A Sentimental Valentine’s Day Poem (Ode To Schiller) by Shannon Scott

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CLICK PLAY TO HEAR SHANNON READ THE POEM

If only Valentine’s Day fell upon some week in May,
with gladdened heart I’d have a wealth to say to my love,
for she and I are like hand in glove.
Rather its in February, a bleary month if there ever was!
 
Which when this ill plot was sought, was it arbitrarily so?
Surely it was coquetry, as if seriously commanded, would be contrary to poetry and reason! Rhyme left naked and abandoned!
For it only rings with tributary and when the ill fated name “February” is said,
which sinks from the mouth like lead?
People look as if you’ve summoned the dead!
 
So dread, why was May not chosen instead?
It is my contention that with May’s mere mention?
Such metaphors leap freely to this bard’s lips!
“Its a lovely day in May when the minds at play upon gay imaginings of a young maiden’s fair hips!”
 
See, its a shame that God’s calendar maker was not instead a baker!
For badly risen bread is more liveable than the unforgivable misplacement of this lover’s holiday day!
 
There as you can plainly see, that its not simply me! Not!
Moreover that THE WORLD secretly chagrins,
and only when they can sing, “Hooray for V-Day in May” will smiles part once more above their wanton chins!
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The Warmest Cold

By Shannon Scott (C) 2015

I still covet this work as one of the best I’ve ever done. Long ago I met a person on my road to a higher self and learned much about visiting a world where I did not belong but fell for their Siren call. She was all 3 of them in one body. 

Click To Hear Shannon Recite This Poem

 

She was the ice queen.
A boreal beauty.
Bearing love formed by tiny crystals,
shimmering silver, red and gold.
Fracturing light into rays spectacular.
Storing the warmth of the sun in all her parts.

But only to a specific degree.
For ice is ice.
And some goddesses are frosty indeed.

Her ardent smile could freeze you solid,
but left your blood running lukewarm.
Her febrile words were a fireside invitation,
but to the inside of a frigid room.
Her burning eyes could melt you to a puddle,
but found you bathed by gelid water.
Her pyretic touch invigorated cold skin,
but leaves your love frostbitten.

Yes, the ice queen can only be warmly admired and never handled.
Her wintery land does see the sun pass and set, but there?
Spring and Summer are but seconds and not seasons.
Only what is born there can inhabit her artic domain.
Her kingdom is enchanting, but for warmer creatures life there only promises pain.

Travelers like thee will always be her curious.
Opposites attract as opposites will be.
Momentary fools maybe, but in the end, her destiny divides.
For she must find someone as cold as she.

For ice is ice.
And some goddesses are frosty indeed.

IceQueen