Happy Valentine’s Day good people!
Whatever situation you’re in let this day be a celebration of love in all it’s forms! Whether romantic, unconditional, platonic, or verse! Here are a few poems exclusively catered towards V-Day.
First we’ll kick it old skool. Take it back to the 19th Century
Valentine To RR Written Extempore Feb. 14 1802
Custom, whose laws we all allow,
And bow before his shrine,
Has so ordained, my friend, that you
Are now my Valentine.
Ah, could my humble Muse aspire
To catch the flame divine!
These are the gifts that I’d require
For thee, my Valentine!
May virtue o’er thy steps preside
And in thy conduct shine;
May truth and wisdom ever guide
And guard my Valentine.
May piety, seraphic maid,
Her influence divine
Shed on thy head, and ever lead,
And bless my Valentine.
Life’s dangerous paths safe may’st thou tread,
Shielded by Grace divine;
And when these artless lines are read,
Think on my Valentine!
Now we’ll go a little more modern. I love this next one’s alliteration and general mouth-feel. *nod*
Valentine, valentine you arrive
in a town car with a chauffered envelope,
scattered pieces of you enrolled in schoolyards
like a recess of paper vanity, litter, old
with red-rimmed “loves,” red-rhymed lies in lace.
The verses come, rising as easily as long-stemmed snakes in
bloom where swamps settle down and drowse
by dawn, a night of secrets slid out of drawers like knives nesting, a choice of chimes and slums overrun
by bejeweled heartbreakers. What a lovely
winter, almost skipping February.
Yess, das niiice (My favorite is “red-rhymed lies in lace” <3)
Speaking of mouth-feel, time to get a little sultry.
Our matchbox bedroom in the loft above your
Turns magical at times
Behind its dark blue Druid door. Last night,
Inside you, sweetheart,
It felt as if I were coming from the soul itself.
And that Indian Summer Sunday afternoon a year
When the bed became a meadow
Of purple thistles, the honey hidden at the bottom
of the stem
Farm kids know to find
For the sweetest suck of all.
And sometimes in the winter when the room turns
into a Cornell box
Filled with the everyday miracles—
Soap bubble pipe and thimble, wooden rabbits
And old tan magazine illustrations of the Zodiac.
Or turns into an igloo in which the only place to
Is to burrow here below the yellow blanket and
To the South Pacific
Of ourselves. And then those mornings on
Gentle as the feathers of a light spring rain, and
at the same time hard, like the beak
Of a hawk. You are where I belong.
And finally let’s dial it back with a childhood classic
Lunchbox Love Note
Inside my lunch
to my surprise
a perfect heart-shaped
love note lies.
The outside says,
“Will you be mine?”
and, “Will you be
I take it out
and wonder who
would want to tell me
“I love you.”
Perhaps a girl
who’s much too shy
to hand it to me
eye to eye.
Or maybe it
was sweetly penned
in private by
a secret friend
Who found my lunchbox
and slid the note in
on the sly.
Oh, I’d be thrilled
if it were Jo,
the cute one in
the second row.
Or could it be
Has she found out
I’m sweet on her?
My mind’s abuzz,
my shoulders tense.
I need no more
of this suspense.
My stomach lurching
in my throat,
I open up
my little note.
Then wham! as if
it were a bomb,
inside it reads,
“I love you—Mom.”
D’awww don’t you feel good now? ❤