Tag Archives: funny poem about dating

First Love’s Sting

 

 

 

jdbphoto                  

First Love’s Sting 

How deep the piercing, how sharp the sting
once young love starts to lose its bling.
Hearts start to stutter that used to sing.
You aren’t his princess, he’s not your king.
Your broken heart, trapped in a sling,
cannot follow when he takes wing,
taking with him everything.

No veil, no vows, no rice, no ring.
What passed for love was just a fling.
The love you thought would always cling
ripped cruelly with his exiting.
Your song of starlight, love and spring,
alas, was just a passing thing.
You’re left with “. . . . jada jing jing jing.”

No symphony, but just a ditty.
So goes first love, dear.  Such a pity.

 

The prompt yesterday was sting, but since the link still doesn’t work, let’s just say

sometimes, love doesn’t turn out to be as glorious as we might have wished.

From Afar

From Afar

I have a penchant for you. You’re my object of desire.
You’ve already lit my embers. No need to fan the fire.
Your conflagration’s handled. There’s a trench around my heart.
I have a backfire all planned out should the ground fires start.

I have an inclination, predilection and a yen.
I know where you are going. I notice where you’ve been.
I won’t admit to stalking. I don’t follow in your wake.
You don’t know I have my eye on you and won’t, for heaven’s sake.

I’m too old for flirting. Too advanced in years for blushes.
I’m twenty years or so beyond midlife schoolgirl crushes.
I don’t go out to hookup bars, to lowlife dives or pubs.
I haven’t yet resorted to senior singles clubs.

But lately I’ve been feeling like my isolation’s stupid,
so I gathered up my courage and signed up for OkCupid.
No chance that I’ll be overcome with romance’s pleasures.
Thanks to you, I’ve done my research on precautionary measures.

 

The word of the day today was penchant.

The Eighth Deadly Sin (Advice for Errant Males)

 

The Eighth Deadly Sin:
(Advice for Errant Males)

Wrath and avarice and pride
can be safely kept inside.
So although we all may be them,
it is often hard to see them.

If you are a seasoned actor,
sloth will never be a factor
leading to your firing
or premature retiring.

Often envy, I confess,
is one more way that I transgress;
but even though we’re caught inside it,
almost all of us can hide it.

Lust is the sin that’s most unfurled
upon us in this modern world
in every book and magazine.
In movies? It’s in every scene.

And though sex is oft debated,
we only label them X-rated;
and though we profess to abhor them,
in solitude, we may adore them.

Gluttony’s the only sin
we cannot seem to keep within;
for everything that meets our lips,
alas, is carried on our hips!

Each is labeled “deadly sin”—
the one outside, others within;
but I’m inclined to add another
perhaps not taught you by your mother.

These deadly sins from one to seven
may be what keep you out of heaven,
but it’s transgression number eight
that will ban you as my date!

You may talk as you pour wine,
and continue as we dine;
but when I start to tell a tale,
heaven help the errant male

who utters “Me, too . . . ” then proceeds
to list more of his facts and deeds.
As music fades and lights all dim,
bringing the subject back to him!

I know that sinning is the fate
of many couples on a date.
So lust may now and then corrupt me,
but no one gets to interrupt me!!!!

 

Must admit this is a reprint of a poem I wrote three years ago, and although this eighth deadly sin is one that well-deserves burial, I think the poem written about it might well be resurrected one more time, so I am telling the tale again in hopes those it describes might recognize themselves and repent before it is too late.

And, for those of you whom I told were incorrect when they guessed that the photo I published yesterday was a bunch of parsnips, I apologize. I was told they were rutabagas, but when I consulted Google images, I discovered you were right!

The prompt today was bury.

No Spammers!

No Spammers

Welcome to my life, my dear. You’re most welcome to meddle
if in fact you do not have anything to peddle.
I do not want insurance or stocks or Ponzi schemes.
Such obvious exploitation is not the stuff of dreams.
I do not need more objects to set upon a shelf
unless what you are peddling is simply you, yourself.

Emoticons are not my friends. Skip LOL’s or memes.
Such mass communication avoids intimacy, it seems.
Spamming should be limited to sandwiches or plates.
Such sins of modern culture are things this blogger hates.
If you want to seduce me, drink to  me with thine eyes.
Do not use the pickup lines used by other guys.

A sincere sense of humor and intelligence will do.
All the modern gimmicks are what you should eschew
if you seek to impress me and win my heart as well.
If you want your just desserts–sales pitches will not jell.
Only sincere affection and perhaps a winsome smile
will win you that devotion which cannot be won by guile.

 

 

The prompt today was meddle. (Image downloaded from the Internet.)

Big Spender

Big Spender

If a kiss were legal tender
I know those of either gender
who in the midst of a big bender
would be labeled a big spender.
And though they’re comely, fit and slender,
and may have many a staunch defender,
if I’m looking for a lender,
I’d prefer a less-used vendor.

 

The prompt today is “tender.”

Regional Differences

Regional Differences

They joked about their names. His name was Johnnie, she was Frankie.
It’s true that she was beautiful, he handsome, tall and lanky.
He was a genteel southern boy, while she was born a yankee.
Every time she looked at him, her heart went a bit wanky,
but the slowness of his courtship rites was making her most cranky.
For though she appeared shy, at heart she was a trifle skanky.
As he contemplated holding hands, she dreamed of hanky panky!

 

 

The prompt word today is cranky.

So, How Long Has it Been?

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Not only long out of date, but long out of dates!!! Sad.

 

Widow’s Night Out

Her act that night when they first kissed
branded her an optimist.
She had rehearsed all afternoon
with an old rubber balloon,
then visited the pharmacy
just to see what she could see.

Believing that she lacked the nerve,
and feeling slightly like a perve,
she finally bought the dreaded thing–
shaped like a cap bound by a ring.
Yet sadly, seven years hereafter,
it’s simply grounds for rueful laughter,
for her wished-for evening’s ending
has been perpetually pending
until alas, it is too late.
Her dreams, it seems, are out-of-date!

 

The photo prompt was to photograph something with a name on it.