Valentine’s Day now is near.
But again I’ve no poem this year.
I find the day a stressful time,
my mind goes blank and I’ve no rhyme.
But I do have love and she loves me.
And the day’s still young, so we’ll see.
My pencil’s sharp and coffee’s ready,
the sun now risen, my hands still steady.
An hour’s past and words are few;
perhaps a card will have to do.
But just wait, I’m no quitter.
Though a bit lazy and a prolific sitter.
So I’ll take a break then try once more.
I’ve enough to say, that’s for sure.
I could write of the things she does for me.
And of the beauty she helps me see.
I could mention the way she makes me feel;
each day assured our love is real.
I must also include our morning kisses,
and how she exceeds all my wishes.
There’s also the snuggling every night,
and how wonderful she is in the morning light.
And how she makes my heartbeats race,
my worries vanished without a trace.
We both laugh a lot, though I’m not always funny.
Her tolerance’s high and disposition’s sunny.
Our future’s bright, what more can I say?
Oh yeah; Happy Valentine’s Day!
A poet’s life should bear no stress.
But once a year’s OK, I guess.
It’s the only day that I truly fear.
And Valentine’s Day is growing near.
It’s the only day when something’s expected.
And a bad poem that day may be rejected.
So I show her my love in every way.
She’s awakened to kisses every day.
Flowers not often but she likes the surprise.
I love to see the joy in her eyes.
I tell her she’s lovely, my beautiful queen.
And that she’s the star on my big screen.
Hugs are many and poems not a few.
After all, it’s what I supposedly do.
But today I’m stressed as the day is near.
I expect something special for my beloved dear.
So alone I sit with pencils all ready.
My mind’s jumbled but my hands are steady.
I think of the love she gives to me.
And that she’s the one I long to see.
The hour grows late, now time for a rest.
I’ll awaken tomorrow and be at my best.
I’ll hold her close and nibble her ear.
And I’ll try not to worry about one day a year.
Another year’s gone by too fast.
But the birthday stress now has past.
I had too much cake and coffee too,
had a party and stepped in poo.
Perhaps an omen or maybe not,
or a reminder of things forgot.
Crappy stuff happens every day.
And we often slip along the way.
Yesterday being our only prep,
surprises await with every step.
Life can stink as we all know,
but sometime wrapped with a bow.
My shoes now scraped, no damage done.
My time ahead I’ll wish for fun.
I won’t let aging make me sad,
the alternative being really bad.
The dreaded day is coming,
it makes the poet cringe.
Their ink is overflowing,
all the world will binge.
Heartfelt words sculpted,
sent to loved ones who are dear.
Stress is soon to peak,
the deadline’s growing near.
“I love you” bought and sold,
drug stores sell out fast.
But first the prediction,
then the shadows cast.
Winter winds still blowing,
heat’s felt in the heart.
The pressure now’s building,
for another Valentines’ start.
A stressful day was made by me.
But better soon, just wait and see.
Yesterday’s gone and today is here.
The worst is over, no need to fear.
The intro had and all was fine.
I am yours and you are mine.
The love we share now is known.
The pair I needed was finally grown.
In times of worry and feeling stress,
when plans made become a mess,
you’ll find the answers no need to guess.
You’re surrounded by friends, no need to regress.
Troubling thoughts we will address,
my care for you I’ll gladly express.
Our love will grow stronger, never less.
And when a hug’s needed I’ll always say yes.
We work by day and dream at night.
In between we live and fight.
We fight for peace and for love.
We fight to live, we push and shove.
Sometimes we give, sometime we break.
We sometime take more than we make.
We fight for much and for less.
We fight for time to fight off stress.
We’ve fought for us and for them.
We fought for merit and to condemn.
We fight the ills that lurk within.
We fight our demons so we may win.
Yet battles won are never done.
And battles lost are never one.
But still we fight until at last we die.
We’ll fight for breath to at last ask why.
When frustration stays
Stress and anxiety start
Writers block happens
Writing writes its own right time
Minds need recharging
The signs never clear
Signals usually crossed
Paths always lead on