic emotional logic of her verses.

       when I see you I act as if I don't care
       but your finding my love is my greatest fear

       losing life may seem the easy way out
       but its the only thing I know about.
 

ENVOI
That would, indeed, be a sorrowful note on which to leave the month. Instead, I'll leave February with one backward glance. Ewan's moving last song, to his daughter. Sad? Yes, but also in its own way hopeful, full of the promise of renewed contact, of acknowledged history and emotion: the backward glance which is, in itself, a greeting:

  I was going to
  Print them all out and send them to you
  Perhaps to show you I am thinking of you
  Maybe you already know
  Maybe you don't care
  Perhaps you have accepted that your 'old man'
  Wasn't there and have grown up accepting it
  And you don't need a barrage of words from me
  To remind you of a pain you have forgotten
  So perhaps my printer will remain idle
  And will only write to say 'hullo.'

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