Tag Archives: love

Poem 58: There is no guile in your smile

There is no guile in your smile
Your eyes portray your love
No trace of malice on your face
Your voice a soft-songed dove

There is no guile in your smile
Your arms are all encasing
Your warmth as if a summer’s day
Your love is all embracing

There is no guile in your smile
Your giggle, tinkling bells
Your touch as tender as the breeze
Your movement…

BLOODY HELL… !

There is no guile in your smile
As you plunge a carving knife ruthlessly into my chest.

THAT, I hear you say, is for not meaning a word of it.

 

 

 

1202. Love at first sight

It’s love at first sight. In fact, I hope we find enough money to afford to get married one day. She lights up my life. I think about her all the time. I’ve most definitely got to buy that engagement ring.

Everything about her is stunning! Her looks! Her personality! Even her taste in clothes. She’s almost a fashion icon. Her laughter is like the sound of gentle bells wafting from a beautiful spire down the valley of life. Her eyes, I swear, are diamonds.

Now, I’ve just got to get her to notice me.

Poem 55: I cannot love the sky

55free

I cannot love the sky
until I know the scientific names for all the clouds.
Look! how dramatic is Cumulonimbus!

I cannot love the garden
until I know the scientific names for all the flowers.
Oh! such lovely Lobularia maritima!

I cannot love the song
until I know the scientific names for all the birds.
Hark! to the rapture of that Turdus philomelos!

I cannot love reflections in the water
until I’ve checked for giardia,
those anaerobic flagellated protozoan parasites of the phylum Sarcomastigophora.

I cannot love you
until I have dissected your opinions
tested your resolve
verified your good faith
and checked that you don’t have a Daucus carota stuffed up your Sphincter ani externus
like some overcharged know-all who

…cannot love the sky

 

1078. A happy ending for once

Myrtle was an accomplished writer. She posted a story every day on her blog. People complained however: Why do you always kill your characters off? Can’t you have a happy ending for once? But Myrtle refused.

She liked to kill her characters off. It was like murdering without a prison sentence. Such fun! And so like life!

Stubborn, murdering Myrtle began to type her daily story:

Ferdinand and Mavis were having a picnic in an idyllic spot under a large eucalyptus tree. Mavis had made the loveliest cucumber sandwiches and Ferdinand had brought along a bottle of his home brew to share on the picnic rug.

“Will you marry me, Mavis?” asked Ferdinand going down on one knee.

“Oh Ferdinand! Of course I will,” said Mavis, bursting into a smile.

Suddenly, a violent storm struck. There was a loud crack heard from the eucalyptus tree. The tree began to tragically fall. Ferdinand and Mavis were…

Dear Reader. Myrtle was about to slaughter her characters once again. But they were saved! They were saved! Hurrah! Myrtle dropped dead from a heart attack before she could type out the word “killed”.

Aha! a happy ending after all!

1018. Mistletoe

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It was New Year’s Eve somewhere in France. In France in New Year the mistletoe is even more kiss-inducing than at Christmas.

Jacques was seventeen years old. He rather fancied Chloe. She was sixteen and went to the same school.

Chloe’s parents were having a New Year’s Eve party. They hung mistletoe at the door. Chloe invited Jacques to the party (along with others of course). Chloe wasn’t sure if Jacques liked her or not.

Jacques arrived and Chloe greeted him at the door, under the mistletoe naturally.

Jacques climbed out the back window of Chloe’s house, went around to the front of the house, and knocked on the front door. He did that seventeen times.

Chloe was starting to suspect (she hoped, she hoped) that Jacques liked her a bit.

796. Perry falls in love

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Perry first saw her on the other side of the room. It was at a party. Their eyes caught. They quickly looked the other way, pretending not to have seen. Perry began to wander his way across the room. He nonchalantly chatted to this person and that. He could see (without looking) that she was also quietly moving towards him.

How gracious she was! Every movement was like an act of kindness. Like the moon! Like the prow of a canoe piercing its way silently across a mirror lake.

And then… they met.

“Hi. My name is Perry.”

“I’m Vita,” she said.

It was love at first sight. They laughed and talked. And talked and talked and talked and talked and talked. And then they danced. And talked some more.

“Could they meet again tomorrow?”

“Where shall we meet?”

Perry went home. He didn’t even know her last name. It was an unusual name, but one that Perry was familiar with. When he heard it, Perry would know she was the daughter of the guy who had murdered his (Perry’s) mother.

643. Bridget waits

© Bruce Goodman 15 July 2015

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Every day Bridget hoped for rain even though she wasn’t a gardener or a farmer or something. She was simply a receptionist at a factory down town. Each morning she caught the bus to work. There was no shelter at the bus stop, just a sign that said “Bus Stop” on the side of the road.

At the bus stop each day was this guy – she didn’t know his name – but he was what Bridget would call “fairly hunky” and he was the only other one – usually – at the bus stop and once he said “Hi” but normally he would just nod and smile and then they’d wait a few yards apart and not say anything like they were too nervous to speak or something. And anyway, they caught different buses.

And the time he did say “Hi” Bridget was too excited to say anything and just answered “Yes”, which was a silly thing to say if someone says “Hi”.

And day after day he was there throughout the summer months, and now it was heading towards autumn and it was dark when she went down to the bus stop.

Sometimes there were two or three other people at the bus stop but they weren’t regular like Bridget and the fairly hunky guy. And it still hadn’t rained, and every day Bridget hoped for rain even though she wasn’t a gardener or a farmer or something.

She hoped for rain because the fairly hunky guy always carried an umbrella. And if the truth be known, the fairly hunky guy always carried an umbrella because he hoped for rain.

641. Love affair

© Bruce Goodman 13 July 2015

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Hilda the hippopotamus fell in love with Geronimo. But there was a problem: Geronimo was a giraffe.

What’s wrong with that? you might well ask. The difficulty was that they were into their third date and busy necking in the back seat of their Volkswagen, and there simply wasn’t enough room.

“There’s only one thing for it,” said Geronimo. “We need a sports car with a roll-back hood thingy.”

So that’s what they got and it solved lots of problems. Pretty soon, Hilda and Geronimo were married. They had six kids, three hipporaffes and three gipotamuses. They lived happily ever after, and actually, if you must know, some of their kids became quite famous.

550. When Patsy fell in love

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When Patsy fell in love with Jock it was like… like… it was wonderful! Raindrops were pearls of sunshine. Her pet canary sang ten times more melodiously than ever, ever, before.

She had always wondered what name in life she would end up with. Yes, she would take her husband’s name for sure: Mrs P. Barker? Mrs P. Millman? Mrs P. Nelson? Mrs P. … As a teenager, she had practiced with every boy in the class; her signature, that is, with their surnames.

And now the man of her dreams had come into her life. He proposed! Patsy said “Yes!”

Mrs P. Ennis.

Patsy thought she might keep her own name.

534. An algebraic episode

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For months Andreas had watched Stephanie. Not in a Peeping Tom, ogling, lecherous sort of way. He had noticed her. Then he found himself attracted to her, and thinking about her.

He would “accidently” make sure their paths crossed, and say a friendly “Hi!” Hopefully a pleasant conversation would follow.

They were students at university. They were both taking a paper on Foundations of Algebra, Analysis and Topology. It just so happened that Andreas was near the top of the class and Stephanie was struggling. Could she come to his place and get some help? Of course she could! Of course she could! Of course she could!

My goodness! Did Andreas clean his house! Dinner could have been eaten off the toilet seat. Everything was perfect. He even had a nonchalant vase of flowers plonked carefully on his little dining table where he and Stephanie would sit (together) and work on their algebra.

And she arrived! Stephanie arrived! She rang the doorbell! She was on the door step! His doorstep!

They sat next to each other at the table. Their knees almost touched. Andreas farted. It was a quiet one. It was the smelliest fart he had ever done in his entire life.