The Violent History of Romantic Gifts

Well, I needed to write a Valentine’s Day poem and I needed it to be kinda different.

The Violent History of Romantic Gifts

Neanderthals scrunched heavy brows
crafting necklaces adorned with sabertooth fangs
strung together by hairs plucked
from the fatty legs of lazy mammoths.

Vikings split the ribs of enemies,
harvesting hearts they’d spike to trees,
clustering bleeding tickers on Dogwoods
and Beech in bunches of twelve

where each brute would carve the name
of his sweetest sweet. Hun warriors
sliced meaty portions from their nethers,
skillfully filleting each fleshy slab

into a filigree of adoration they quickly slapped
on the foreheads of their special gals,
but I, possessing not the courage to grapple
with Jurassic beasts nor the aptitude

to painfully, artistically carve affectations
on my heaving chest, can simply offer you
a rose as red as the blood that slicks
my veins, each petal, as soft as silk,

heralding a thousand reasons why
I’ll hold your hand forever.


6 thoughts on “The Violent History of Romantic Gifts

  1. Whew! I bet your wife’s glad you’re not more courageous!
    And I think I need to be more grateful that I was born in an age of “civilized romance.”
    My hat’s off to a poet whose imagination surely knows no bounds!


  2. Overcoming my fear of writing something to be scoffed at … I almost understand your brilliance, your combustible strength of word, the flow you grow, the visions you inspire.
    Thank you Kind Sir.
    Gentle bowing of head & tipping of hat from my awe-struck psyche.
    Much appreciation & kindness to you from a definite fan,
    Sharee 👍


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