A Love Poem for a Happy Valentine's Day

Since the start of time, the primary subject of poetry has been LOVE. Poems are used to flirt, attract, seduce, complement, and praise a loved one. Whether recited Romeo-style to a lovely maiden on a balcony, written in a love letter that yellows with age, or scribbled on a note to a cute boy or girl in class, poems are the expression of adoration. Better than a rose that can be quickly picked or a chocolate that is soon enjoyed, a poem lingers. A poem indicates that the writer took the time to reveal his or her love in a tender, creative and original way. Poems are not easy to write. They take time and care, and thus are the best gift one could ever receive on Valentine's (or any other occasion).

I love all the classic love poems, like a good ol' Shakespearean sonnet or an ode from Wordsworth. But I thought I'd share with you a more modern one from poet Marge Piercy (the same poet who wrote the "Barbie" poem). She explores all the colorful beauties of her loved one in visual sensory detail.

Colors passing through us

By Marge Piercy b. 1936 Marge Piercy      

Purple as tulips in May, mauve

into lush velvet, purple

as the stain blackberries leave

on the lips, on the hands,

the purple of ripe grapes

sunlit and warm as flesh.

Every day I will give you a color,

like a new flower in a bud vase

on your desk. Every day

I will paint you, as women

color each other with henna

on hands and on feet.

Red as henna, as cinnamon,

as coals after the fire is banked,

the cardinal in the feeder,

the roses tumbling on the arbor

their weight bending the wood

the red of the syrup I make from petals.

Orange as the perfumed fruit

hanging their globes on the glossy tree,

orange as pumpkins in the field,

orange as butterflyweed and the monarchs

who come to eat it, orange as my

cat running lithe through the high grass.

Yellow as a goat’s wise and wicked eyes,

yellow as a hill of daffodils,

yellow as dandelions by the highway,

yellow as butter and egg yolks,

yellow as a school bus stopping you,

yellow as a slicker in a downpour.

Here is my bouquet, here is a sing

song of all the things you make

me think of, here is oblique

praise for the height and depth

of you and the width too.

Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.

Green as mint jelly, green

as a frog on a lily pad twanging,

the green of cos lettuce upright

about to bolt into opulent towers,

green as Grand Chartreuse in a clear

glass, green as wine bottles.

Blue as cornflowers, delphiniums,

bachelors’ buttons. Blue as Roquefort,

blue as Saga. Blue as still water.

Blue as the eyes of a Siamese cat.

Blue as shadows on new snow, as a spring

azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop.

Cobalt as the midnight sky

when day has gone without a trace

and we lie in each other’s arms

eyes shut and fingers open

and all the colors of the world pass through our bodies like strings of fire.