It’s Valentine’s, so – time for rhymes, or maybe time for some more dyin’.
Our honour shall not be outdone; for what is love without a gun?
Some more dead flowers? No one cares. Take our arms? You wouldn’t dare.
It isn’t even news no more, those petals bleeding on the floor.
Our right to arms it supersedes your right to basic human needs – like your fancy ideas about not dyin’, just let us shoot and quit your whinin’.
Don’t like guns? Then just don’t buy one -no need to rant and shout and cry, though.
Oh shoot! I almost forgot to say- Have a Happy Valentine’s Day!
Forgetting how to love, I lived in chains;
Those shackles became sentimental ploys;
Existing in a world of only pain;
All hope had gone, all self-respect and poise.
As life became a bitter, twisted mess
I had to kill my hopes and crush my needs
There were no happy endings then, unless
I saw them in my poetry or dreams.
Then suddenly, a heart just like my own
Appeared before me, beating strong and pure;
His heart was also filled with sorrow though;
So similar the things we had endured.
As love saw us, demanding to enchant,
We recognised each other at a glance.
I wonder: has he ever been a muse,
With poetry and song thrown at his feet?
Has somebody created art anew
As fortune made it so that they should meet?
I wonder: how could anybody fail
To share the love and beauty of his soul?
A magnitude of universal scale;
So powerful, love cannot be controlled.
I wonder: did I tackle something right?
Apparently I did, for I am blessed;
A mission from a darker, sadder life?
For all my wants and hopes have been addressed.
I’ll speak my sentiment in poetry;
Unquestioned beauty speaks in rhyme to me.
I write again with my iambic pen
As beats crash into me in five-by-two
My metered thoughts be thunk – and only then
Can I begin to write those words anew.
I feel it like a heartbeat ev’ry time
A pulse, a thud, resounding in my soul
And though t’was Bill’s, I also make it mine
But shan’t forget the debt I’ll always owe.
Twelve lines, you’ll find alternate rhyming ends
All puzzle-pieces making up the thing;
Near rhymes, exact, they all make aural sense;
Provided that your ears be listening.
To end, a simple task: by no means least;
A rhyming couplet finishes the piece.
There’s only one place I’ll go, y’know?
I’ve bent my straight edges and straightened the sticky-out bits;
In order to fit.
But I never quite did.
I’m up for upcycling or resale,
Whatever the term is for my retail…
And I’m enabled by a label
That comes with me,
Just to be fair,
It promises that all my pieces are there.
And it’s signed off with a kiss;
But this: I’m not complete, don’t forget.
A poet’s soul is best when uncontained;
Whenever words are thought, they should come out;
For words and thoughts may die whene’er restrained;
A poet should not leave their soul in doubt.
A writer’s mind is best when it’s displayed;
However stories happen, have them told;
For stories always ought to be conveyed;
A writer’s mind should write them, loud and bold.
An artist’s heart is best when free
Wherever muses strike, let art be done;
For beauty’s revelation’s never late;
An artist’s heart be fast once it’s begun.
And yet, t’is best to quieten for now;
Let words and art reveal their hearts somehow.
I see a vision, hear an unheard sound;
Feel something that I’ve never felt before;
His eyes, oh Lord – those eyes, so deep I drown;
Just thinking of him has me on the floor.
Yet up I get, to see his face again;
Not long before I melt into his smile;
Two seconds ere I stop and stare and then
I dream of shortening this lengthy
My heart a drum, my eyes a’glazed with hope;
My mind a whirring book of poetry;
As this be new to me, I’ll learn the ropes;
The virtue: patience, calls its name to me.
I pause my soul: my hopeful heart pulsates;
For sheer perfection’s always worth the wait.