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Rantings of a Sandmonkey

Be forewarned: The writer of this blog is an extremely cynical, snarky, pro-US, secular, libertarian, disgruntled sandmonkey. If this is your cup of tea, please enjoy your stay here. If not, please sod off

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Kind, intelligent, loving and hot. This describes everything you are not.

Ron Larson has a sweet collection of anti-Valentine's Day Poems. Check them out!

posted by The Sandmonkey @ 2/14/2006 03:23:00 AM

4 Comments:

At 2/14/2006 03:41:00 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Always bearing in mind that Valentine's day is unislamic and therefore haram.

 
At 2/14/2006 03:54:00 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

HE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

There is something you and Ron may have missed

 
At 2/14/2006 01:24:00 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thanks for the laugh! I always liked:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I got VD,
and now so do you!

 
At 2/14/2006 10:14:00 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

How about this one, written more than 200 years ago. Could you find a more ethereally beautiful account of sexual encounter?:


Beyond a mortal man impassion’d far
At these voluptuous accents, he arose,
Ethereal, flush’d, and like a throbbing star
Seen mid the sapphire heaven’s deep repose;
Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odour with the violet,—
Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows
Like Love’s alarum pattering the sharp sleet
Against the window-panes; St. Agnes’ moon hath set.

I think you guys are missing out on something extremely important. The English romantics knew something that you and I seem to have forgotten.

 

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