We were never a fan of dialogues.

At the other end of the street I would watch her

Each Monday, carrying a new book every time.

I didn't like to read.

I preferred music, in my opinion
Was the equivalent of a book
Each telling a story.

The cup of coffee in my hand felt as warm as my heart
As I blew the hot liquid from the brim of the cup

And take a picture of her with the smoke that frames her body.

I wrote short poems of how captivating her beauty was
On the greasy table napkins provided for the coffee tables

Producing a different piece each time.

Her mouth would move as she read the words,
Mumbling lines of incoherent sentences I could not decipher.

At times I would see a smile break out on her face
And I would find myself consumed in slight envy.
Would she have smiled at the words I've written for her?

She was a song, I was a poem.

She was first written on smooth paper,
A thoughtless idea jotted in messy handwriting
Soon expanding into a verse and chorus
Written over and over again,
Revised by experts, reviewed until perfection,

Interpreted by bassists, guitarists, drummers, and vocalists
Appreciated repeatedly through the stereos of listeners
As they capture each beat and tempo.
She was flawless.

I was a poem.

I was rewritten in a single document copy
Renamed and revised
From the greasy fingers tapping away on keyboards
Typed and deleted,
Typed and deleted.

Frustrating the writer as they could never get an idea out of me
Leaving me in a file hidden in the folders of an old computer
Unfinished and waiting to be opened.

I was a mess in unorganized stanzas of ideas,

Lines which no one will have the audacity to read,

A waste of time,
Flawed.

She was the perfection in every imperfection
An artwork that you could only love through the eyes.
A piece which I
Wanted in my own.
I watched her again silently and wondered
Is it possible to love someone you've only admired from afar?

Those sad red roses that smelled so sweet
Seemed to wither  to nothing in my hand
For by comparison to you my love
What chance did they ever stand!


So here we are at St Valentine’s Day
It’s only you that I’ll ever need
My heart and my soul I gave to you
And for me, my spirit you freed.


©Joe Wilson – Ode to St Valentine…2015

There once was a young girl.
Very naive, very young, very shy.
Everyday on her way to school,
She would pass by this quaint little house
Where she would glimpse this beautiful boy
Sitting inside staring out of the window.
Everytime she saw him, her heart fluttered in her chest,
Flustered, she'd look away as their gaze met,
Part in fear of the menacing bulldog that faithfully protected it's owner even if the owner didn't like the bulldog much, as well as the abusive mother,
But also because she was shy.
A beautiful boy was looking at her!
Of all people!
She scurried away quickly.

Then, one day, the boy made an excuse to go outside,
To finally meet the pretty girl he has been staring at and longing for,
A friend perhaps.
He checked the mailbox just as the girl passed, and he whispered hello,
His heart offered to her,
As hers stammered and stuttered,
Thrown at him.
They exchanged hearts,
He promised to keep hers safe, as did she.
And then,
she kept on walking, her head down,
Her cheeks a deep crimson.
The whole time,
The bulldog and the mother watched in contempt. He was not to be let go of.

Every morning now, they said their greetings.
The bulldog and women watched,
Watched as the girl helped bandage his wounds,
As the boy took away all her sorrows and insecurities and burned them.
A storm was coming.

One day,
The boy didn't come out.
The bulldog stood,
Tall and proud
At the feet of the old cranky woman.
The girl tried to quickly walk by them,
To escape their claws,
But they pulled her in.
Gave her threats,
Reminded her of everything that she was,
A demon,
A killer,
Not worth anything.

All the fears she once had,
The ones the boy took away,
The old woman and the fearsome bulldog
They took all those fears
And force fed them to her.

She gasped in pain and sorrow,
Filled with doubt and worry,
As they both stood and cackled at her deterioration.

The winds picked up, and as she lay on the ground,
Whimpering and aching,
The boy locked in the basement,
Trying so hard to get out,
To save her once more,
The ******* both still laughing,
And the wind carried her remains away.

The boy,
He felt it when she left.
Her corpse,
It simply floated away into the wind.
He clutched her heart close, knowing no one else would be able to keep it safe.
She dropped his heart, knowing she would never be able to keep something so precious safe.

And then,
*She was gone.

Valentines day is drawing near
A time of love, joy and cheer.
But those words are not familiar to me
For I am never truly happy.

And the concept of love is hard to take
Fear of making another mistake.
How this heart continues to ache.
I can't seem to understand.

So on this coming Valentines day
No romantic music will I play
Instead at home is where I'll stay
With my loving family.

I will hold you
Like the sun
Holds the moon
And the ocean
Holds the sky.