Valentine's Day: Cupid's revenge

I have a feeling the following ream of Valentine poetry was written by thirteen-year-old girls. Having spewed a few reams of it myself, I feel I must be charitable. Emily Dickinson it ain't, but at least this poetry is sincere. One of them sings the praises of Labrador and Newfoundland, which I heartily agree with. Many of the poems praise their love object's lips, fingertips, and physical features generally. And not all of them are written by girls.

I was a little disappointed at the fairly-regular rhyme and meter schemes in these. The truth is, they're really a little too good. But they have a certain charm, a sweetness that made them worthy of a Valentine post of their own. And how can these lines be surpassed for sheer emotional honesty?:

If you don't be my Valentine
I'm sure I'll have to cry
If you won't be my Valentine
I'll look at you and sue

I have one beef, however - a big one. One of the poetesses here shamelessly signs her name to a classic poem by Dorothy Parker (One Perfect Rose). Whether this was meant as quote, tribute, or outright theft will never be known. Oh well. We DO say "she stole my heart", don't we? From that, it's a short step to "she stole my poem". And now that I look more carefully, someone else is "quoting" from the  old song, "More (than the greatest love the world has known)". But it's Valentine's Day. Let's pin a big red heart on all our transgressions.

Love Poems

Valentine Postman

If I could be a postman
For just one single time,
I'd choose to carry valentines
so lovely and so fine.
I would not mind the heavy load,
Or mind my tired feet.
If I could scatter happiness
up and down the street.

Unknown

A Valentine for You

Valentines, valentines,
Pink, red and blue,
I've made a pretty one
Just for you!

Unknown

A Valentine

Today as Valentines go out,
To people near and far,
This one I'm sending right to you,
To say how nice you are.

Unknown

Bee My Valentine

Won't you bee my valentine
And fly away with me?
We'll bumble along together
'Cause you're my Honey Bee!

Unknown

~Valentine's Day~

The Arrow strikes the Heart
Never to be torn apart
It is when feelings blossom and more
The heart which heals by the Bandage of love and cure
Roses, chocolates, cakes and some of the gifts in line
just some of the things to make a Perfect Valentine.
The hidden feelings of a heart that reveals
The boat of love which smoothly sails
How fortunate are those who enjoy this day
That is the time when one is lost 

In the world of fantasy without any cost
The day when Cupid plays an Immense role
To provoke feelings in a Lifeless Soul.

Pamela Daranjo

Secrets

I have secrets that I hide
I want to tell you, but they come from so deep inside
I want to tell you that I love you and care
I want to tell you that I love your hair
your smile, your face and your kindness too
but most of all, I want to say I love you

Kendra

Valentine

Love is precious
Love is sweet
Love is something
you cannot cheat

Love is kind
Love is not lust
Love is special
its all about trust

Love is for me
Love is for you
Love is a couple
turns one to two

Love is yours
Love is mine
Love is ours
BE MY VALENTINE

Lilly Mae

when I saw you...

when I first saw you
I missed the comfort of being sad
seeing you from far away
without telling you about my heart
I couldn't bare holding my thoughts
about how much I would like
to hold you and fill you with joy
when I first saw you,
I knew my love for you was never going to die.

vanessa rodriguez

Will you be my valentine?

Will you be my Valentine?
I love you with all my heart.
Will you be my Valentine?
So we'll never be torn apart
If you don't be my Valentine
I'm sure I'll have to cry
If you won't be my Valentine
I'll look at you and sue
But if you be my Valentine
I'll throw you a big parade
And then just maybe I'll have to shout
HIP HIP HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!

Stephanie Morrow

Venus and Cupids

Oh Venus and Cupids picture of love
shining upon the stars above
for thee who had melted the hurts
and made them love for better or for worst

Oh Venus and Cupids I all summon you
to help me make my dreams come true
and to make this girl love me too
so I wouldn't forever be blue...

Sherwin

Daydreaming

Your eyes are alive and oh so blue.
I see you but I'm unknown to you.
Maybe one day you'll see my face.
You’ll know it's me, I'm in a daze.
If ever you saw me standing there...
No never mind why should you care
I see your smile inside my head
so clear to me and I forget
why I'm always feeling blue
every time I think of you.
These things have all been said before
so I'll stop here and say no more.

Sara

The Way I Feel

It has been awhile since we last met,
but your smile my heart can never forget.
Now I try to find just the right words to say,
to tell you how I feel each and everyday.
However, my heart cannot seem to explain just how I feel,
but I hope you believe me when I say my love is real.
I pray that you feel that way I do
and hope you will tell me you feel the same way too.
When I looked into your eyes it took my breath away,
and I hope to God that I will be looking into them
until I am old and gray

Lucy

The first and last

From the first time I laid eyes on you to the last kiss on my lips,
the first time I felt your soft finger tips,
the way you held me tight, made love to me at night,
always seemed to me that in my heart
that you would see a person as loving as me
someone whose heart is true
someone just like you...
Now I sit here all alone nothing but me
and my thoughts of you all through my mind.
As if I could turn back the hands of time
to the moment when your soft lips touched mine

I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you cry... 

Baby, I do try
I love you and I do know why...

Gerald Lemire (Binky)

Valentines Day

Valentines is very near
Balloons, bears, and candy grahams.
Red, Black, Pink, and White
Are the colors that girls really like.
Roses can be red and violets can be blue.
What else can they prove to you
how much they love you
On this Valentines Day!!

Ashley

More

More than the Greatest love the world have ever known
This is the love I give to you alone
more than the simple words I try to say
I only love you more each day
Longer than always is a long time
but far beyond forever you'll be mine
I know I’ve never lived before
and my heart is very sure no one else
can love you more!

Jeanine

Valentine

oh, you are so fine
so want you be mine
oh, my sweet valentine
your eyes are the color of honey
and your braids long like ropes
oh, would you be
my sweet valentine!

Victoria

be mine

the smile that cleanses my soul
the eyes that stop time with a single glance
the touch of love from his hands
I’ve been waiting for this day
this special time
all I can do is pray
for you to be my Valentine

Christina Occhipinti

Night is falling

Night is falling my heart is calling
I feel so lonely I need you only
but I’ve got a teddy that I take to bed
if you'll be my Valentine
I’ll take you instead

Jenni-lea

if I’d wish to be anything

If I could wish to be anything
I’d wish to be your tear
to be conceived by your heart,
born in your eye
live on your cheek
and die on your lips

stephanie mcfarlane

Kisses

Kisses Kisses Kisses,
Oh, what should I do?
All I want is just one Kiss,
From a special person like you.

Brenna Copley

break up on valentines

On Valentines we broke up
Your friends said it was wrong
But you didn't believe them
Until you heard our song
Maybe you will love me
like I loved you
But I won't give you another chance
Because I won't know if it's really true

Lana

Hearts and flowers

Hearts and flowers on Valentine’s day.
heart shaped candy, help me say:
I Love you in a special way,
because love is the reason for Valentine’s day.
Valentine’s day is a special time
for songs to sing
and poems that rhyme,
a happy time for everyone.
I’m so glad you're a friend of mine

newfoundland and labrador rule

Kelly Russell

such a short time

When I first saw your face I knew you were mine
We have both grown to love each other in such a short time
you know I’ve been looking for you all my life
for the day when I become your wife
you have given me security and love
which I’ve only ever dreamed of
I know there is a heaven and dreams do come true
someone up there loves me
because they sent me
YOU

amanda perkins

My Valentine

I crave your honesty on this day of love,
L ove you whole-heartedly my sweet dove.
O ut of the blue you shot from the sky,
V ividly, beautifully stunning my eye.
E ver adoring you is what I do best,
Y our smile, your face and all the rest.
O n days like these I truly believe,
U and I are meant to be!

Dedicated To Daniel Vigil!

Crystal L. Callaway

love

Love is more time to share.
It’s really when you care.
It’s two people joined.
I was in love with you
before you could drop a coin.
It’s a sense of trust,
but not enough lust
It’s a commitment to be there,
but would you always be there
to share and care?

monique

One Perfect Rose

A single flower he sent me ,since we met
all tenderly his messenger he chose;
deep-hearted, pure with scented dew
still wet
one perfect rose.
I knew the language of the flower
"my fragile leaves ,it said
his heart enclose"
love long has taken for his locket
one perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
one perfect limousine,
do you suppose?
Ah, no it’s always just my luck to get
one perfect rose

monia jackson

baby brow eyes

Baby brown eyes your eyes so brown,
hair so light,
you make the sun shine bright,
your eyes bring many warm things.
I love you baby girl
for always when you were born
and came in our lives,
you are the baby brown eyes
that we love day or night,
we love you always.

judy shaw

One good try

For so long, I’ve had my eye on this girl
She's the most beautiful woman in the world

If that’s what you’re thinking, give it an attempt
Don’t be so scared that she would resent

why not give it one good try?
just to let her know you’re alive

Schick

sea

If all the women lived over sea
what good swimmers, you Emen, would be
if all the women lived over sea
that would leave you for me

Bethany

Drop dead. Plop. Flop.

I don't know how I get myself into these moods. Dragging bottom emotionally for no reason that makes any sense, except that it's December, I thought I'd look up some Christmas poetry. I found one by John Betjeman that was quite nice, if long - but it fell apart by going all religious at the end, with babies in stables, etc., and ending with "God was man in Palestine/And lives today in bread and wine". Way to wreck it, John.

William Topaz McGonagall's atrocities occurred to me, and I wondered if he had done any Christmas poems (for the only thing better than a good Christmas poem is a bad Christmas poem - but it must be monumentally bad, not just dirty or jingly or a stupid takeoff of Clement Moore). But I've already "done" McGonagall in past posts, and I'm a bit sick of him, to be honest.

I found a horrible Robert Frost poem in which a man pounds on his door of a snowy evening and asks if he can cut down all the lovely snow-sparkling pines on his property to sell as Christmas trees. And here Frost hums and haws over it, turns it over in his mind, thinking: well, here are the advantages in it; and hmmm, here are the disadvantages in it; and: AIIIIIEEEEEK! Cut down all your friggin' trees?? What are you thinking? I guess back then it must have seemed that there were trees enough, that they were endless, and just a crop to be managed like any other. But I was so upset at this point that I didn't even read to the end.

Discouraged, I threw away Christmas and widened my scope to include any old poetry that was sublimely bad, but it's hard to find truly awful stuff. I found articles quoting three or four weak lines in, say, Tennyson. Auden once used a bad adjective, and somebody found a pun in Shakespeare, comparing an orange to Seville (or was it servile?). Well, who gives a shit about that? I wanted bad, and I wasn't getting it.

Until.

Until I found. . . This. 

A Tragedy

Theophilus Marzials

Death!
Plop.

The barges down in the river flop.

Flop, plop.

Above, beneath.

From the slimy branches the grey drips drop,
As they scraggle black on the thin grey sky,
Where the black cloud rack-hackles drizzle and fly
To the oozy waters, that lounge and flop
On the black scrag piles, where the loose cords plop,
As the raw wind whines in the thin tree-top.

Plop, plop.

And scudding by

The boatmen call out hoy! and hey!
All is running water and sky,

And my head shrieks -- "Stop,"

And my heart shrieks -- "Die."

*          *          *          *          *
My thought is running out of my head;
My love is running out of my heart,
My soul runs after, and leaves me as dead,
For my life runs after to catch them -- and fled
They all are every one! -- and I stand, and start,
At the water that oozes up, plop and plop,
On the barges that flop
                              And dizzy me dead.
I might reel and drop.
                                                Plop.
                                                Dead.

And the shrill wind whines in the thin tree-top
                           Flop, plop.
*          *          *          *          *
A curse on him.
                            Ugh! yet I knew -- I knew --
If a woman is false can a friend be true?
It was only a lie from beginning to end --

My Devil -- My "Friend"

I had trusted the whole of my living to!

Ugh; and I knew!

Ugh!

So what do I care,

And my head is empty as air --

I can do,

I can dare,

(Plop, plop

The barges flop

Drip drop.)

I can dare! I can dare!

And let myself all run away with my head
And stop.

Drop.

Dead.

Plop, flop.

                                              Plop.

---

                                        [-- from The Gallery of Pigeons (1874) ]

As if this bounty weren't enough, I found these little notes attached to an article about him, claiming that Marzials, not McGonagall, was the worst poet in the English language:

"Theo Marzials, the last of the Victorian aesthetes, who lived on in rural retirement, addicted to beetroot and chlorodyne (morphia, chloroform and prussic acid), for two decades after the world thought him dead. In the 1870s, as a young man with long hair, flowing moustaches and a silk bow tie over his lapels, he worked at the British Museum. According to Max Beerbohm, the great Panizzi himself, founder of the round Reading Room, was one day surprised to hear a shrill voice crying from the gallery: "Am I or am I not the darling of the Reading Room?". . .  Marzials almost outlived danger. "On the last occasion when I happened to catch sight of him, looking into a case of stuffed birds at South Kensington Museum, he had eaten five large chocolate creams in the space of two minutes," wrote Ford in 1911. "He had a career tragic in the extreme and, as I believe, is now dead." But he wasn't. He was living in a farmhouse room in Colyton, Devon. The bed, occupied day and night, had a saucer of sliced beetroot beside it, the smell of which mingled with the fumes of chlorodyne, the smoke of an oil lamp and the steam of a stockpot perpetually simmering on the
stove."

This is disjointed as hell because I've edited 300 or so words out of it, so who knows who "Ford" is, but then again, who cares? The important thing is that I have found a truly horrendous, a harrowingly bad poet, and this opens the door to all sorts of posts about him. Or not. Depends if I can find anything else. Oh, here's one -

The Ghost of Love

by: Theophilus Marzials (1850-1920)

The wan witch at the creepy midnight hour,
When the wild moon was flying to its full,
Went huddling round a damned convent's tower,
From out the crumbling slabs or tombs to pull
Some lecherous leaf or shrieking mandrake-flower.
Beneath she heard the dead men's voices dull;
Around she felt the cold souls creep and cower;
In hand she held a grinning damned's skull!

Then through the ruin'd cloisters, strangely white,
T'wards the struck moon, all swathed in colod grave-bands,
She saw dead Love wringing his hollow hands,
And gliding grimmer than a dank tomb-light.

And with a shriek she rush'd across his path--
And now the hell-worm all her body hath!

The problem with this one is, as Zero Mostel says to Gene Wilder in The Producers: "Nah, it's too good." In fact it's neither good nor bad, and is as purple as most Victorian stuff was. But it strikes me as bargain basement Gerard Manley Hopkins, and even a pale photocopy of Hopkins has a certain power behind it.

I don't know what "colod grave-bands" are, but maybe they played gigs at the cemetary. Were they people of "colo"? We'll never know. (Could be a typo, also.) So even at being the worst, Marzials wasn't the best. Or the other way around.

MARZIALS DISH. This was all I could find about his sex life, and it came from Wikipedia so it MUST be true:

"The relationship between Marzials and fellow author Edmund Gosse is debated, with some claims that their relationship was more than platonic."

But wait, there's more. . . a truly cheesy poem!

We have seen the Queen of cheese,

Laying quietly at your ease,

Gently fanned by evening breeze --

Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

All gaily dressed soon you'll go

To the great Provincial Show,

To be admired by many a beau

In the city of Toronto.

Cows numerous as a swarm of bees --

Or as the leaves upon the trees --

It did require to make thee please,

And stand unrivalled Queen of Cheese.

May you not receive a scar as

We have heard that Mr. Harris

Intends to send you off as far as

The great World's show at Paris.

Of the youth -- beware of these --

For some of them might rudely squeeze

And bite your cheek; then songs or glees

We could not sing o' Queen of Cheese.

We'rt thou suspended from baloon,

You'd cast a shade, even at noon;

Folks would think it was the moon

About to fall and crush them soon.

James McIntyre

I don't know what to say.

Horrible, just horrible (with very bad poems!)

You know one of those horrible dreams that you can't get out of, and finally you wake up and you're in a horrible dream that you can't get out of, and finally you wake up and you're in a horrible dream that you can't get out of?

Horrible, horrible man at the door

man at the door

man at the door

Horrible, horrible man at the door

Horrible man at the window.

I am on your hand, but 

I don't understand.

Who you are or

What that thing is on your head,

Why is that thing on your head.

When your face rots like that,

It makes me crazy,

When your face rots like that,

I feel like I have rabies.

The best meat is here, no, the best meat is here,

It's very clear 

to me

That the (very) best meat is here.

I have to smile, oh

I have to smile,

because it makes me

gladsome

Just after a while!

Don't call me Ahab

The Famous Tay Whale

BY KNIGHT OF THE WHITE ELEPHANT OF BURMAH WILLIAM MCGONAGALL

’Twas in the month of December, and in the year 1883,
That a monster whale came to Dundee,
Resolved for a few days to sport and play,
And devour the small fishes in the silvery Tay.

So the monster whale did sport and play
Among the innocent little fishes in the beautiful Tay,
Until he was seen by some men one day,
And they resolved to catch him without delay.

When it came to be known a whale was seen in the Tay,
Some men began to talk and to say,
We must try and catch this monster of a whale,
So come on, brave boys, and never say fail.

Then the people together in crowds did run,
Resolved to capture the whale and to have some fun!
So small boats were launched on the silvery Tay,
While the monster of the deep did sport and play.

Oh! it was a most fearful and beautiful sight,
To see it lashing the water with its tail all its might,
And making the water ascend like a shower of hail,
With one lash of its ugly and mighty tail.

Then the water did descend on the men in the boats,
Which wet their trousers and also their coats;
But it only made them the more determined to catch the whale,
But the whale shook at them his tail.

Then the whale began to puff and to blow,
While the men and the boats after him did go,
Armed well with harpoons for the fray,
Which they fired at him without dismay.

And they laughed and grinned just like wild baboons,
While they fired at him their sharp harpoons:
But when struck with the harpoons he dived below,
Which filled his pursuers’ hearts with woe:

Because they guessed they had lost a prize,
Which caused the tears to well up in their eyes;
And in that their anticipations were only right,
Because he sped on to Stonehaven with all his might:

And was first seen by the crew of a Gourdon fishing boat,
Which they thought was a big coble upturned afloat;
But when they drew near they saw it was a whale,
So they resolved to tow it ashore without fail.

So they got a rope from each boat tied round his tail,
And landed their burden at Stonehaven without fail;
And when the people saw it their voices they did raise,
Declaring that the brave fishermen deserved great praise.

And my opinion is that God sent the whale in time of need,
No matter what other people may think or what is their creed;
I know fishermen in general are often very poor,
And God in His goodness sent it to drive poverty from their door.

So Mr John Wood has bought it for two hundred and twenty-six pound,
And has brought it to Dundee all safe and all sound;
Which measures 40 feet in length from the snout to the tail,
So I advise the people far and near to see it without fail.

Then hurrah! for the mighty monster whale,
Which has got 17 feet 4 inches from tip to tip of a tail!
Which can be seen for a sixpence or a shilling,
That is to say, if the people all are willing.

William McGonagall

1825–1902

One of Scotland’s best-known poets, William McGonagall was the working-class son of Irish handloom weavers, and was born in Edinburgh and raised in Dundee. McGonagall’s first career, as a Shakespearean actor—as Macbeth, he once reputedly refused to die onstage—informed the crowd-pleasing performance that was central to his second career as a poet. He had an epiphany at the age of 52 that prompted him to devote the rest of his life to poetry. His romantic verse—often sparked by recollections of war or natural disaster—is strictly narrative, without lyrical or metaphorical gestures, a style the Guardian’s James Campbell dubs “poetry of information.” His poems have been criticized for their lack of imagery and lapses in rhythm and meter, and his style has been frequently parodied. His work is immediately recognizable and memorable, however, and emotionally driven.
McGonagall published only a single volume of poems in his lifetime, Poetic Gems(1890), but made a living selling broadsides of his work and offering dramatic performances of it. He traveled extensively despite his limited means—including a 50-mile trek on foot to see Queen Victoria (he was refused at the gate)—and late in life claimed to have been given the title “Sir William Topaz McGonagall, Knight of the White Elephant of Burmah” by the king of Burma. Though the story is today presumed to be a hoax, McGonagall adopted the name for the rest of his career. He died in Edinburgh in 1902 in poverty and was buried in a pauper’s grave.

  Visit Margaret's Amazon Author Page!

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA