Elementary, Dear Valentine

 


Elementary, Dear Valentine. 

Paper hearts
taped to chalkboards.
Balloon hearts
tied to chairs.

Sweet sentiments
pinched between anxious fingers.
Anticipation
thicker than caramel.

Tired Cupids
pink and white
passed out
on red napkins
next to plastic cups-
fruit punch
to wash down the sugar rush.

The mystery is
who left the chocolate kiss
on your desk?

A shy glance
whispers and giggles
cheeks turn hot pink.

Smiles lined with icing,
tongues lick sticky fingers clean.

I’m Yours
Be Mine

Walking home with
a bag full of Valentines.

_________________________________________

Just a silly poem for Valentine's Day. 

Happy Valentine's Day, James. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Tomorrow

Image
  I said, "I'll see you tomorrow."  You nodded weakly and replied, "Tomorrow."    But tomorrow never came.  "Tomorrow" is the last word  I ever heard you say. "Tomorrow," haunts me.    For weeks you said you were ready to go  because you were in so much pain but I was afraid to lose you, Mom,  to lose your wisdom  all your love your strength.    The world is colder without you my poem shivers on the page.  I try to embrace the echoes of your voice that still linger.   Your dog stopped eating no matter what I tried  he just laid  with his head on your purse still full of prescription bottles and butterscotch candies.   Graham buried him this morning under your favorite pine tree.  When your heart stopped for a moment  I thought all the clocks everywhere, would too.   How can the world   continue to spin without you?   I pretend you aren't gone I'm just too busy to call, but yellow roses make me  think of you.    You created stories,  d
Read more

Wilted

 Wilted  He found me like a wild rose on the roadside I was thumbin’ my way to work. He was a clinging vine; transplanted himself into my world.   Soon we were tangled together around a picket fence dream. We couldn’t afford to paint that fence white even with me working two jobs it stayed that gray shade of weathered wood. But who needs fresh paint anyway? He had his cigarettes, I had my kaleidoscope, and we read Xaviera Hollander guide to mind-blowing sex together.   After the children were born he acted like the world was a slot machine and it was somehow my fault it wouldn’t come up all cherries. And I made lots of lemonade from all those lemons he brought home but he would only drink gourmet coffee.   I think of him often now, and sharply, like when I pretend his neck is the rose stem I am clipping. There are times I want to shred the leather jacket he forgot to take   and turn every photo of him left into confetti but my memory softens with an old song and soon I need both hands
Read more

Changing Colors

 Changing Colors I've always hated fall it was death dressed in pretty colors. I lived for summer travel swimming, fireflies and blackberry pie. Lately though the summer heat is just burning me out. Like a needy toddler the heat clings to me weighs me down like the ring I used to wear. When you walked away I buried my face in my hands embarrassed that I couldn't make it work in denial of my failure. I was stuck there like the groove left on my finger but it's finally faded. Now that I've reached the autumn of my life the fall breeze feels like a mother's caress  and carries memories of song and innocence. Geese fly in vees trees do their slow strip tease leaves line streets fragile as a lover's vow. Amid the black opal sky Libra Moon calls out to me to embrace my changing colors to sweep regrets into the wind to cherish family and friends.  To be grateful for little things the sunset, a kitten's purr pumpkin pie and my granddaughter's smile. But there
Read more