On this day we read ALL THE SAPPY POETRY!

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

By Charlotte Richardson

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

By Landis Everson

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.


By Paul Carroll

Our matchbox bedroom in the loft above your
     sculpture factory
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
     the pillows
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

By Kenn Nesbitt

Inside my lunch
to my surprise
a perfect heart-shaped
love note lies.
The outside says,
“Will you be mine?”
and, “Will you be
my valentine?”
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
sitting by
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
from Jennifer?
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? ❤

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s