February 2025
Bio Note: I am a poet who devoutly hates February—the month that puts me in mind of Groundhog Day, which has been versified almost to death by now—and Valentine’s Day, a holiday that’s become utterly ridiculous. So I chose to submit a poem about the latter, which deserves to be parodied once in a while—plus another, dedicated to three cute young poets I know who communicate with each other only in questions. Hope you enjoy them.
Valentine For a Bashful Boy
Lovely man, my shaggy puppy,
Why the frown? The visage droopy?
Does the lack of making whoopee
Make you feel all misanthropy?
Don’t be downcast, don’t be weepy—
Climb to my veranda, Dopey,
where the light, kaleidoscopey,
Spills through these French doors, mon poupée!
Come to me, mine erstwhile hippie—
Fill my fluted glass with happy
Bubbles, add a wet and sloppy
Kiss or two—and make it snappy!
Always Questions
Yesterday? At the mall? I bought a book of Emily Dickinson? For my mom?
—Overheard at Starbucks
There is a moment, in the middle teens,
when virtually every sentence ends
on an upward curl, as if it really means
to be a question—or at least pretends
to entertain an element of doubt—
like this: I started early? Took my dog?
implying that I may have ventured out
exceptionally late, to take a jog
without the dog, or anyone else, along.
And if I add: and visited the sea?—
I’m hinting that of course I could be wrong
about this “sea” thing, ha-ha, you know me.
It’s evidently hard for them to say
the thing they mean, without a little cue
for feedback, for the understood Okay;
or, possibly, they talk the way they do
because they are the representatives
of a long-out-of-date civility—
these gentle souls who speak in tentatives,
and always dwell in possibility.
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It's important. -JL