This is Not a Valentine

This is not a Valentine
for a start it's two days late
and will not rhyme.
This is not a paean to one day
to flowers or cards (ours unexchanged,
unwritten, stolen and returned)
I say again, this is not a Valentine.

This is not a Valentine;
it is a hymn to mundane days,
days without titles and nights
without expectations; when a weary
hand stirs a bottle, takes a turn,
loads a wash, puts on dinner.
No, this cannot be a Valentine.

This is not a Valentine.
No flowery verse would stoop
to describe the loving act of hoovering
or the romantic gesture of sweeping.
No flowers are delivered, when a cup of tea
is made and handed over with a kiss.
No, No Valentine is this.

This is not a Valentine.
They'll never teach this poem in school,
this ode to daily love. A kind word,
a compliment unearned, a gentle touch.
The heroic act of doing more than your share;
to quietly care. Ah no, this is no Valentine.
It is a poem of love.

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Want

Poetic Challenge for today is to write a love poem.
I have written several poems about the love of my life Toast and Belgian Chocolate; An Apology to Aongus Óg and This of Small Virtues for example.

Seeing as Valentine's Day is almost upon us, this is a small but heartfelt one for Himself.

Love poem

If he is tired, I only want
To smooth the lines of his day
And hold him safe.
If he hungers, there is no joy
In food or drink until
He is replete.
If he is cold, my only thought
Is to light a fire
To warm him.
I have no needs, I lack nothing
Until he hurts; and then I bruise.

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Anti-Valentines: Poems of Love - Sort of

Well to counteract the mushiness posted this morning (though frankly still in an exceedingly mushy frame of mind!) here are some Anti-Valentines to leaven the recipe. The PPP used to hold an annual Anti-Valentine event, inviting poems on the theme of not being in lvoe, love going sour, love hurts, and of course the perrenial classic "all men are bastards" although the male members of the PPP have put their foot down about that!

so here's to bitter, twisted, heat seeking, revengeful, cynical Anti-valentines: because we've all been there once or twice!



The Pass.

Sleep by me, he says,
as if
It would be nothing,
a graceful gesture,
like coffee on a workday afternoon.

We are estranged but not strangers.
And it
would be worse than mundane,
a social crime,
not to remain friends, my ex-lover says

And friends, he smiles his urbane smile
at times
seek comfort in
each other arms and beds
a very cosmopolitan affair, my good friend said


but I am urban not urbane;
I see
Your treaty flag as false
A pirate on the matrimonial sea
And I decline the salad and you, over lunch.

GMB 2000


The Love Poem

You write out your love in fine letters
and point out the truths of my heart
Fine words of devotion, drenched in emotion
aimed at my soul like a dart.

I read them and try to ignore you
the eager desire in your eyes
determined detection, demanding affection
provoking me just to tell lies

I sit with your verse in my two hands
and swear that they rival Shakespeare
seem to attract you, I just can't distract you
you simper and pucker and leer.

I think I will keep this last effort,
the love it professes is
strong
it may serve a function, when I seek an
injunction
the law says that stalking is wrong.


Oh god will this nightmare be over?
I cringe at the rythym and rhyme
I blush at the meaning and pray that I'm dreaming
-you say you've been published this time?


Well,my life is over I know it.
You stuck me in the title, I see.
so there's no doubt at all, when you say 'living doll'
the unfortunate referred to is me!

And Angel and Fairy and Sweet-heart
and what is that last bit again.
Ah yes, I'm excited, madly delighted
to be known as your soft fluffy hen.

No, really. Thanks. A lot.

GMB 2000



Lisa D is getting wed

lisa D.
the belle of half a dozen balls
who took a thousand calls
curtained, or otherwise
is getting wed
hitched
shackled
now ball and chain
where once was piece of fluff
is it enough, she wonders
to really really like?

When lisa d was like me, we used to dream
of white and cream
we played bridesmaid
we played bride
while mothers cried with maternal pride
and we were going to be famous
before we married a charming prince
much has happened since those summer days.

I stand gowned to her attend,
lisa d who was my friend
and by talking through the guest list one more time,
we may avoid saying goodbye.
for lisa d is getting wed. lisa d
is getting hitched.
Lisa d is shackled now.

GMB 2000

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Valentine: The Ark of Lovers

Well the day that's in it, one almost feels obliged to post a love poem! This is one I wrote years ago, but not because I had found that kind of love. I wrote it in hope, in a frustrated longing for something I felt sure did and could exist, but that always seemed beyond my grasp. Being a rather pragmatic soul at ehart, as all peots are, I turned cynic and decided that that kind of love was a pleasant illusion. I offer it here as - well as a sincere valentine. A homage to the gods of love, to Aengus Óg, to finding out that there are relationships based on trust, kindness, chemistry and laughter.

The Ark of Lovers

Compact for me, O Gods, this single ark.
No covenant more do I need.
Build me a temple on these grounds
And I am freed.

Give me one promise,
And that promise, thine.
I need seek truth no longer
For thy word is mine.

Give me one troth
And let it be your own.
I will cast caution aside
Like the dark dream flown.

Give me one oath
And I need hear no more
In all the whole world wide,
I will make thee my shore.

And when they call the Judgment day, the gods
Will raze and fire the temple walls of men
But the shrine I build of trust and faith in thee
Will stand, and stand again.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

And elsewhere in the world of poetry:

A devotion that waxes and wanes
Valerie Lawson traces love poetry's fragile affair between the sheets of time.

PLATO knew that "at the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet". They certainly try to today, when the commercialisation of a saint's day demands words to accompany the champagne and roses.Valentine love lines range from the beautiful to the banal, from the borrowed to the freshly minted, and from inspirational to doggerel
Love poetry and The passage of Time

Nathaniel Mackey was a high school student in Orange County when he stumbled upon poetry. It was William Carlos Williams' "Pictures From Brueghel," discovered by Mackey at the Santa Ana Public Library.
It opened a new world to him. Before long, he got hip to African American poet Amiri Baraka, then known as LeRoi Jones, whose liner notes he read on a John Coltrane album. One poet's work led to others' -- Robert Creeley, Denise Levertov, Garcia Lorca -- but he always retained a special fondness for Williams, the man he calls "my initiator into poetry."

Nathaniel Mackey on Poetry

UNC Chapel Hill dedicates dorm in honor of slave, poet
The Associated Press
February 13, 2007
It is well past time for this university to honor our native son, and to help ensure that, at least within the Carolina family, he is a known and honored hero
A dormitory at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill has been named for a Chatham County slave who became a published poet.
The George Moses Horton Residence Hall, dedicated Monday, is the first building at the university named after a slave.
Horton, who lived from 1798 to 1883, would recite love poems for students who bought them for their sweethearts. He later became the first black man in the South to publish a book of poetry. Horton's themes included the cruelty of slavery, Civil War-era politicians and campus life.

Slave Poet Gets Recognition

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