February

[ChristopherSea]

Spare me, love, your fumbled words,
your hasty jottings to impress;
they grace the page like rhyming turds.
Please don't be tempted to confess
with roses red and violets blue
your love for me, if you'll recall,
I write enough bad poems for two.
Neruda's "Always" says it all
but you're not Pablo, that's okay.
With passion, strength and loyalty
you've made me hear what you can't say,
no need to strut flamboyantly.
So put on Hank and bank the fire,
your redneck love's all I require.

Good fun. Ha ha, and I was just polishing up a Hallmark turd for you too!

Many Nods

Chile and lost
with Nodalotaluk,
Neruda was spent
and nodding a lot.
No longer worth his salt
deliquesced in Patagonian fiords,
Pablo halted his borrowed burro
and pondered the journey:

It was Picasso’s ass
that he rode to near death.
Air hisses from his donkey’s
deflated Bolshevik hooves
like bad poetry.

Chris