Tagged Valentine’s Day

Who is wearing all black?

To all those mourning this sacred, paper-heart holiday, don’t. I see more people bitching and crying about Valentine’s Day than not, so in the spirit of this, I thought I’d share with you a poem. Why, you might ask. I know you’re biting your nails in anticipation, but this holiday–as is its biggest gripe–is about something that doesn’t necessarily exist. Not in the lacy-red romance sort of way.

Eff that, I say! Romance does exist. Just not when it is overly planned and raised to such high expectations. My hippie friend say that Valentine’s Day was conceived by greeting card companies. Shit. Every holiday I know of is commercialized to the max. No matter where it comes from, I wish for you–single or not–the passion of something this day. This and every day, really. I don’t care if it’s your fantasy hockey team that gives you that tingly feeling in your chest or the porn under your mattress. In a world where technology is slowly replacing thought and feeling, get it where you can.

And this poem. It stole my heart from the moment I read it. So raw and real and honest. Please read!

Morning

I’ve got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with death

in my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robe

chills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snow

At night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutes

I miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem mine

although I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you’d be proud of

the parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicycle

what are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies it

is difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are alone

Last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I’ll not be cordial

there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is

when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
i beg you do not go

Frank O’Hara

With love,
mpt