It's said there are more poets than readers of poetry these days. We're all in such a hurry and who has time to reflect on the deep sentiments contained in such inspired creations. I asked son Kelly if he noticed an underlying theme in the Valentine's Day poem for Katrinka and he said no. He was probably trimming a tree and didn't have time to let the spirit of the message penetrate. So I did some work on it and feature it here again along with a bonus poem. So please enjoy these two poems presented two ways. - DC

Valentines Day Poem 2015

(for Katrinka)

A day to rejoice in the beating of our love

That soars to the clouds on the wings of a phoenix

It makes me some teary, please hand me a tissue

And after I've dabbed I'll lean over and kid her

So who owns this day in the Northern sphere's February

Not Shakyamuni nor the virgin Betty

Not Bill Gates or J Paul Revere

Not the mythic heroes of yesterday

Or the children in the yard at Rome

Or those who gather at home sweet spouse

Or the feline chasing after a moth

Or the dead lovers covered in cotton

Or the debt collectors long forbidden

Or the clowns who will not stop their kaleidoscopes

Or astronomers peering through their televisions

Nor the drunk drivers and their careless cremations

Not the oil companies with their service revolvers

Nor consulting firms with their problems all free 

Nor ontologists yappin to be or not to give

Nor the peacemakers with their live and left turned

Or the frugal of penny saved penny whistle

Or the lad with his bouquet of dried prickly shards

Not a day for the companies that sell greeting brandy

Or those pushing boxes of chocolates and canned laughter

It's a day for my love who knows just what I'm ap to want

Her eyes and her lips and her charms and her caresses

Note from the author: The above poem was sent to me by my ghostwriter along with this other poem she'd written for me to enter into a contest for profound poetry. A bunch of the words had fallen off the pages and were just in the envelope loose but I think I got them all back the way they were supposed to be. Here's that other poem below. It's called

Exactly Reflecting 

Blinded with great hope and hearts

Into the sun madly careened the dove

Incinerating its bones and Kleenex

Sally cried about it when big sis had to kiss you

It happened a day before March in winter

Sally's sister like Crocker was a Mary

She cooked with the kitchen ware brand Getty

Two days ago, the day before yesteryear

In the Texas town, not Italy's play

Her role was to be her husband's home

By day she was butterfly nightly a mouse

Which threatened the wool but not the cloth

Which was against the rules and strictly forgotten

Whereas the cylinder with mirrors or kidding

Was encouraged but not the boob tube telescopes

Which father burned in his Luddite collisions

And shot them repeatedly with his stations

Otherwise the kids were basically solvers

But were admonished definitely not to be

Away the tricycle because it couldn't be let live

And he'd call them for dinner with a two finger earned

Once it was so shrill it broke a teapot into thistle

And he'd sit by the fire late and sip his cards

He loved radio comedy with real not candy

We'd bring him his pipe which we knew he was after

And mom would come in and he loved her country