It’s Valentines Day! Write a love poem. Or a “Hallmark” poem!



My love for you is deep,
yet my words steep in
tepid water.
No flavor; nothing to savor.
They begin, but fade,
delayed by … what?
A depth I can’t reach,
though I beseech them.
A well with no bucket.
A spell I can’t cast.
My tone, a droning bore.
I wish my words would


to the level of love.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021



Were it not for you, I’d probably squeak by in this life,
Without your guiding light, I’d lose my way,
Not every day, but enough to notice it.

Were it not for you, I’d be okay,
But just okay and not the man who is made better
When your light shines upon him.

Were it not for you, I might find myself
alone, in a quiet home with nothing
but these four walls to talk to.

Were it not for you, I would never have known
How to truly love, and never know what it is
To be truly loved by one so true, were it not for you!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2021

119 thoughts on “PROMPT #325 – BE MY VALENTINE

  1. Happy Valentine’s Day!
    Marie, your poem seems to various meanings. Your love is deep, yet it speaks of an experience that falls short of the expectation of love, or the interpretation of that expectation. The title also says a lot. “There’s no words for my love.” That means you have such a love, it’s incapable of being expressed by words only. It speaks through action, deeds, and being. Well done.

    Walt, your take gleams with appreciation. It speaks as to one who feels flawed, lacking, yet fulfilled, completed, and covered by love. It speaks for lessons learned and exhibits an excellent perspective. 👊🏾

  2. I cheated. I wrote this one 2 weeks ago for our 14th anniversary. Did some light editing and revision.


    We were young— formless,
    clay, unremarkable, dull.
    Who really shaped who?

    We played the potter—
    mutually, In some regard,
    happily molding, scolding.

    Wedging, pinching, one
    another, at the potter’s
    wheel—so fervently.

    You touched me with zeal;
    trimmed away excess flesh,
    loved— unto beauty.

    I touched you—with much
    passion, adoration of
    craft, becomingly.

    We became a match,
    perfectly fitted, framed, unto—
    one vessel, body.

    We entered the fire,
    at high temperature— our
    marriage, burning bright.

    Dancing in the kiln,
    at eighteen-hundred degrees,
    clay, glazes, mature.

    Bisque firing,
    and glaze firing— at heart,
    effacing wasted parts.

    Until there was one,
    perfected, beautified, work—
    One, unto honor.

    Benjamin Thomas

  3. This one I wrote two days ago. I edited and added two more stanzas. It’s dedicated to my love for poetry.


    I write,
    to write away the pain;
    as if it would drain—
    suddenly, from my pen.

    I write,
    summoning deepest wounds,
    channel its affliction,
    siphon it— through my pen.

    I write,
    from the hidden canvas of heart,
    fashioning life—into abstract art,
    then do it all over again.

    I write,
    for the painting of passions,
    ardent murals—spirited scenes,
    portrayed through my pen.

    I write,
    from intrinsic chambers of wealth,
    emergent springs—of love,
    translated through my pen.

    Benjamin Thomas


    There’s a soft and quiet hiding place
    In the little hollow between
    Your earlobe and the jut of your shoulder
    Where all my anxieties go to rest.
    I bring them to you, trickling
    One by one eased out by careful flowering
    Language, or sometimes overflowing from
    My cupped hands like a child carrying too many
    Marbles: some of them have to find the floor.

    Something about the little furrow in
    Your brows when you’re thinking (caring) hard
    Makes vulnerability easier.
    Did you picture us here now with this tenderness
    Growing up through bones and skin that first night
    In June, in the summer heat and your parents’ house,
    When I still kept my jeans on to get in bed with you?

    The way your hair smells familiar and
    Homey, or how I anticipate the rhythm of your breaths
    Before they even move to expand and
    Deflate: your lungs and I are old friends.
    Our living room is the scene of relearning
    Language, and sometimes breaking down
    In front of and all over each other like marbles
    Spilling out of too-small hands.. we’ve become
    Very good at picking them all back up again.


    are poetry
    in motion

    are no words
    for a kiss

    The rhythm
    of your

    mightily of
    your bliss

    Your eyes

    of thy brow

    tilt of
    your head

    eminence of
    thy posture

    The Red—
    ness of
    your lips

    whispers of
    thy grip

    of poetry

    Benjamin Thomas

  6. You’ve awakened the beast…


    At your awakening,
    I salute the brilliance
    of the Sun.

    Who could know
    the splendor of such ray?
    Yet, I have begun.

    I ache—
    for the sleek contour
    of your gracious words,
    primal love.

    You are the
    Rose of Sharon,
    without thorn.

    I’ve fallen, worn,
    the sword of your beauty.

    I hunt,
    the perilous scent—
    lure of lavender breath.

    I shudder,
    at the marvelous breadth—
    genius of your sepals.

    I falter,
    under the poisonous gaze
    of your piercing glare;

    convinced of the
    dare of attraction,

    drawn to

    I am—
    hard evidence,
    of your hypnotic spells.

    I am
    shaken by you—
    nature’s bling.

    You are
    ecstasy’s green

    You are costly—
    and I am

    I am
    singed in your

    If you were fire,
    then I am ashes;

    gather me,
    spread me across
    thy soil,

    let me seep—
    deep, into
    your roots,

    let them
    seek stability
    in the depths below.

    a part of you.

    Let us
    grow, wither,
    and weather the storms,

    let us thirst,
    drink of the heavenly rain.

    Let us grow,
    know the wild,
    refrain from ignorance.

    Let us know,
    the fervent sun by day,
    calmness of moon by night.

    Benjamin Thomas

  7. A Simple Love

    no grand romantic gestures, violins playing, red roses
    from you
    no heart-shaped box of milky chocolate or card sent
    to me
    this day is meant for simpler things
    a smile
    our favorite “oldies”on the radio
    can take
    us back to the beginning of this love affair that stole
    my heart

    Waltmarie Poetic Form-
    10 line poem, any subject, even numbered lines are 2 syllables and form their own poem when read separately. Odd lines are longer with no specific syllable count.

  8. The new look favors shorter lines. Love to you all.


    My love
    is a curious thing
    that gooses me
    to giggles
    that curls me
    into sleep,
    and sings
    when I sing.


    In a spate of madness, he found himself dismissing
    and, instead, becoming a scold
    in old
    tank towns and minor-league
    forgetting that a loving heart that dispensed bliss
    was his
    claim to fame, his stark

    • Like I said, that form is a beaut, and a challenge. I started out with the short lines, and built from there. Took me to fields of dreams, they did.

  10. I’ll Sing a Love Song to You

    My lonely soul cried in despair
    Long before I was even aware
    You sent Your own Son and the way had been won
    And all of the work of redemption was done

    I’ll sing a love song to You
    I’ll sing a love song to You
    You’re my closest friend, our love knows no end
    I’ll sing a love song to You

    You pulled me up out of the pit
    And to You I do gladly submit
    We walk side by side, I have nothing to hide
    I now have new life since my Savior had died


    When He escaped the grip of death
    Lord, You breathed in my soul with Your breath
    I seek Your dear face as I walk in Your grace
    One day I will go to that Heavenly place


    In the form of “There’s Room at the Cross for You.”

  11. Substitutes

    I learned about love
    pulling rays from dandelions
    their tiny hair-like shafts
    like some flowering porcupine
    good for at least ten minutes
    of suspense when precision
    was important so as not to
    taint the outcome prolong
    discovering the inevitable

    Fingers yellowing with nature’s
    nicotine and my knees glittering
    with almost microscopic petals
    I kept plucking but my mind
    wandered to pin feathers
    on scrawny white leghorns
    being readied for the stewpot
    after flopping around the yard

    Even as I mouthed the mantra
    until finally giving in to futility
    and tossing the wilting remnants
    into the gutter thinking to try
    a fat pink peony or maybe a tulip
    but the one had too many petals
    for a quick answer and the later
    too few to be trusted with the truth

    leaving me to wonder
    were answers even to be trusted
    if I learned about love from such
    dubious daisy substitutes.

    • Pat, this is perfectly penned and so, so clever. Each line begs the next, leaving to the difficult-yet-somehow-sweet final thought.

      My favorite is this:

      “but the one had too many petals
      for a quick answer and the later
      too few to be trusted with the truth”

    • Pat, I think this is my favorite of yours that I have read. Exquisitely penned, I love the comparison between the excessive peony and the untrustworthy tulip. And that last stanza is just pure gold!

  12. Love the look, but was hoping to spread the page out. Also the larger font may be contributing to the sprawl. Easier to read but giving up some to get some. I’ll try other fonts at normal size. Hopefully it will help. Otherwise, back to the drawing board!

  13. Snow Day (Valentine Morning)

    I woke up late with
    Your heart entangled in my hair
    Outside, a white world
    Welcomed us to dream the day away
    A day off with you
    And snow? Blissful awakening.
    The floor was biting cold
    On my bare toes as I dragged and
    Giggled my way to the kitchen
    Frozen berries and sugar
    Smell like summer in a winter world
    Waffles and syrup and cream
    In your coffee, this morning could stay
    All day if we let it

  14. Sometimes

    I catch myself
    wanting to text you
    like just now coming home
    in the snow and picking up
    my phone to send pictures
    of the birds above the feeders
    and the barn cats curled
    round each other

    needing to tell you how yesterday
    I traded snapshots with your girls
    them sending pix of cardinals dancing
    limbs beside the seed and suet you hung
    that last year you came up to Missouri

    or how I keep frames of the birdhouses
    you made and painted robin’s egg blue
    so proud you sent me images of each
    as they sat the work bench drying

    how I keep the birdhouses next to that
    one of you in the brown recliner
    in Indiana playing superman with your
    chemo bag spread across your chest

    I think we both knew how we grew into love
    over years repairing all the broken bridges
    gathering whatever shards we could find
    and paving new paths but god I miss you

    even more now than those times you left
    such emptiness behind when you moved
    to build another plant Colorado or Jersey
    Texas Indiana Ohio Missouri new words
    that only meant the Ends of the Earth

    yet you made each of them destinations
    weddings or birthdays all rolled into one
    where I could come and bring the kids
    feel like I was still part of the family.

  15. A Storm
    Love is fire,
    love is rain,
    love is comfort,
    love is pain,
    love is flood,
    and love is dew.
    Love is how
    I feel for you.
    Love is cloudy starless sky,
    love is lightning in my eye,
    love is long repeating poems,
    love is voltage, amps, and ohms,
    love is breaking light thru cloud,
    love is silent,
    love is loud,
    thunderous quiet,
    whispers vowed.
    © Damon Dean, 2021

  16. Earth Angel

    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 doing 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,
    fifty and counting,
    most of them dears.
    She makes 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.

  17. My first stab at a Waltmarie. It is NOT easy to write these, Candy. But I think I’m going to get easily hooked!

    “Let all that breathe partake”

    The nation I call home seems to be in an uphill battle to
    love all
    who disagree, politically. An underlying prattle rumbling
    rattling as intensely as a slithering serpent that can’t help
    but speak
    its small mind, as it seeks to find petty points that straddle
    your truth
    and strangle your certainty: callously, maliciously, never-so-

    © Marie Elena Good, 2021

    *Title phrase from My Country ‘Tis of Thee

    Poem within reads:

    Love all
    but speak
    your truth

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