Tag Archives: humorous love poem

Fidelity

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

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Fidelity

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.
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/14/your-daily-word-prompt-passion-february-14-2019/

Intervention

Intervention

There is no need to instigate a further conversation.
I do not wish to carry on further investigation.
Your research notes are copious. You are immersed in piles of them.
Why must you accumulate miles and miles and miles of them?

Please, conquer your obsession. Let us get on with our lives.
Your number one obsession has me breaking out in hives!
I rue the day I prompted you to have a little look
at what I just considered an entertaining book.

I didn’t have a single clue–not an inkling that
you would quickly be obsessed with the Vampire Lestat!
A Discovery of Witches then joined your Zombie thing.
Every occult creature in graveyard or on wing

has seemed to colonize your mind, squeezing out all other
former occupations: football, hockey and your mother!!!
This is an intervention. I’m unplugging the TV,
seizing all your Anne Rice books. Replacing them with me.

Try to read me like a book. Look here into my eyes.
Vampires aren’t the only creatures who can mesmerize.
We’ll toss your zombies in a pile and stage a mass cremation.
Our sex life should improve a lot with their elimination.

I won’t need to bite your neck. My seductions won’t be gory.
They’ll be the furthest thing from an American Horror Story.
Things that go bump in the night need not all make you wary.
Let me raise your pulse rate by a means that is less scary!!!

Prompt words today are immerse, copious, extreme and instigate.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/01/23/rdp-wednesday-immerse/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/01/23/fowc-with-fandango-copious/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/01/23/your-daily-word-prompt-extreme-january-23-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/01/23/instigate/

Seduction

The Seduction

He knew to win her favor he must wine her and then feed her.
And finally to the forest he felt compelled to lead her.
He kissed her ‘neath the elm tree and he kissed her ‘neath the cedar.
And, need I tell the rest to you, my very dearest reader?
Did he woo her, did he charm her, did he  flatter her and need her?
Did he lay her down in clover? Did he dandelion weed her?
And when she voiced objections, did he circumvent, indeed, her
girlish hesitations? Did he in fact fail to heed her?
And was it inevitable, that he then should seed her?

Cedar is the prompt for today.

https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/12/03/your-daily-word-prompt-cedar-December-3-2018/

In the Corner Tea Shop

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In the Corner Tea Shop

It was a sort of lunacy
that prompted our grand comedy.
One sticky bun, two mugs of tea
predated our dependency.
As you passed, you looked so yearningly
at that last bun, and jealously
surveyed my plate most zealously,
wishing it had gone to thee.

Later, when you got up to pee,
I took note of your truancy
and put the bun where it should be—
there on your plate. When finally,
you returned, you viewed with glee
where that bun had come to be,
viewing it most quizzically
and pondering the mystery
of this delicious legacy.
You glanced around to try to see
its origins, and finally,
you saw my empty plate, and me.

I remember with such piquancy

how swiftly you ensorcelled me—
first with your smile, and eventually
by your approach and finally
by your sweet generosity
as you brought the bun to share with me,
sat at my table, crossed foot on knee,
and conversed with so much vibrancy
that “I” and “you” turned into “we.”

It was our first romantic tryst—

A morning tea break with a twist.

 

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The prompt words today were mug, tryst, lunacy and ensorcell. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/11/18/rdp-sunday-mug/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/11/18/fowc-with-fandango-tryst/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/11/18/lunacy/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/11/18/your-daily-word-prompt-ensorcell-November-18-2018/

Serendipity

Serendipity

Seated at the movies in the last row of the balcony,
I couldn’t hear the dialogue and the man in front of me
was so tall that captions, too, were impossible to see.
But all of this, indeed, was just a part of serendipity
that played out as I exited the door they’d marked “Emergency”
that led out to the lobby where I’d decided that I had to flee.
There I found a bench and with a paperback upon my knee,
I passed five minutes during which I read with such intensity,
I didn’t even notice a man exiting to go to pee,
until he left the Men’s room, and I looked up as he passed by me.
He was a very handsome man—the very one who  formerly
had blocked my view but who now sat beside me and delightfully
soon engaged my interest with his wit and his sincerity.
And that is how our “he” and “me” quickly turned into a “we,”
and also how, ultimately,  you two children came to be!

The prompts  today are serendipity, balcony, emergency and caption. Here are the links:
/https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/10/16/rdp-tuesday-serendipity/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/10/16/fowc-with-fandango-balcony/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/10/16/emergency/
https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/10/13/daily-addictions-2018-week-41/caption

Office Courtship

 

Office Courtship

He found her shy and taciturn and not a little quaint.
She found him impetuous and lacking in restraint.
That personal space she guarded he invaded every day.
Her solo act he tried to crash, yet still she ran away.

He brought her flowers and chocolates. He courted her with rigor,
and yet the space between them seemed only to get bigger.
He had run out of wooing room. His prospects were too dim.
He felt that he had gone too far out that proverbial limb.

His thoughts that he could win her were just a wishful whim.
And so at last, he must give up. The lass was just too prim.
He did not seek her company. He did not text or call.
He gave a mere polite “Hello,” when they met in the hall.

Her flower vase sat empty. No chocolates in her dish.
It seemed that he had given her, finally, her wish.
She checked her phone charge. It was fine.
She waited for his pleas to dine

or see a film or to go dancing.
More and more, friends found her glancing
down the hallway, and they guessed
what she looked for, so they pressed

her for an answer as they queried
about why she always tarried
in the coffee room when she
usually brought her tea

in a thermos from her house.
Why she wore that low-cut blouse,
why she seemed a bit distracted
and when he passed, she overacted.

They all knew that overall
she’d gone too far to build a wall.
They told her if she wanted him,
she had to make that wall a scrim

and turn her light on from inside

to throw her solo act aside
and show him who she really was.
It became the office buzz

then, how the one who’d been the quarry
set her cap to woo and marry
one she’d formerly eschewed—
thinking him too brash and rude.

And this is how she turned the tide.
She bought a card and wrote inside,
“Faint heart never won fair maid,”
bought flowers and chocolate and paid

a string quartet to serenade him
and by doing so, she made him
once more resume all his wooing,
add his billing to her cooing.

And thus goes office romance.
Fellows given half a chance
will resume what they once started
and if they are not weak-hearted

wind up with the prize they sought,
forgetting that the one who fought
the romance and sought to repeal it
was the one to finally seal it!

 

The photo I used to illustrate this poem is of my nephew Jeff and his wife Julie.  They are the parents of Ryan, my nephew who recently visited. The prompt words today are quaint, personal, taciturn and solo, and here are the links:

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/09/24/rdp-monday-quaint/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/24/fowc-with-fandango-personal/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/09/24/taciturn/
https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/09/23/daily-addictions-2018-week-38/solo

A Vindication of Single Life

A Vindication of Single Life

I will not love for comfort. I will not love for gold.
I will not love for custom nor approval of the fold.
The handsomest of profiles will not win my hand.
Fair face alone will not insure I’ll wear a wedding band.

Those whom others seek to wed are not my man of choice.
I want a man gentle of heart but bold of word and voice.
One with an eye for beauty written in other places
aside from what the world demands in figure and in faces.

That certain novel contour molded by his hand.
A forearm strongly muscled. Sinewy and tanned.
Serious in nature, but not too melancholy.
Capable of fine reasoning, but also fun and jolly.

A man who carries others securely in his heart.
A man I am a part of even when we are apart.
An oddball twist of humor. A unique bend of mind.
Someone glib in rejoinder, but also fair and kind.

I am by no means perfect in demeanor nor in form.
My face is not the fairest and my habits aren’t the norm.
I am not the world’s best dancer nor a very sexy dame,
but  I bet someone exists whose imperfections are the same!


Written for these two prompts.  Check out their URLS and come play along:

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/07/20/rdp-50-gold/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/07/20/fowc-with-fandango-melancholy/

In the Market

In the Market

Her mother tells her not to talk to strangers in the streets–
to count on all her kin to provide everyone she meets.
But this man has such lovely eyes, so what could be the harm?
And she’s not often left to stray this far from father’s farm.
When he walks by, she gives a smile and looks him in the eye.
He looks away, but his shy smile still gives away the guy.
She drops her basket, but he still continues on his way.
It’s only then that she decides that this one must be gay.

The store where she is going is not so very far,
and yet she takes the longest way that leads there from her car.
Although it should be blocks away, instead it is two miles.
She only has this route and back to practice all her wiles.
Whenever gentlemen of note meet her questing glance,
Her winsome smile becomes a grin, her walk becomes a prance.
Some of the men seem to be shocked. The others move away.
She’s sure it is just married men she meets this market day.

But finally, one man in plaid does not avoid her glance.
She smiles at him invitingly, afraid she’ll lose her chance.
She sees him turn as she walks by and follow in her wake.
It seems she’s finally hooked one. It was a piece of cake.
When she arrives and goes into the store, he follows her.
It’s just so he can meet her, of this she’s fairly sure.
Aisle after aisle she meets his gaze by boldly looking up
while he pretends he’s looking for food on which to sup.

Pork and beans he passes up, chili and green beans.
He adjusts his shoulders and hitches up his jeans.
She knows that he’s not used to this. He’s not so debonair.
He will not meet her flirty glance or even her bold stare;
and yet she sees him peeking when it seems that she’s not looking.
It’s clear enough to her that something’s definitely cooking.
She’s been around the livestock so she knows the signs and causes,
yet a bull just gets right to it and a rooster never pauses. Continue reading

After the Ceremony

After marriage, even after the mundane invades our life, hopefully, some of the magic remains.

After the Ceremony

Oh my dear,
caught in this star-studded cowboy boot world,
I love you more than an Oreo cookie,
more than bubble gum
or a dill pickle.
You are a full gas tank and my shoelaces.
You are both what keeps me going
and what I am reaching out for—
my goal and trophy rolled into one.
You are my ironing board and my blender—
what churns me up and straightens me out.
Everything in the world is caught up in you.

It is flowering, our ordinary world.
Zephyrus peanut butter
and turgid corned beef hash
are surrounded by rosebuds,
soaring heavenward in sartorial bliss.
The sewing machine is holy
and our Dodge truck dreamlike.
The fanciful and practical
are shuffled in our dream world
like cards at a poker table.
A washcloth and a comb soar heavenward.
Birdsong becomes a phonograph needle,
caught in its groove.
Verdant is the garden hose–
pulsating with a new vibrancy.

If I am a tax form, you are my pencil.
I am diaphanous in my kitchen apron,
a fairy in blue jeans.
I could sing an ode to your toothbrush.
If I took a measuring stick to our love,
the world’s breath would be bated,
waiting for the result.
Birdsong would issue from the teakettle
to chorus the announcement.
For oh, my love, our passion is a hammer.
A scythe that slices through the problems of the world:
the shopping lists and the crabgrass.

Love vaporizes our petty problems––
the broken dishwasher
and the broken fingernail––
I am thy bride, thy fairy princess.
Your pencil sharpener.
The trimmer of your wick,
the cooker of your sausage.

My dear, I am turgid in thy love.
You are what wrenches my heart
and nails shut the door
of every misgiving I might have had.
You are mustard to my sauerkraut,
pastrami to my rye.
Love in a Ziplock bag might seem less fairylike,
blander than white bread
and more Sunday School than magical;
but, you are my big zucchini,
my Dove bar and my Orange Crush,
and I am forever thy camellia and thy rose.

Remember me under lindens,
my footsteps filled with magnolia petals
and my cook pot full of stardust.
Heaven resides in our walkup flat, my dear,
and I pulsate every day
with the memory of that honeymoon
which was only our penultimate dream—
leading up to the chock-a-block,
stuffed turkey with all the trimmings,
overflowing Christmas stocking,
burst balloon filled with confetti,
blissful rest of that conjoined life
that with every morning alarm clock
will spill over us again
like a freshly split piñata.

This is a rewrite of a poem first written five years ago. The prompt word today was ceremony.

Mismatched

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Mismatched

You seem to dwell, dear, in the main
securely down in the inane.
If only you could just refrain
from loudly voicing your disdain.
Astrology you find a pain,
consider ESP insane,
while astral travel is the bane
of your existence and you’re fain
to scratch your head and shake your mane,
swearing you’ll open a vein
if I don’t try to put a rein
on my attempts to reach you where
you constantly refuse to fare.
Meditation’s out with you,
and you’ll have nothing to do
with Ouija boards or the I Ching.
You do not “Ohm” or chant or sing
to anyone or anything.
In short, you’re firmly planted here
on the earth, so dour and drear.
While my mind dwells in the stars,
yours hangs out in lowlife bars.
This love match has not scored a win.

Match.Com has erred again.
And so, my dear, ta-ta, adieu.
I guess I’m breaking up with you.
I fear that I have tried in vain
to find you on the astral plane.

The prompt today is astral.