Poets’ Corner: Gordon for Valentine’s Day

Poets’ Corner: Gordon for Valentine’s Day

Nothing is in stone about the Christian martyr who was buried near Rome on February 14. There were a number of different Saint Valentines: even Pope Gregory had no clue who the guy was when he established a feast in his name in the fifth century. Historians assume the pontiff made that move to white-wash the pagan holiday of Lupercalia, an ancient Roman tradition of worshipping the goat lord Pan (known as Faunus in the Roman cosmology), to rid the city of evil spirits and restore fertility. A dog and a goat were usually sacrificed; salt cakes were burned by vestal virgins; and a good time was had by all. Fast forward to the 17th-century Great Britain, when Valentine’s Day became popularly celebrated. Americans began exchanging car hand-made cards and other tokens of affection by the early 1700s. And today? As his barbs hit their mark, Cupid continues to do his happy dance. So what do kids think of all this lovey-dovey stuff? NewsOK put out a video and published some commentary on what kids think of all things gushy. Here’s a snippet:

  • “Cupid is that guy…”

  • “It’s not a he. It’s a she.”

  • “And he looks like he’s in a white diaper, but, yeah. He is. And he has, like, this arrow…”

Is Cupid stupid?

  • “Yes, he is. Seriously, shooting arrows and not shooting cupcakes? What was he thinking?”

Included in some of the chatter was “the color of love is red,” along with mentions of chocolate, movies, romance and flowers. And, of course, girls can send Valentines, but they are not supposed to do all the work.

Continue reading here.

Better yet read this wonderful love poem from a mom to her offspring. Erika Gordon, yes the very same whom we hear from about Telluride Film Fest activities in town  throughout the winter, is also a poet. In fact, Erika is the featured poet at the upcoming Talking Gourds Poetry Club at Arroyo Telluride on March 3, 6 p.m.

two heaets

For You


I want to bake you cupcakes
with sprinkles. I want to
write you poetry and read
you books like my parents
did. I want to smell your hair
for too long and kiss you
and put cream on your rashes
and band aids on your thumbs.
I want to brush your hair
and fold your clothes and sew
your stuffed animals. I want
to sing to you every night
and watch you dance and run
after a soccer ball and fly
down a mountain. I want to
hear the best part of your day
and also the worst. Every day.
I want to cut off your crusts,
and I want to make you eat your
vegetables. I want to let you
have dessert before dinner
sometimes and sleep in my bed
sometimes. I want to come to you
in the night when you call
and tuck your blankets up under
your chin and fill your water glasses
and hear your dreams. I want to watch
cartoons with you and listen
to your stories and jump with you
on the trampoline. I want
to make you smoothies with fresh
peaches and strawberries, and teach
you how to love guacamole
and artichokes. I want to give you
hot chocolate in the morning
and sit with you by the fire. I want
to help you with your homework and
help you manage your tempers
without losing mine. I want to
take you on an airplane and on
a road trip and stay home to watch
deer eat the grass on the lawn.
I want to help you find your way
when your way needs help finding.
I want to do all of these things for as long
as you want for me to do them and then,
with grace, I want to know how to let you go.

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