Love Bubbles – An Ongoing Blowing

     
   
Another One For The Dormouse🐭    
   
I send these loving lines to you,    
and with them goes my loving heart    
that beats for you the whole day through.    
I send these loving lines to you,    
I've dipped each one in love so true    
it surely has no counterpart.    
I send these loving lines to you    
and with them goes my loving heart;    
   
and then a few more words I write    
to say quite simply you're the best;    
you fill my – er – head with sheer delight;    
and then a few more words I write    
to say I'll – er – hug you through the night    
and never will I stop for rest;    
and then a few more words I write    
to say quite simply you're the best. ♥️    
   
🏹🐏    
   
One For The Dormouse🐭    
   
I don't believe in finding complicated ways    
to write a poem that simply says    
I love you.    
     
I won't conceive of using convoluted rhymes    
to plainly say a thousand times    
I love you.    
     
I can't perceive of metaphors or similes    
to say the thing my heart believes:    
I love you,    
     
and so I weave these simple lines      
to say how glad I am you're mine,    
the Dormouse🐭 whom I think divine,    
I love you!    
     
🏹🐏    
     
     
It's Ripping Off Tennyson, I Know, Darling, But He's Dead, So He Won't Mind At All    
   
In each and every minute of the day    
I dream your face and ache to hold you tight    
so much it hurts. I long for sweetest night    
to come when we may take delight in play –    
to die in Aphrodite's rocking sway!    
If only then thief Time would cease to move    
and we could stay together locked in love!    
My love, it's worth the whole of my heart's bliss    
to taste from your sweet lips a single kiss ...    
but more than that I shall not speak hereof.    
     
🏹🐏    
     
S      
     
A silver chain around my neck    
suspends a silver letter S    
that represents the name I love    
of one to whom my heart screams 'Yes!'    
     
and when the sun is burning high    
those coruscating golden rays    
reflect upon my silver S    
and make it flash in myriad ways,    
     
but though that S should blaze like fire    
and dazzles me with dancing light    
it doesn't sparkle quite like you.    
My love, you make my whole world bright!    
   
🏹🐏    
     
A Décima For The Dormouse🐭    
     
O Love! I take this feathered quill    
and dip it in my own heart's blood    
to write to you these words of love.    
A thousand pages could I fill    
to tell you, Love, how me you thrill    
with everything you do and say.    
I hold you dear in every way    
and never will my love be gone.    
My heart with yours shall beat as one,    
my Love, forever and a day.    
     
🏹🐏    
     
Muse    
     
The sleepy Dormouse🐭, curled up in a ball,    
is dreaming poems, ones that she will write    
when she wakes up again to sweet birdcall    
and sunshine at the end of long dark night.    
What will her subjects be? I must confess    
I have no clue to what's inside her head    
as she lies sleeping there. I can but guess    
what she'll produce when she uncurls from bed,
the magic words she'll choose to express best    
the million magic things her wild mind thought    
on Helikon, that Mountain Muses blessed,    
her Gift, which for no fortune could be bought.    
I only know whatever words she'll write,    
like her sweet self, will fill me with delight.    
     
🏹🐏    
     
Rhythms of Love    
     
Her instrument's percussion    
and she likes her music Russian;    
my Firebird always flies    
when she's around!    
And when she sets to beatin',    
well, my blood begins a-heatin' –    
'Sarah! Sarah!    
My Firebird's left the ground!'    
   
With her nimble little fingers    
playing on her marimbas    
she makes those polyrhythms      
roll and rock!    
Then my feet they starts to twitchin'    
and to dance I'm really itchin' –    
'Sarah! Sarah!    
Never never stop!'    
   
Then she's bangin' on her bongos    
and that's when my control goes,    
as her paradiddles    
set my – er – feet aflame,    
then we're movin' and we're groovin'    
and we've lost the power of choosin' –    
'Sarah! Sarah!    
Let's dance that dance again!'    
   
🏹🐏    
     
Another Silly Love Song    
     
The red Rose is sweet,    
the Foxglove is neat,    
the Bluebell a tune    
always plays me,    
     
but the flower apart    
that's captured my heart    
is the sweet smiling face    
of a Daisy. ♥️    
     
🏹🐏    
     
Because You Love Her, Stupid!    
   
I'm not a poet,    
have never been a poet,    
have never even wanted to be a poet,    
so why on earth am I sitting here now    
writing a poem with a tea cup in it    
that has the symbol for Aries      
in red on one side    
and 'I Love Sarah'    
in black on the other,    
which I hold in my hands    
and touch to my lips,    
wishing that it were you?    
     
Well?    
     
🏹🐏    
     
     
Well, Naturally    
     
Sometimes I think it's best in prose    
to write the red of true love's rose,    
     
but then, my love, I think of you,    
and only poetry will do.    
   
🏹🐏    
     
All That Matters    
     
I've never gone streaking    
at night in the rain,    
I've never made love    
at the back of the plane.    
     
I've never met Elvis,    
the Queen or the Pope,    
I've not been to Holland    
and smoked loads of dope.    
     
I've not gone in search of    
the source of the Nile.    
I've failed in the running    
of a four-minute mile.    
     
I've had nothing published –    
I'm a terrible poet!    
(and this poem as proof    
will certainly show it!)    
     
I've not raced a bike    
in the Tour de France,    
I've never asked Sylvia Plath    
for a dance,    
     
I've not been to parties    
with Hares and Mad Hatters,    
but I have my Dormouse🐭    
and that's all that matters ♥️    
     
🏹🐏    
     
Inky The Mouse🐭    
     
Inky the Mouse    
was snug in her house,    
playing around with her ink.    
There was orange and green    
– the prettiest you've seen! –    
and even a bottle of pink!    
     
Taking a pen,    
she thought and said then:    
'I don't know which ink to use!    
A teal or a red    
or a turquoise instead,    
what colour of ink should I choose?'    
     
Scratching her head    
she thought and then said:    
'Ah! Now I finally see!'    
then she picked up the green    
– the prettiest you've seen! –    
and wrote a love letter to me. Yay!    
     
(Thank you, darling. It was lovely.)    
     
🏹🐏    
     
     
     
This Is Just To Say    
     
that William Carlos Williams    
wrote an apologetic note    
to the person whose plums    
he'd taken from the icebox and eaten.    
     
You, however, my love,    
need write no such note to me.    
Should you fancy my plums,    
take them.    
     
Stuff them whole      
into your mouth    
and let the juice    
run down your chin.    
   
🏹🐏    
     
BOOMWHACKA!    
     
I love that BOOMWHACKA! moment      
when a poem really connects.    
The words dance off the page,    
skip into startled eyes,    
twist into the bloodstream,    
tango through every artery      
and move with flashing feet      
to beat with the very rhythm of one's own heart  
in much the same way as you've become    
the very rhythm of my heart, Sarah,    
ever since that BOOMWHACKA! moment    
when you read me your poem    
and charmed me, darling, entirely.    
     
🏹🐏    
     
Sarah Scrabblemouse🐭    
     
She's my Scrabble-playing girlfriend,    
a vocabulary queen.    
Of all the words      
in the English Lang.,    
there're few she hasn't seen.    
     
On triple-worders placing them    
she annihilates me daily,    
and then she says,    
'One day you'll win!' —    
and she utters this quite gaily!      
     
So then we start another game,    
but soon she's well ahead,    
racing over    
the far horizon    
and leaving me for dead.    
     
Sometimes I think the only way      
I'll ever get to beat her    
is to bash her    
with the Scrabble board,    
stun her and then eat her;    
     
then of course at last I'd win,    
of that there is no question,    
but I bet that she    
would take revenge –    
and give me indigestion!    
   
(Only joking, darling.)    
     
🏹🐏    
     
Give Me Your Answer Do    
     
Snowdrops springing in the wood,    
clematis climbing high,    
foxgloves neat,    
lobelias sweet,    
as blue as April's sky;    
     
clover of the pinkest pink,    
the reddest English rose,    
a lily white,    
a pure delight,    
the virgin bloom it shows;    
     
azeleas in every shade,    
the lilac's heart-shaped leaves,    
tulips proud,    
the astors' crowd,    
Neruda's cherry trees;    
     
I've seen all kinds of lovely flowers    
in red and white and blue,    
but, Daisy, dear,    
not one's come near    
to lovely, lovely you.    
   
🏹🐏