Tag Archives: humorous love poem

Finicky Lovers

Finicky Lovers

Finicky lovers inspect water glasses,
ask if you’re vaxed before they make passes.
Chuckle at jokes, but only the funny ones,
eat hard-boiled eggs, but balk at the runny ones.

They run the gamut of each picky habit.
See every spot and are certain to dab it.
Do not buy on clearance, for things are picked over.
Will lie in the grass, but only in clover.

They sweep off your driveway before they can park,
but first cover their tires so they’ll leave no mark.
If you think this is odd, when they remove their pants,
they must make a crisp fold before they advance!

Prompt words today are chuckle, sweep, finicky, gamut, clearance and advance. Image by  Jonathan Cosens on Unsplash.

Smart Wooing


Smart Wooing

He met her on the parkway where she sold her sweet confections
in a lot where merging roads made their first connections.
He, too, sought a connection for he found her very fine
as he viewed her from his place at the end of a long line

of some who sought her pastries, but others who sought more.
Clearly, not the only man who’d felt his heart to soar
when he viewed her classic beauty, he had known at once that she
was the perfect partner to balance on his knee.

And though his first  reaction was to woo her with dramatic
declarations of his love, he was more pragmatic.
When finally it was his turn, he simply bought each bit
of confectionary she had left and asked her help with it.

So as other hopeful suitors had to fade away,
there being  no excuse for all of them to stay,
he asked if since his car was small, if she could deliver
to the homeless shelter that was down there by the river.

And then if she wanted, she could even stay
to see the excitation as he gave the sweets away.
The occasion was his birthday and he thought the greatest lift
that he could get in celebrating was to give this gift.

And so he got into his car and she followed after,
stayed for the party afterwards, enjoying all the laughter.
You might guess, he won the maiden, for it’s no surprise
that sometimes in giving, one wins the greatest prize.

Prompt words today are partner, connections, homeless, pragmatic
diplomatic and parkway.

The Hunt

The Hunt

They primp and they posture and leave parts uncovered.
Few parts of their bodies are left undiscovered.
Pitching their assets, they rip off small parts
of their form-hugging Levis to capture the hearts
and the libido of young men in passing.
It’s part of their flirting and tongue-in-cheek sassing.
Euphoric and giggling or slightly aloof,
they are every boy’s fantasy, out on the hoof.
Equality isn’t their goal or their pleasure,
for the power they yield is more than full measure.

Their cups runneth over. With their charms, it’s a cinch.
If birds were their quarry, no more than a pinch
of salt would be needed to capture their tail.
Their fish have been caught and just writhe in their pail.
Young huntresses all, yet each young man they meet
no doubt finds them guileless–innocent and sweet.
They are slightly misguided—naive in their Dockers,
thinking that they are the ones who are stalkers.
We will not inform them that hunters they’re not.
They just follow the bait until they are caught!

Prompt words today are posture, covered, euphoric, equality and pitch. Illustration downloaded with permission from Unsplash.

Love Prone

Love Prone

His heartfelt joy was palpable. His maelstrom of affection
spread throughout his body—a beneficent infection.
And yet he was resilient when his lover proved untrue.
He simply found another girl and fell in love anew!

Prompt words for today are maelstrom, palpable, heartfelt and resilient.

Won by Wit

Won by Wit

South sea island cruises do not stir up my lust.
I fear that all my passions have succumbed to mold and dust.
All that iron will to love has come to naught but rust.
To date, there is no counter urge that says, “My dear, you must!”
It never was my temperament to plot and scheme and plan
complicated maneuvers to try to catch a man,
but still I found that now and then one drifted into view
that caused me to examine my attitudes anew.

Perhaps my behavior included one or two
of the tiniest maneuvers by which I hoped to woo.
It may be that in passing, I allowed the slightest brush
of my arm and his arm and blamed it on the crush
of bodies in the elevator, even though the fact
is that the elevator was not so tightly packed.
Nonetheless, my hints were subtle, for I rarely pined
for a lustful body over a brilliant mind.

So if you want to woo me, do it over books.
For me a silver tongue will always win out over looks.
Write with wit and logic, original and kind.
Fan my imagination. Seduce my wild mind.
My upper arms are flabby, but my mind is sharp and taut.
To woo me, try to judge me not for all that I am not.
The only one to win me would be one of my own kind.
The only nuptials I seek are marriages of mind.


Prompts today are south seas, brush, lust, temperament and date.

The Butler and the Upstairs Maid

Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash, used with permission

The Butler and the Upstairs Maid

The butler and the upstairs maid once freed from bed and table
resumed their hugs and kisses whenever they were able.
He wooed her in the garden shed, the pantry and the granary.
Not a place excluded from their extreme chicanery.

When traveling with her mistress, she could not help but fret.
His passions unabated, he was always in a sweat.
Within them both, the hormones were perpetually churning.
How could they do their duties with these fires of romance burning?

At last, master and mistress called the vicar of the parish.
What were they to do about this behavior most garish?
They met this couple making love at every hallway’s turning.
How were they to deal with these excesses of yearning?

The vicar in his wisdom knew the answer right away,
so the problems of their dalliance was able to allay.
Their passions once unquenchable were vanquished all too soon
as soon as they were back again from their honeymoon.


Prompt words for today are chicanery, sweat, turning, garish and table.


photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash. Used with permission.


Your proposal that we call in sick and the steady beat
drummed against the windowpane by the driving sleet
divulge a secret pleasure long-buried in my actions
of playing hooky and long days devoid of verbs and fractions.
Zealous plans to fool Mom with coughs and groans and wheezes.
Crumpled Kleenex, put-on gags and manufactured sneezes.

In spite of what the calendar reveals to be a Monday,
stretching out the weekend into another fun day,
I call your boss, you call mine. By noon the clouds have lifted.
All the sleet has vanished from the corners where it drifted.
We put on boots to splash through puddles, bringing back our youth,
as silly as mere teenagers a bit long in the tooth.

We gorge on pizza, eaten in front of the TV.
I win at double solitaire. You win at Tripoly.
We pop some corn and eat it with peanut M&Ms
until the clouds roll in again and when the sunlight dims,
we return to bed again to get a little nookie—

that added pleasure when it is adults who play at hooky. 


Prompt words today are calendar, divulge, proposal, zealous and sleet.

Love Song of a Pessimistic Spouse

Photo by Andrii Leonov on Unsplash, used with permission.

Love Song of a Pessimistic Spouse

Look before you leap. Run with scissors pointed down.
Stay away from drafts, dear, when in your dressing gown.

Careful on the the stairs, don’t hasten your descent.
Don’t turn on the gas without opening the vent.

Put alcohol on cuts and scrapes, mercurochrome on splinters.
Drive slowly during rainstorms and use chains during winters.

Death is always lurking and I fear that you are jaded
thinking life’s perpetual when in fact it’s dated.

There are way too many dangers to sweep us from our feet,
so always look both ways when you cross a busy street.

Remember, dear, you’re not alone. Your “I” turned into “we”
the day that we were married for perpetuity.

Life is a roulette wheel. Take care not to spin it.
Life wouldn’t be much fun, dear, if you were not in it.


Prompt words for today are splinter, jaded, death, descent and look.

Turning the Tables on the Milkman

Turning the Tables on the Milkman

Throw clothes over your birthday suit, it’s fast becoming dawn.
We need to be respectable, so put your jammies on.
The milkman will be coming and it would be a plus
if when we met him at the door, we had some clothes on us.
Mere speed will not suffice, dear. We also need some raiment.
No need to let the milkman in on our entertainment.

For milk upon our Fruit Loops, there are obstacles to hurdle

if we want to eat before the milk begins to curdle.
My walker in the hallway, your cane dropped on the floor,
the stairway to maneuver, the deadbolt on the door.
Folks as old as us should have passed this lusty phase.
Bed for us should merely be a place to laze.

So smooth your messy hair, dear, and try to look less daring.
No need to let the milkman in on fun times we’ve been sharing.
We should be sharing pastimes like t.v. and crossword puzzles.
Who would suspect that we are still into passion’s nuzzles?
So in spite of all the cheap jokes, no milkman will succeed me.
When it comes to filling orders, my wife still seems to need me!

Prompts for today are dawn, suit, platitude and plus.


The prompt word on this Valentine’s Day is, fittingly, “passion.” 


Each morning when I wake
to shrill alarm or sweet bird song,
depending upon the requirements of my day,
you are the first to greet my opening eyes.
You rest there on the pillow next to me
in the bed where first I, then you,
have fallen to sleep the night before
too soon, too soon,
before half our words were said.

It is the first stroke of my fingers
that brings you finally to life.
Your countenance lights up
and the same love words
I revealed to you last night
are returned to me.

My hands caress
and new words come easily
first to me, then to you.
I touch gently all
your fine smoothness,
getting back
everything that I give
equal measure,
continuing our long love story
of give and take
as I shift your light frame onto my lap
to stroke your separate parts
from question mark to exclamation point.

Could a PC ever rouse this passion in me?
No way, MacBook Air. Thou art my love!


 The above is a rewrite of a poem written 5 years ago, and my passion for its subject continues to this day.