Tag Archives: Poem about love

Advisor to the Lovelorn

Advisor to the Lovelorn

Although she was a novice, she had a trenchant wit.
No matter what the problem, she had a cure for it.
With very little practice, she had soon mastered the job
of advice to the lovelorn—that suffering, confused mob.

She composed her column while sitting in the tub,
dispensing rules and practices to her admiring club
of followers who hung their lives on her guiding words
from their first fumbling kisses to the bees and birds.

She gave names to their thingamajigs and taught them how to use them.
Taught them all the body parts and how to not abuse them.
Virgins forsook their single cots for their marriage beds
with thoughts of all her wisdom swirling through their heads.

But when it came to her own life? Up that proverbial creek.
No wiser soul advised her. No counsel did she seek.
Lover after lover was given a brief chance
to try to woo this very master of romance.

But, alas, their tactics never quite took hold.
This one was too timid and the next one was too bold.
So was it that, sadly, did this mistress of romance
miss out on on her own turn at the wedding dance.

So is it that our betters tell us what to do
whereas within their own lives, they do not have a clue.

Words for today are thingamajig, practice, novice, trenchant and composed.

Besotten

Love charms1Retablo: Love Charms by Judy Dykstra-Brown

Besotten

I’m inundated with your charms and blinded by your light.
If you wished to bewitch me, I’d give in without a fight.
I’d gladly be your handmaiden if you were just to ask,
and I’d say yes to overtime if you were my task.

Prompts today are overtime, inundated, yes, bewitch and light.

She Used to Say

images-1

                  She Used to Say

“How many loves, Senora?” she used to say.
“Perhaps twenty,” I  would tell her.
I was forty when I married,
and I had traveled the world.

She had married at fifteen
and was a mother at sixteen.
By twenty-six, she was a mother of five.

When he drank cerveza,
he had beaten her.
She had not missed him when he left.

No more men, her children had demanded
and she’d agreed,
for the young man from El Chante who courted her now
was handsome and had money
but was not in her heart.

Still, I could see her pining
over the tall Arab
who hired the men of her pueblo.

He neither looked at her nor talked to her.
But in the night, I imagine she pined,
Arabian nights unreeling in her imagination
impossible and foreign.

One day, returning early,
I found her asleep on the divan,
a Mexican novella
rolling out of the television
into the eyeless air.

What futile dreams superseded
all these vicarious heartaches?
What magnolia-scented air
slumbered heavy in the hot layers of her sleep?

“How many loves?” she had asked me
on the road home from Guadalajara.
“Oh, many loves, “ I told her.
“I was forty when I married,
and I had traveled the world.”

 

For dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night

Defection

 

photo by Donald Giannatti on Unsplash, with permission

Defection

Her endless tries to civilize her wild Wyoming grin
and the crooked chipped-off tooth that resided within
did nothing to dispel its authentic cowgirl charm
or its endless talent in working to disarm
any reticent cowboy who thought he would resist it
then ended up admitting that he wished that he had kissed it.
So when at last those lips were kissed, alas it was no drover,
but instead a city boy who won our wild girl over.
And, because they took no chance in winning her affection,
it was in fact the cowboys at fault for her defection.

 

Prompt words for today are acerbic, authentic, endless, civilize and grin.

Collapsed Bridge

 

Collapsed Bridge

The bridge between us is a shambles. Water cascades between us.
John Gray would say that you’re from Mars whereas I am from Venus.
Most of what I treasure you consider superficial.
We are so far apart that we should now make it official.
You go your way, I’ll go mine, with no one to convene us.
It should not be traumatic so let’s just try to wean us
from all those little petty things that once brought us together,
like quince preserves, Scrabble and a fear of stormy weather.

We’d snuggle up and toast some toast and slather on the jelly,
bring out the quilts and Scrabble board and just ignore the telly.
Pepperoni pizza and rum and Cokes and cards
once kept our crystalline affair from shattering to shards.
But since we’re both on diets from pizza and each other,
the blanket that once comforted now only serves to smother.
I’ll go my way, you go yours, as though we never met,
and if I’m craving Scrabble, I’ll use the Internet!

Prompt words today are bridge, treasure, shambles and cascade.
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/12/18/rdp-tuesday-bridge/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/12/18/fowc-with-fandango-treasure/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/12/18/shambles-2/https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/12/18/your-daily-word-prompt-cascade-December-18-2018/

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/