Tag Archives: Valentines

1732. A not uncommon phenomenon

It was St Valentine’s Day and Molly was excited. Last year her boyfriend had given her even more than a bunch of roses. She knew that the next year (which is this year) it would be a ring.

Molly rose early. Her heart soared. She dressed in casual, comfortable clothes. No good dressing up to the nines and letting the cat out of the bag. Before she had finished breakfast she had changed her attire twice. What she wore would be captured forever on her phone. Her phone was charged. She would show the photograph to her grandchildren years down the line and say, “This is your grandmother getting proposed to by your late grandfather.”

Late grandfather! Oh! How sad that day would be! for almost inevitably he would pass on first. And she, by then not Ms Molly Liggins like today but Mrs Alexander Snooks, would be left alone in her world of widow’s weeds.

And children! She had already named all three! There would be Nicholas, and Eadlin, and Lillian. Not to mention their house mortgage free and with a lovely view. And the car! “Limousine” would be a better word. She would have her driver’s license by then. It would be the first thing her fiancé would do: give her driving lessons, in between smooching and kissing in the back seat. Oh! The future! Who doesn’t dare to dream doesn’t win.

There was a knock on the door. It was the florist delivery personage. Was this the prelude? “Mother!” called Molly from upstairs, “could you get that. I’m getting changed?”

And when Molly swept down the stairs she was greeted by a bouquet of yellow carnations wrapped in black paper and a note that said “Sorry”.

Poem 6: Love Song

© Bruce Goodman 1 February 2015


You are Cleopatra’s bosom and I am the snake,
You are Sir Francis and I am the Drake,
You are a hoe and I am a rake,
You’re Sleeping Beauty and I am awake.
Oh maybe, baby, maybe
We can make a date.

I am a gearstick and you are the brake,
I am raspberry jam and you are a sponge (cake),
I am a pain and you are the ache,
I am chocolate all over and you are the flake.
Oh maybe, baby, maybe
We can make a date.

If your wooden leg gets in the way
We can get it off.
Fa la la la la. Clunk.
Oh maybe, baby, maybe,
We can make a date.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

127. Valentine


It was Valentine’s Day. Horace and Pamela were married on that day eight years ago. Each year they would celebrate it with a special dinner. This year, they didn’t celebrate.

Horace came home from work and said he’d had enough. He was leaving.

Pamela said good riddance. She said she was only too glad to get rid of the rubbish in her life.

Horace said he was sick of living with a neurotic pile of shit.

Pamela said go suck eggs.

Horace reckoned she’d seen more ceilings than Michelangelo.

Pamela said go suck eggs – again.

Horace stormed out, slamming the door on the way. He drove off in his car.

Pamela frantically vacuumed the house.