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Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 210

Tomorrow is V-Day, so there’ll be plenty of chocolates, kissing, fighting, and lonely hearts out there as a result.

For today’s prompt, I’ve actually got two options:

  1. Write a valentine poem.
  2. Write an anti-love poem.

Here’s my attempt at a Valentine Poem:


there’s a creek down this hill
that collects all the rain
falling on this morning

like lovers leaping off
the moon & transforming
into bright shooting stars

the creek collects the rain
& distributes the rain
so that each drop becomes

something more impressive
an army of raindrops
feeding deer & lilies

feeding the way we kiss
under this tree that’s fed
as the army rushes

past us over pebbles
& tearing at the earth
wanting to fall in love


Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


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110 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 210

  1. shinnokami03

    A little late, but- whatever.

    Though I seem not to care,
    What you think means the world to me.
    And when the world’s just too much to bear,
    Forever for you here I will be.

  2. JRSimmang

    Day 5

    He didn’t sleep last night. He was driven
    by heat and his dreams caused his body
    to ache and

    twist. It’s probably better this way. No one wants
    to sleep with a man who cannot seem to separate
    the sheets from

    his indecipherable memories. He awoke that morning
    to an incandescent sheen on his windows and a
    knock on the

    door. It was a Monday. He put on his clothes thinking
    that today would be the final day to say good bye, but
    he wasn’t

    sure he was ready to release her body heat to the
    curtains and windows. He wasn’t sure he was ready
    to get rid

    of the last little drops of sweat and her lingering
    perfume still impermeating his bed linens. He pulled
    on his pants

    and found a letter on the stoop. It was penned in
    illumination. It was penned in loops.
    It was in

    the hand of a woman.

  3. SharoninDallas


    He calls, he cares, his stories he shares,
    He always makes me laugh.
    He puts me first; he puts me last;
    His love is never a question.
    All the love, the comfort, the drive, the integrity,
    The security my life has had;
    For this I give my thanks, my praise, my tribute, my love,
    To my always valentine,
    To my dad.

  4. sashagladb

    ~Oh, Valentine!~ 2/14/13

    We’re in the middle of the coldest winter month, oh Valentine!
    Trees dull and nude, and birds don’t sing their song.
    Days are not long, and that is fine,
    Because if even sun is on, it only gives its shine.

    So why it is when You walk-in
    I feel as if it is beginning of the spring, oh Valentine?

    You look at me – and heart gets bright
    You touch- and things look beautiful again, and I feel warm inside.
    And when you speak – your voice is like a song that birds can’t sing.
    So talk to me, oh Valentine,
    That we don’t let just go away our spring.

    I’ll cherish you like very rare precious gem
    So sparkle in your eye would only get more charming and aglow with time.
    Rely on me, I want you have your peace within,
    And see you shine,
    Because that is the only way I find the peace with self, oh Valentine!

    You know, I think I’m blessed that I can feel as if it is beginning of the spring when You walk-in.
    Please, be my Valentine right now,
    And every single day.

  5. JRSimmang

    On the Fourth Day

    He’s feeling like he should shave. It’s been
    since that night and it is way past 5 o’clock.
    His eyes are

    red and crusted over, presumably from crying,
    though he promised himself a long time ago
    that he would

    no longer allow his eyes to water. He thinks
    a lot about his mother right now, her kind,
    warm embrace

    and comforting words had soothed him before.
    They could do the same thing now. He needed to
    hear he was

    a good man with a good and patient heart so
    that he could learn to live on when the one part
    of him that

    pines still will become just another part of him.
    He wishes he could see her again. To remember her face.
    He went back

    to the bar the night before only to find the
    same beefeater that found him first.
    He didn’t

    feel much like being reacquainted, so he
    sat and watched as other couples camped
    and flirted.

    Helena. Helena, my love.

  6. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    a shelter valentine
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    a year ago on a day like this
    i offered you my heart,
    and through the bars
    all shy in part
    you offered back your nose.

    fast forward years
    a life well spent
    now ready for the next chapter
    a heaven sent furr-kid to rent
    this canine valentine of mine.

    © 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  7. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    How about some poetry love…?


    Won’t mind at all if you take your time
    or if it is a quickie;
    memorize it or read it off the page…
    I’m really not that picky.

    Throw in a little bit of word play
    some prose and scattered rhymes…
    I just really need to have one
    before I lose my mind

  8. JRSimmang

    Three days from then

    he is back to the bottom of the hill,
    reminding himself of Sisyphus as he
    pushes his

    Ford out of his driveway and into the
    street. He was in the mall when he got
    under the

    notes of her perfume. He had trouble
    recognizing it at first. It was almost painful
    digging through

    the back of his mind, unearthing something
    that should have been buried and left

    He found out is was Chanel No. 5. It’s a common
    fragrance, he says. But, I don’t have a girlfriend.
    The lady

    with the perfume bottle blushed, and he thinks
    he could ask her back to his place later,
    but his mouth

    wouldn’t move and he stood there stupidly.
    What was it about Helena? Was it the brunette
    hair she left

    behind on the pillow? Was it the way she cradled
    his head after the sex they shared? Was it the
    way she sung

    “Fly me to the Moon” in the shower after they
    both got sweaty and out of breath? Or was it
    that he was

    finally feeling something. He pushed his Ford onto the
    street, got in his car, and drove to dinner with friends.
    He knew that

    tonight his heart will be broken.

  9. ely the eel

    Valentine 2013

    She’s got cat power,
    that one gal of mine,
    and that’s just one reason
    she’s my Valentine.
    She’s got cheetah speed,
    when it comes to what’s right.
    If you’re thinking I love her,
    you know I just might.
    She’s got an elephant’s memory
    after all of these years,
    forty-two and counting,
    most of them dears.
    She’s got the mischief of monkeys
    when it hits her, the mood,
    her teasing’s outrageous,
    her jokes mostly good.
    She’s not tall, no giraffe,
    more koala in size,
    but height doesn’t matter,
    she’s the light of my eyes.
    How many more critters
    do you think I can name?
    They all make me happy,
    that’s the core of this game.
    They’re just like my Barbara,
    helping me smile,
    likely forever,
    and that’s a long while.
    If forever’s not possible,
    well what can I say,
    I’ll treasure each moment,
    each delightful day.

    1. PressOn

      Not once in love with Amy.

      I should note: “Amy” reminds me of the old song. I do not mean to make light of the poem, which is poignant and beautiful, or what may have caused it.

  10. JRSimmang

    Two Days Later

    and it’s all coming back to him now.
    He thinks he remembers her name
    a shallow

    pond, or something like that, where
    the water is just deep enough to drown
    but not deep

    enough to worry yourself with ever waking
    up. Does she remember his? After all, it
    was the day

    of love, and they just so happened to be
    in the same place at the same time.
    The thirteenth,

    not a Friday, but may as well have been,
    was not a great day for him. He was on the

    end of a Dear John note, washed in perfume
    and stinking of infidelity. Plus, his name
    wasn’t John.

    Relationships, he thinks to himself, are
    no picnic. There is no red and white checkered
    sheet. No wine

    hidden in a cute wicker basket that
    touches the cheese and bread just so much.
    But, was this

    a relationship in the first place? He looked
    down into his coffee sitting on the red and
    white checkered

    plastic table cloth of the diner and breathed a
    deep sigh. It was just a night of revelry and me
    feeling sorry

    for myself, he thinks. I don’t even remember
    her name. It was Helena. Helena Roche.
    And she was


  11. Amy

    I realize that this is extremely dark and depressing for Valentine’s day, but I had a particularly volatile relationship on my mind and this is what came out. I apologize for darkening what should otherwise be a beautiful and lovely poetry prompt!

    We are the damaged ones;
    broken and corroded and incomplete.
    We are missing that crucial part of ourselves
    that protects and preserves the spirit.
    Our spirit is huddled, naked and
    dying on the floor.
    We unknowingly seek each other out,
    like halves grasping at a whole.
    In his eyes, I see the phantom
    mirrored in myself.
    At the core, we are the same.
    The steady drumming in my chest
    manifests my aching need.
    We will devour each other
    until there is nothing left but

    1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

      If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my existence here, is to NEVER apologize for that which pours forth from within (be it words, images, ideas, etc.) no matter how sad or dark the subject matter. It is what it is, ugly insignificant rock or polished gem. They still both matter in the end.

      There is beauty contained here in your poem. I caught a glimpse of it. Great concept, wonderful imagery. Bravo, Amy!

  12. WallFlower21

    Valentines Day. Sooooo Cliche. I’m happy being single, but, like most women I long for a man to hold in my arms. I MAN, gentelman, not a BOY. Just F.Y.I. Until then, i have my cat and Ben & Jerry. Oh and The Notebook lols. :) JK Hope you all had fun!

  13. JRSimmang

    The Day After

    love is no longer mentioned, while the black
    coffee swishes and swashes in the bottom
    of his mug.

    The pure white sheets that once contained her
    heat were now cold as their color.
    She was gone.

    They met in a library. She was pre-med.
    Both of them intended to be gone before the
    other got there,

    but the best laid plans of mice and men
    were usually paved on the road to hell
    and they met.

    First, it was wistful, pleasantries
    exchanged like the book sleeves
    on their paper-

    backs soon on the sheets
    and mixing into a collage of flesh.
    They breathed each

    other nights, they wouldn’t breathe
    at all. There wasn’t any time.
    He knew, though,

    all along the windows would open
    and she would fly out like they
    always do.

    Her day came today; he breath stale
    on his tongue as he took his first sip
    of coffee.

    Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day, he said
    through bootblack teeth and rubber stamp
    tongue. She’s gone.

    1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

      Wow, LOVE this! My favorite kind of poetry are those that tell a story, bittersweet or not. Wonderful imagery, some great memorable lines, bravo!

  14. DanielAri

    Be my cosignatory

    Sixty dollars would swoop several dozen
    red roses into your arms, Valentine,
    fill the turkey platter with marzipan,
    stud the shelf with some gem from Chinatown
    or buy a three-hour meal at Kan Zaman.

    Sixty bucks (plus the babysitting fine)
    could fund a night out on the busiest
    couples night of the year. (Don’t order wine.)
    Instead, I spent that money toward a less
    obviously romantic horizon.

    After the financial crisis, we’re blessed
    with fiscal strength, and I’ve a real yen
    to gaze far down our shared road and invest
    sixty dollars twice a month. Someday when
    it’s just you and me again, buddy mine,

    we’ll crack open the egg and laugh and then
    still be together, rich in love. Amen.

  15. Jane Shlensky

    Gang, I wrote this today when I got home from distributing my bag of poems from the project. Although I did know some of those who selected a poem from my bag, it was fun to watch the faces of those I did not know, who went from suspicious to willing to delighted. In one waiting room and nursing home, they read them aloud to one another as if they were fortunes from fortune cookies. If you were part of the 14 Words of Love project, I thought you’d like to know those little poems made some people smile.

    14 Words Poem Project

    In parking lots, on ‘blab of pave,’
    I gave
    small poems to no one I knew.
    A few
    looked at me as if I were strange;
    a change
    lit up their faces in exchange.
    They read words from a poet’s heart
    and smiled, struck by a cupid’s dart.
    I gave a few a change.

  16. JRSimmang

    If the rose be truly red,
    then it would
    with the blood of the
    unfortunate passer by.
    Its thorns, tiny lancets,
    twist and turn and bleed out
    the heart.
    It’s never solitary, this.
    Where you find one, you find
    each equally capable of splitting
    your fragile flesh.

    If violets truly be blue,
    then they are made of ice,
    fractured and shattering.
    They seep in through the
    for every deep enchantment
    brings your heart that much
    closer to stopping.

    If sugar be sweet,
    then your teeth will rot
    straight out your head.
    Your pearly whites will
    gather on the
    ground, soaking in the
    pure, pitiful sounds of your wailing.

    And you.
    You wretched, horrible,
    rose bed.
    I must water you daily,
    prune you nightly,
    and try to not get stung by your needle.
    You are like the violet,
    frozen and blue.
    You rot my teeth to the gum.

    I love you.

  17. JWLaviguer

    She Played With My Heart

    She played me
    like a child plays kick the can
    She beat me into submission
    Made me love her

    The heart wants what the heart wants
    they told me
    And they were right
    But my brain new better

    I should have listened
    Hindsight is 20/20
    And now my heart

    Such as it is
    Lies black and motionless
    At the bottom of an abyss

    Scarred and ravaged
    By demons from the past

    The walls I built
    To keep them out
    Are crumbling now

    Try as I may
    to fill the cracks
    I can’t keep up

    I see a spark
    of light shine through
    But I scream
    and hide.

  18. Misky

    Play Me A Tune

    I’m sat here,
    steady as a rock, rocking
    in my chair, cherishing
    the sound of you sound asleep, repeating
    humming snores fluted through your nose, knowing
    that you’ll always sound like that, that
    manly Roman nose of yours, your
    slightly bent just a bit off-straight, and damn straight,
    I love that bit of your nose, damned straight I do. Do
    you take this man as your wedded …? I do.
    And I listen to you, your
    humming a fluted lullaby of sleep.
    And no question, yes, I do.


  19. Walt Wojtanik

    In my element, I tend to get wordy, so bear with me…


    He stood on the front porch with morning as a new promise.
    The mist of dew’s bated breath hung above the grass
    as sips of his molten brew stimulated his heart.

    This was the part that took the most out of him,
    for he knew the feeling that was vacant
    could not be replenished or filled easily.

    Looking out, he saw the tendrils of light lifting
    over the distant ridge, a bridge between dreams
    and heartbreak – and he aches a little with each

    rise of his chest. He was a mess, and he knew it.
    If he could eschew these thoughts he would,
    but he also knew it would do no good.

    The brilliance of the emerging sun possessed him
    as much as her bright light held his passion.
    It would eventually come crashing down around him

    and yet, the memory of that flame fortified
    the fire that burned dimly in his heart.
    It was a start.

    The birds were awakening, and there was no mistaking
    their song. It was a strong prelude on this multi-hued
    morn. It was born of love and hope, and he could cope

    with whatever the day wrought. It ought to be good.
    He would sip again and savor the flavor of lips
    once pressed against this same cup, an interruption

    most welcomed and desired. Again it stoked the fire.
    A deep breath filled his lungs and he held it in,
    remembering the scent of her as the same fresh

    and exhilarating sniff. It was as if she was standing there
    against his scarred shoulder, drawing her strength
    from his worn and tired physique. But his psyche

    needed mending because it was sending these signals
    of glad sadness. An unbalanced madness festered
    in love and disdain, an old refrain they had reconciled

    years earlier. And in it, he just got more assured.
    It was pure, these feelings, melancholy as they were,
    for it was her who saved him. It was her whim that

    resurrected him; it protected him in ways he thought
    no one ever could or would. But she did.
    She hid it well, much the same as the rabbits that pocked

    the field across the way when they came out to play.
    Their furry tenderness blended in well to stave off this hell
    that festered and pestered his heart. She loved their

    timidity and guarded adventurism, they explored
    the way her heart had searched for its mate.
    Guarded and tentative, a preventative to heartache

    and breakage. She had staked everything by offering
    her smiles and womanly wiles to his dark and brooding
    moods. She became the sunshine that bathed his face

    and lifted his spirits, and her voice as he’d hear it
    in the trill of the sparrows at play. It was her day.
    Valentine’s Day. A day when distant hearts reconnect

    and reflect on lasting connections offered in breaths and sighs,
    sunlit skies. Birds heard in the songs that lived within.
    That silly grin when the bunnies leapt and danced,

    and she had pranced through his life unabashed
    and confident. She knew what it meant to be loved.
    Cup nearly drained and a faint sound approaching

    encroaching on this solitude, but not intruding.
    He heard the door’s creaking yawn and his eyes were drawn
    on the vision that graced him. Her face was angelic,

    her hair thick and disheveled and a devilish look in her eye.
    She offered another shot from the bottom of the pot;
    a new cup with a bright red heart right below where

    his lips kissed. In the morning mist they were complete.
    She had re-awakened to his new day. He had nothing left to say
    but a deep “good morning” and he watched her yawning arms

    stretch to hug the world. This girl never strayed. She stayed.
    Reminders notwithstanding, she had been quietly demanding
    his attention, not to mention his love, for above all else, he did.

    He loved her more each day. And today was her day: Valentine’s Day.

  20. PressOn


    up high
    in the sky,
    so that I can spy
    young lovers below in the rye
    and send arrows of courageous fortune as they try.
    Then, some will laugh and some will cry
    as, flashing on by
    in the sky
    up high,

  21. Nancy Posey

    Limited internet. Let’s see if I can do this on the phone:


    What if I confessed
    that I give you the same card
    over and over
    every Valentine’s Day,
    the one you open,
    read, and leave lying
    on the dresser
    until I sweep it (back)
    into the drawer for next year?

    Can I help it
    that once I found
    the perfect card,
    I want to tuck it
    back into its envelope
    ready for you to slide it
    back out, reading
    as if for the first time
    the sentiments of my love,
    words coined and marketed
    by strangers, corporate types,
    Packaged in pink or red
    and shipped to the drug store
    where I read it
    and thought at once of you?
    Would you prefer the truth,
    To know I bought a half dozen
    cards or more since New Year,
    each one a fresh new way
    to say I live you? It’s true.
    But the day rolls around,
    I find the one I gave you
    last year, and the year before,
    and the one before that,
    and knew you would not

    recognize it as recycled

    but as the t
    to say I love you?

    on the dresser

  22. HandHeldWriter

    happy valentine’s day
    oh, don’t you forget

    or you’ll be riding solo
    instead of singing a duet

    feel the social pressure
    of consumerism’s love roulette

    buying all those gifts
    and adding to your debt

    just so you can avoid
    making a certain someone upset

    candy so sweet
    it makes the stomach upset

    flowers so pretty
    that will soon die if left unkempt

    cards full of words
    reminiscing of how you first met

    ha! society’s subtle pickpocket
    call it what it is: theft

    they say when and how
    love should be expressed

    on such a superficial holiday
    making it more like a contest

    a culture obsessed
    feeling compressed
    to show their best
    cajoled to impress

    and yet… rendered sightless

    because we fail to realize that VALENTINE
    is really spelled: AN EVIL NET

  23. Sara McNulty

    alentine Poem

    She named her baby
    Valentine. Heart-shaped
    face, auburn curls,
    enhanced emerald eyes.
    When her little girl was older,
    she would tell her about that satin
    box tied with bow of silk, creamy milk
    chocolates in brown bonnet wrappers,
    waiting for her to open, as soon as
    her baby was born–on the morn
    of February 14th.

    Anti-Valentine Poem

    If you believe in cupid,
    you must be stupid.
    A baby with a bow and arrow?
    Lucky not to shoot a sparrow.
    Aiming straight just for the heart,
    knowing lovers soon will part.
    Bah, humbug, is what I say,
    no such thing as Valentine’s Day.

  24. Marie Elena


    Twenty-plus decorated shoe boxes
    Each with a slit in the lid
    Each holding twenty-plus paper valentines.
    She lifts her lid, and searches for the one
    From HIM.
    She finds it.
    Porky Pig holds a heart that says, “B-b-b-be mine.”
    She smiles. Not because Porky Pig holds a heart,
    But because right under his name,
    HE added a heart of his own.

  25. Ber

    Valentine kisses

    When all the flowers
    the petels you are to give
    have wilted away
    love wont go through your fingers like a sieve

    Wishing wanting more
    than chocolates , cards and much more
    when on this valentines day
    love comes knocking on your door

    Pick yourself up
    look at the hand
    that is wanting you to hold
    treasure the memories
    new and old

    Kisses so soft
    cuddles so near
    courage of love
    lighting up your night

    Listen carefully
    love like never before
    knowing your valentine
    knocked on your door
    leaving their feeling
    with you, for ever more

  26. elishevasmom

    Be My Valentine

    Valentine’s Day.
    It always seemed a
    cruel mockery.

    A day, no a holiday,
    a whole season even,
    dedicated to love.

    All that advertising
    money invested in
    wooing the consumer,

    seducing the hard-earned
    dollars out of every
    wallet to buy the perfect

    gift for the perfect person.
    And what kind of societal
    misfit are you if you don’t

    have the perfect person to
    receive your guilt-ed box of
    chocolates, and your grocery

    store roses? And what kind
    lonely lass must you be if
    you can’t be doted upon

    by anyone? Surely this is
    just another marketing
    ploy, designed to con

    yet another diamond
    (worth three months salary,
    mind you) to beget yet

    another union based on ‘love’
    and ‘romance’—whose life
    expectancy is no longer

    than the stretch limo
    trailing tin cans
    to the airport.

    How many years went by,
    where I spent ‘that special day’
    alone, and lonely—feeling

    oh so imperfect? And how
    many more when I would
    morph into someone else’s

    ideal someone, rather
    than to be alone—again?
    It was just all so unfair.

    And then one day, I opened
    my eyes, and realized that
    perfection was but an illusion.

    There is no perfect gift,
    and there is no
    perfect someone.

    Me, myself and I have
    finally become quite smitten
    with each other.

    And we don’t have to get
    each other anything.
    We just get it.

    Ellen Knight 2.13.13

  27. Marianv

    Time and Again

    Slightly uneven red hearts
    Cut with blunt-edged scissors
    From red construction paper

    It’s the middle of February
    Once again and time has
    Begun to repeat itself

    Sometimes the hearts are pasted
    On paper doilies, or decorated
    With stickers appropriate to the season.

    The message is always the same. A
    Simple word, “:Love” printed in
    capital letters, followed by a name.

    First graders are apt to decorate
    With added bits of sentiment
    Those whose abilities to write

    Might add a dedication as in
    “To Mom” or “To Dad” or if the
    supply of hearts is still plentiful,

    Smaller hearts might decorate the
    background of the large heart and, most
    important, the signature of the child.

    These tend to accumulate over
    The years, stored away with the
    Important papers that life necessitates

    Certificates of birth and marriage and
    Diplomas from various institutions,
    At first delighting the now grown child

    Later tears may fall, of joy or sorrow
    The edges grown brittle, a hint of must
    A private sentiment, accumulating with
    the years, who can throw them away?

  28. Jane Shlensky


    She says she’d like to live alone
    Now that she’s had her husband’s love.
    She said his heart was like a stone,
    His fist harder than clubs of bone.

    She said she’d loved him in her way
    And he had loved her well in his
    So that she’s done with love today,
    He’s dead and she can have her say.

    She looks at cards and shakes her head,
    Such hoopla—cupids, hearts, and flowers.
    She’s seen dark ways that love is fed
    And shudders at the splash of red.

    There is a man who makes her smile
    Perhaps he’d love her if she’d dare
    But now she’s free of love and bile
    And trusting will take her a while.

  29. Yolee


    The sun’s juicy light spilled into my
    parent’s new apartment. I watched Papi
    teach my sister how to dance a bolero
    to: Quizas, Quizas, Quizas.

    Toe position and subtle hip turns
    added eloquence missing from my sister’s
    early efforts. Lately, weakness, via health
    issues, repossesses Papi’s body as if it owes
    installments for having lived 80 plus years.

    At times his legs are cirrocumulus clouds,
    indicating poor weather is on the way.
    But today he bit the apple
    brought by teachable daughters.

    My heart surrendered the burden
    that it wouldn’t be long before I lost
    this great man whose footprint
    created my world.

    I climbed up a looking post I hadn’t
    notice before, and detected flying
    lessons in the wings of voluminous

    days. Papi has stages in need of
    his children’s sight; hope is
    in need of his presence to carry
    on this beautiful dance.

  30. Domino

    Montague and Capulet

    and mine
    twined like the limbs of
    a twisted tree, battered by the
    elements, torn by the wind and rain, frozen then cooked,
    it is unsheltered in the world; exposed to the sun and the sky and the stormy sea.
    We, too, are unsheltered, except by each other, judged and despised by our families.
    Like the tree, we’re torn by words, tears, snubbed, despised.
    But we twist hearts together, thus,
    and twine, in the night
    limbs, yours

    Diana Terrill Clark

  31. De Jackson

    Closing Arguments

    Yours till the goose bumps
    Yours till the tree stumps,

    Yours till the ice ages
    Yours till the road rages,

    Yours till a banana splits
    Yours till the cherry pits,

    Yours till the kitchen sinks
    Yours till the back 40 winks,

    Yours till time flies
    Yours till the tie dies,

    Yours till the map creases
    and doubt ceases to be,

    Yours till Niagra Falls
    into this stupid sea,



  32. priyajane

    Three little words

    Three little words, I love you
    Sunset skies with crimson hues
    Three little words ,I love you
    Twinkling stars, soulful guitars
    Three little words,I love you
    Smiling flowers, Monsoon showers
    Three little words, I love you
    Butterfly wings , simple rings
    Three little words,I love you
    Waters fall, autumn drawl
    Three little words I love you
    Babes in arms, snowflake charms
    The dead of night, breaking light
    Three little words, I love you
    The list goes on and on and on—–

    PriyA Jane

  33. taylor graham


    Allemande left with the old
    left hand, she clings to the remembered
    steps, dos-y-do your corner
    as a lazy fiddle catches the beat,
    the pattern, circling
    of the square – dancers in waves, a sea
    of spiral skirts and stomping boots,
    the call, the beat, even
    the filament in a lightbulb overhead
    glints and dazzles, spits
    and flickers by turns, and couples
    unpaired will chain on down
    the line, she’ll be remembering –
    oh Johnny!

  34. Karlie

    There’s an invisible rose on the counter
    In a vase that holds up an invisible valentine.
    There are nonexistent chocolates on the table
    And your invisible hand is clasped in mine
    When I close my eyes I all but feel you,
    As you whisper your love into my ear.
    But when I open them again I’m alone
    And there’s no one else here.
    If I concentrate I can hear your footsteps,
    But when I turn there’s only silence there.
    So I return to my invisible comfort
    Because you might come back, you can never tell
    I’ll go back to my invisible valentine,
    And a red, red rose that I can almost smell.

  35. deringer1

    my heart is chocolate, nothing more.

    I feel the beats, sometimes uneven ,
    knowing there is something stirring
    there in my chest that feels like stone.

    but why pretend ?
    the love expressed in hearts and flowers
    is long gone and scarce remembered.

    so my chocolate heart loves my family,
    it loves my friends,
    it loves my neighbors,
    it loves music and laughter and
    even occasionally hope.

  36. Lisa PK

    No Longer Mine

    Six years old and smiling proud
    You read my Batman Valentine to me aloud
    Blonde flat top and innocent eyes
    Thank you hugs and kissy replies.

    Ten years later and six-foot-three
    You wave me off, towering over me.
    “I love you mom but I’ve got to fly.
    Candy, flowers, stuffed bear to buy.”
    I watch you leave trying not to cry,
    I dust off and read my old Batman Valentine.

  37. PressOn


    I remember it like it happened yesterday.

    My brother and I, both divorced,
    were sitting on the front porch,
    slapping mosquitoes on a July night,
    telling each other
    what went wrong with the other’s marriage.

    “Love is letting go,” he said.


    “Love is commitment,” I said.


    “Love is an open palm, face up,” he said.


    “Love is walking hand in hand,” I said.


    Then the bug light went on overhead.
    Our mother stood at the screen door.

    “Love is paying attention,” she said.


  38. lorascott08

    My angel, hero, friend.

    I searched the whole world
    And never knew
    The love that I found in you.
    You inspired me to grow into
    The person I was always meant to be,
    You help me find a happiness
    That was deep within me.
    You take all the pain I feel away
    With just the thought of your smile,
    I asked myself why
    I couldn’t figure it out
    Until now
    That your happiness is worth more than my pain,
    You touched my life and I’ll never be the same.
    Thats why I love you
    My hero,
    My angel,
    My friend.

  39. Mystical-Poet

    Better Off Dead

    When I was three and fifty my lover wed
    tis price of bachelordom my mother said
    tis better single blessedness understood
    to die upon the pyre of bachelorhood
    I pleaded fleshly yearning and lechery
    never oath taken for misogyny
    O lady dressed in passions lustful red
    Jerry’s advice, ‘twould be better off dead

  40. Teever

    Lust to Love

    Stilted emotionally, romantically
    As a shy, chubby youth

    Growing into a man
    Mistaking lust for love

    Involved, entangled with only a few
    But in the wrong way

    Marriage ending in painful divorce
    She didn’t love me, how could she

    Involved with a woman
    Great at sex, with a plan and nothing else

    Taking a married woman to bed
    Mistaking her lonely touch for the love I needed

    Finally meeting my heart
    Discovering the secret and depth

    Knowing my wife of twenty years
    Each day feeling some freshness

    Love not devoid of lust
    But intimate with it, entwined with caring

  41. PKP

    School Valentine

    I remember those days of Valentines
    in school
    tiny paper cards
    drawn from a hat
    on teachers’ desk
    as apart from love
    as anything could be
    and yet set each small
    heart pounding
    each small hand trembling
    as we waited our turn
    to be called and pick
    our love
    signed Yours Truly
    in large
    block letters

    1. Teever

      I love this, raising grade school memories of my young insecure self, looking through the valentines that others were made to give, and I was made to receive. Lying to myself that they were true gifts to me and providing a smile in the lie, that was worth it.

  42. PKP

    My Sweet Baboo

    I had a big card years ago
    A Peanuts card to my Sweet Baboo
    I used it year after year on a stick
    in the center of the table
    out in the garden
    waving from your pillow
    all sorts of places did it appear
    I had a big Sweet Baboo card
    through twenty five years or more
    until it simply vanished one year
    I see it still as February draws near
    In my heart
    In plain sight
    Smiling on planted stick

  43. laurie kolp

    For the Love of Money

    He asked if there was anything
    that money couldn’t buy,
    to which I shouted, “LOVE!”
    He begged to differ as I

    remembered who I loved back then,
    his ego bustled with pride;
    our future set before us
    in my mind, I’d be his bride

    but making lots of money
    meant more to him than me.
    I tried hard to convince him
    without love he wouldn’t be

    content and yet his answer was,
    “Love beats what’s in first place,”
    which to him was that damn money,
    but to me love won the race.

    And now my son thinks money
    can buy love and happiness;
    if only he’d accept my truth,
    realize love is more is having less.


    1. Teever

      Beautiful sentiment…those who think love is money more or less echo the sentiments satyrically put forth by Rand Newman in the song “It’s Money that I Love,” and particularly the verse:

      They say that’s money
      Can’t buy love in this world
      But it’ll get you a half-pound of cocaine
      And a sixteen-year old girl
      And a great big long limousine
      On a hot September night
      Now that may not be love
      But it is all right