Anti-Valentine's Day Poetry Competition 2009

Judith Davies February 9, 2009
But Now

You used to send me flowers, but now, it would appear,
That you no longer bother with such affectations – dear.
You used to buy me chocolates, gift wrapped in golden foil,
But now I don’t get chocolates, or anything – at all.

You used to bring me fine champagne, the bucket packed with ice,
But now, it’s half a'bitter – and you shudder at the price.
You used to know my fragrance, you recognized perfume,
But now you wouldn’t notice it if I sprayed the entire room.

You used to remember my birthday – you used to remember my name,
You used to think a date with me more special than a game.
And if we had to be apart, you’d call me every day,
But now you never bother – as there’s nothing left to say.

But wait…

I used to do my hair for you; I used to wear nice clothes,
I’d teeter on stiletto heels – do you remember those?
I used to listen when you talked; I used to call you “honey”,
I loved to cook you three course meals – and all your jokes were funny.

I used to book surprise nights out, I used to iron your shirts,
I valued your opinion – I could never see you hurt.
I used to rub your aching back; I used to hold your hand,
I went to concerts with you, just to see your favourite band.

I used to text you messages I knew would make you smile,
You always were my valentine, my best boy – by a mile.
We used to have such happy times, I’m sure you would agree,
But now, I see, I can’t blame you – unless, I too, blame me.
Lita Doolan February 9, 2009
over ice cream for two slowly melting:

He sees me as a crossword
he can’t finish.
I am his fork in the road.
He will change me
mould me as clay
warm to the touch
now solidity has left
our relationship.
Matriculands in jurisprudence
Are among the most hard-working students.
Yet a Valentine's card
May call them to the bar
In flagrante delirio tremens.

Despite their sincere erudition
Theology students start wishin'
"Cupid, please fire your dart
Through my sweet angel's heart."
Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition.
Oh Economic Beauty!
How I curse this day of blood-diamonds
This day of programmed chemical reactions!

They celebrate something that should everyday be,
Your waking thought, the last thing you see.
But they need it, they need it, they really do.
Because without that pink card
They'll run a sword right through,
Their big red hearts, like a fast fast train.
You poor little creatures,
Love is in the brain

As I scream and vent in discontent,
You watched, hand on chin in agreement.
And that's just it,
Our mindsets agree
We both hate this day just another day
And that is real love to me
I sit on reception and all through the day
Arrive bunches of roses and sweet cards that say,
"Oh sweetie, oh darling, I do love you so"
"You're the one in my life, I won't let you go"

And with each new delivery my heart gives a leap
As I hope beyond hope that one's mine to keep
But one is for Sarah, the director's PA,
She smugly collects it and then skips away,

The next one's for Lizzie, who coos "what a surprise"
And turning to me, evil glint in her eyes
Proclaims to the office "Poor Kaleigh's got none."
"Nada, nothing, not one single one!"

I try to be calm and not lose my rag
But I just cannot stand the silly old bag,
I lunge for the vase, tip it over her head,
As she shrieks and she screams that she will have me dead.

I flee from the office, leaving Lizzie much wetter,
But all of a sudden I'm feeling much better!
On Feb 14th the world goes mad,
Restaurants hike up their prices,
Card shops, florists, chocolatiers,
Commit comparable vices.

It’s Valentine’s Day – designed for schmucks,
I know a few – they love it.
If anyone gives a card to me,
I’ll tell them where to shove it.

The beating, bleating, blood red hearts,
The sissy, kissy verses,
I grumble as I pass the shops
And spit Tourette’s style curses.

Please don’t fall for all the hype,
Wake up and see your folly,
Retailers prey on gullible fools,
It makes them lots of lolly.

So opt out of the pink champagne
Shucked oysters? Waste of cash.
Instead, go to a poetry slam
And eat great bangers and mash!
I laugh at love,
Because it's such a joke,
Romeo and Juliette,
What Fakes!
Anthony and Cleo,
What Flakes!
Why bother with romantics,
When you can steer clear,
From the sloppy,
Cringe worthy,
And damn well sick,
World that rhymes with dove,
No.
I cant say the dreaded word again.
Valentine

I ought to declare our love will conquer time
In the hyperbolic terms of Marvell and of Donne.
My only coyness has become my crime:
I believe the years will leave both of us undone.

One day I’ll probably lose interest.

Conjoined spirits? A marriage of true minds?
If we’re twin souls, we’re the fraternal kind.
Imagined infidelities are how it all turns sour:
I’ll consider you less each passing hour.

One day I’ll probably lose interest.

I’ve already seen the cracks in our perfect love,
Your jokes, that make me laugh out-loud today,
With constant repetition will chill my blood.
Like the rain, I’ll wish you would just go away.

One day I’ll probably lose interest.

It’s senseless to dread what inevitably must come,
I’ll awaken one morning to find our sun has gone,
This universe left cold and dark, the sky unlit,
Our celestial bodies will lose their twin orbit.

One day I’ll probably lose interest.

I glance over at you now and oh, the sight!
Your lips, your form, make my heart ignite.
You smile back, but does your warmth mask doubt?
Perhaps we are two minds with but a single thought:

“One day I’ll probably lose interest.”
Red Devil

Cupid is stupid, with his arrows and quivers.
His aim is rotten, because it rarely delivers.
He hatched from an egg, from the Greek Goddess Nyx.
Likely, from a love nest near the River Styx.

His color is red, and the reason is quite clear.
He is really the Devil incarnate up here.
Cupid lives for temptation and bedlam unmatched.
It was part of the plan, from the day he hatched!

I say we band together, and pull off his wings,
Then hustle him down to the loo!
Flush him down the crapper, alongside his things,
Along with the rest of his Valentine poo.
Valentired.

Four years of trauma, but this Valentine’s no more
My bezzy mate Tanya got my foot in the door
With this really great bloke who she says is well tasty
But knowing her past picks, I’ll not be too hasty…

My first Valentine, was a boy called James,
Obsessed with comics and computer games,
But when we kissed I got attached to his face;
It seemed my tongue was caught in his brace.

Two-teeth Tony lacked aesthetic appeal
His sense of humour was very surreal:
Popcorn down my bra was really quite sticky
And the Odeon loos aren’t the place for a quickie…

Then there was this bloke (let’s call him Bob)
Incredibly fit with a lucrative job
He was meant to meet me at five past eight
But by my watch he’s two years late.

Last year the 14th of Feb was quite stormy
And even my desperate ex-boyfriend ignored me.
As it turns out he had a thing with Lydia,
Who then accused me when she caught Chlamydia!

So even though my STI check came out clear
I don’t expect much from V.Day this year.
If Tanya’s efforts end up failing again
I’ll make a resolution to give up on men.

*****

I’m creeping up to the restaurant door
My little heart pounding, there’ll be couples galore.
I hate them all with their smarmy smiles
And I’ve lost all faith in my feminine wiles.

But as I walk in imagine the sight -
It seems this year Tanya got it right -
There she is sat with Sarah and Tash
Each with a plate of sausage…and mash!
Cowering, like a biscuit,
Beneath the indifference of the shiny fiends,
I wish only to soar like a copper spoon,
Above the stratum of their easy banter.

Dressed entirely in fluorescent pearls,
Stinking of herring,
And with a vulture above my head shrieking repeatedly the single word "loser",
Still they would never see me.

Once in another life, I offended God,
By fraudulently placing a free advertisement,
And ever since, with no possibility of redemption,
I am doomed to walk alone.
CUPIDITY

Humanity wears its heart like a tattoo
carefully applied beneath its sleeve
to swathe what lies beneath
the shell of who we are.

The ink is camouflage for a paper heart
pleading for love
thinning from the incessant quest
of the quintessence of the frightened
child within.

The sanguinary Valentine tattoos
we wear inside
cover a hemorrhaging heart
viciously toxic to potential lovers
sorely self-defeating to amour.

Does love possess us to wear it?
No one worth possessing
can be possessed.
There is more cupidity
than Cupid in that.
Jerusalem for cynics

And did those cards, in ancient time,
Mount up on England’s landfill site?
And will the card shop shareholders
Be toasting big profits tonight?
And did that drunken youth divine
Declare his love, so deep and true –
That he could not recall, the next day
When he asked “Who are you?”

Bring me my pen, of poison ink,
Brink me my notepad full of spite,
Bring me a flagon full of drink,
To imbibe on my own tonight,
As I will not be going out,
No one will ever invite me,
I’ll be alone again, there’s no doubt
In Valentine’s misery.

With sincere apologies to Messrs Blake and Elgar
I have never received a Valentine’s card.
And never imagined it would be so hard,
To see all my friends, who always receive them,
Being so blasé, they could take them, or leave them.
I sent one, just once, to a boy I admired,
Did you get a card? I later, enquired.
“Yes”, he replied. “And I know that you sent it.”
“It went in the bin.” I knew that he meant it.
I went home and cried, I could not stem the tears,
The hurt never left me, despite passing years.
When I think of it now, I could curl up with shame,
I feel so embarrassed, when I hear his name,
Why did he do that? What went through his mind?
It was cruel and spiteful to be so unkind.
I re-live it, in nightmares, again and again,
And forty years later, I still feel the pain.
Cupid aimed my arrow directly at your heart
But he missed my lass - it struck your ass
And caused my love to fart

Straight and true that arrow flew
Into my sweet angel's crack

Now if you won't be mine I guess that's fine
But could I have my arrow back?
What is a Valentine, Valentine?

I have no inclination
my Valentine
to spell out your name
with stems of roses
No God forsaken time
to criss and cross
or have your thorns
bleed me dry

Furthermore
I am reluctant
to the extreme
to engage my heart
in beams of hope
that would likely die
in seething, burning embers
And I have small expectation
of any serial bloodletting
or mutual cloying

I have no poignant wish
to steal away
your entwining heart
or transport you
to a sacred place
and bury our love there
in some forsaken spot

I want not
to induce in you a feeling
that devoid of me
you would be lost
Indeed so unearthed
that your looseness of connection
with the real world
would miserly unwind

I could take no joy
in your tugging and prying
Your indulgence
Your anticipation
that only I would
serve the longing
that burns indignant
in your awakened groin

And were you to tryingly
beg my white thighs
to close you down
pin and unfold you
into the essence of me
What then would be my purpose?
For that would only mean
that you were weakened
by attainable desire for me
That you would rather
die, dogged face with me
than return to the mundane
part of life that is you

I simply couldn’t have you
beckon my latent desire
Not handle well the chalice
at my ego alter
Then I would be unable
to disrobe you
without having you wash me
in your grateful tears

What sort of Valentine
would you be for me
If you, unthinking
could not pander
to your everyday tasks
If thoughts of me
dropped like vinyl 45s
into some forlorn jukebox

How could you serve
your life purpose
if your heart and mind
are filled with only thoughts
of me, of mine
I could not tolerate
your undivided love
and curious attention to detail
Is this what a Valentine REALLY is, Valentine?
My partner destests it,
he hates all the hype,
he's not really the mushy, cuddly type.

Red roses, or chocolates,
Ribbons galore,
he'd rather watch countdown,
and flick through channel four.

This valentines eve,
won't be a restaurant posh,
doner kebabs will be,
what, we're goin to gnosh.

He says he won't have it,
he says he won't pay,
over the odds for something,
that should be done everyday.

So I'm writing this poem,
and maybe win it, who knows?
But won't even get to ,
go to the restaurant Jerichos.

I'd so love to give him,
this free valentines day treat,
but he doesn't even like
the sight, of any sausage meat!!!
For all you "would be" lovers, sitting by the phone.

Do you want to know why, I celebrate alone?

Most men have been big-headed,
arrogant, not sweet.

And most of all were scruffy, and had awful smelly feet.

So get yourself together, get dressed up and meet a friend.

Then put your face on darling, and Valentines DON'T SEND.
Love tussles
torn between
a love triangle
of a he and a she
i yearn for his return
of endless nights of passion
alas he is no where to be seen
off with his wife
such is life
my valentine
for the night
has gone
Love is exclusive...
To them
Love is inclusive...
To them
Love isn't free...
To me
Love doesn't come...
To me

So keep your Valentine's night
Well out of my sight
This year its on a Saturday
Thank God for Match of the Day!
On Febuary 14 2009
You'll be my valentine:

There is no need for you to fear -
The vows were pretty clear.

I hate you more than moldy bread;
I wish that you were dead,

But on Febuary 14 2009
You'll be my valentine:

Tick tock there goes another year;
It's called a marriage, dear.
You don't need flowers,
chocolates and stuff.
I tell you I love you
that should be enough

love hearts on cards
with verses in red
you don't need that rubbish
i'll kiss you instead

You don't need romance
or a meal at the Royal
Just take off your clothes
and pass me the oil

You don need valentines
to show you who cares
Lock all the doors
and meet me upstairs.
My crummy Valentine,
Ironic Valentine,
You make me piles in my heart.
Your scorn is graphable,
Near-photographable,
And it is tearing me apart.
Do you figure I'm a geek?
Think my love's a little weak?
When you proudly fail to speak
Think you're smart?
Don't wash your hair of me,
Why won't you care for me?
Stay, crummy Valentine, stay!
Give me my Valentine's day.

(with profuse apologies to Rogers and Hart)

(wailing sax solo to follow)
Fourteenth of Feb,
Almost a year to the day,
That the love of my life,
Turned out to be gay.
I have something to say:
Sorry to be a bummer
But if God wanted us to do Val Day
He’d have put it in summer.

Who’s f-ed up plan was it
To have a day when you dare
To eat mountains of chocolate
Then put on thong underwear?

And if you want someone to sleep with you
To hear “yes” instead of “mmmmaybe”
Don’t get her a card
Featuring an arrow-shooting baby!

The headlines every day shout
“Save the trees!” “Credit crunch!”
“No, but on 14 February,
Buy dead flowers by the bunch!”

So you can keep Valentine’s Day
With its contradictions and clashes
I prefer compatible things
Like beer, bangers and mashes.
Valentine's night
Pile of shite
Empty mailbox
Whisky on the rocks
No flowers, no date
Selfpity, I hate
The loneliness
Prefer Bangers & Mash
There was a young man from Eton,
Who about the head was beaten,
With a Valentines card
By his previous sweetheart
For being such a cretian.
Put simply love fades, and folks usually decide
To introduce children into the mix
All those one-liners, the times we lied,
And now the sorry state is perpetuated, that hackneyed fix.

We are bombarded from youth, find a wife and don’t tarry,
By aged breeders daring you to mock,
Is the solution to every problem simply to marry?
Of course not: throw out your biological clock.
The media is dogged by expressive type,
You know the sort that dream and hype,
Bleed their hearts, pour and gush,
To suggest that love's pastures are verdant and lush!

Not me, I love myself:
Enough of heartache,
Removed from the shelf.
From all my relationships the coupling to toast,
O Solitude I love you the most!
so low
rain pours heavily over head
key in the front door
wet shoes traipse up to bed
a glance in the mirror and the reaper looks back
cold death stands firmly opposite this heart bruised track
I shut my eyes and gulp deeply
and with blood from my wrist I paint
"I loved you so dearly"
A dozen red roses, all present and correct.
One for every month of the latest year's neglect.
Thornton's Continental, pre- gift wrapped, naturally,
And a card, with some sickening, saccharine non-poetry

"How do I love thee...", let me count the ways:
One for convenience, two for better days.
Three for the memory of what we should have been,
Four for understanding what 'For better or worse' means

Five for the security, 'Before you get too old,
House, partner, children!', that's what everyone is told.
Six, I s'pose, for gratitude; you could have let me go,
Or railed and cursed, or thrown me out, let everybody know.
But you stayed, and sighed, and understood that it would ever be so.

What would it have taken to tread a different path?
How hard would it have really been to try to make you laugh,
Or cry, or sing, or something? Just not this antipathy,
That I recognise, see in your eyes, when you try to look at me.

You say you like the flowers, and the card does make you smile.
The chocolates, well, they're saved for guests, put in the cupboard with the rest;
affection for the file.
So, thank you for the dinner, and I did enjoy the wine.
I suppose that all there's left to say is have a happy Valentine.
Vaguely remember to get out of bed
Accost the empty hallway
Locate absolutely zero cards
Examine potential options for dire day
Narrowly avoid evening with lone crones
Tactically plan to circumvent all couples
Impulsively order pizza in pyjamas
Navel gaze through veil of period drama
Extinguish light early
Seriously consider a new plan for next year
On the 14th of Feb
I swear you won’t find me
Wearing pink or red
Buying into that conspiracy

Why have a holiday
That only some people can celebrate?
“Aw you’re not getting laid?
Here, have some of my chocolate.”

“You didn’t get flowers?
Here, stare at mine.”
Hate to break it to you, girl.
Those cost 4.99.

I swear I’m no hater
Or bunny-boiling freak
I just think love can be saluted
Any day of the week

Boyfriend or not
To St V I’ll never pay homage
Which is why I believe
I deserve sausage.

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