It’s Valentine’s Day! It does not matter whether you are celebrating with someone or taking some much need self-care time … it is all important and valuable. I opted to post today instead of yesterday so that I might post one of my quirkier pieces. You see, my fiancée and I have been together a little over ten years, and one of our running habits are writing notes, journals, and scrapbooks together. It would be great if we finished one before starting the next, but that is okay. Who doesn’t love a new paper organizer?

Anyways, years and years ago, in our first six months of dating, we learned that Fiancée had the opportunity to travel to Italy on an archaeological dig. It was pretty cool. He’d be gone for six whole weeks, which seemed like a lifetime to a couple of teenagers. So I started a journal before he left. I wrote notes, thoughts, and poems down, wrapped it up, and handed it to him to include in his luggage. I told him it was something to read each night before bed. In turn, his complementary task was to write down all of his experiences while he was away, so that I could read about them when he returned. It’s been a lovely keepsake, and we continue to fill the journal with more recent stories, cards, and photos. 

We’ve recently gone through the notebook, and he suggested that perhaps one of the poems would be something to share. They are unfocussed, zany, and non-sensical, but have the innate ability to make someone smile. So, here it is, A Poem from the Journal. Happy Love Day everyone. I hope you indulge in so much chocolate and do something you love.

Again, again, my story begins,

With Fredo the hobgoblin and the bucket he wins.

My tales from the past and his tricks from the present –

A midsummer’s ball and a rodeo pheasant.

Let me return to my hobgoblin friend,

who sat on a bucket creating a trend.

And what a trend it is, a sight to see – 

Pink little Fredo under a tree.

Lounging around in his snakeskin coat,

Its scaly qualities appearing to float.

He looked at himself in the silver-gold tint of his bucket,

his outfit was informal but he decided, ‘Oh fuck it.’

Why dress up for the midsummer’s ball

when his bucket shimmers and glimmers for all?

Our rosy little hobgoblin lounges again with butt on the bucket and back on the tree.

He napped in the sun lazy and carefree.

Listening to the buzz from the bold bumblebees.

The day had gone and passed away,

bringing the night and its tell-time to play.

So Fredo awoke with a dozy-eyed groan,

and rubbing his eyes he let out a moan.

His face ached and burned such an awful state.

He ran to the river and sighed ‘just great’. 

For his skin had turned a purply purple.

His snakeskin coat and bear coat-cloak no longer worked well and he about choked.

The atrocious mess! The fashion faux-pau!

He should be wearing the necklace of saber tooth claw!

And his blue fish scale vest baring his chest …

And cowhide boots with his earring of bamboo shoots!

But Fredo, the genius, he had a plan.

He shrugged off his sunburn and began to stand.

He wiggled his nose and flexed his toes and his outfit changed, then he struck a pose!

A smile and a chuckle and one final thing –

He scooped up his bucket, his item of bling.

Fredo followed a light to a meadow, his beautiful land,

there a world full of hobgoblins dancing in hand.

They were red and yellow and blue; others oranges and pinks and purples and greens,

the rainbow of colours you see in your dreams.

The lanterns were lit and spread through the trees,

and for these occasions the hobgoblins dyed the bees!

The stars were sparkly and the night was clear,

and the sprites were serving unlimited beer!

Fredo hopped in the party and started to dance;

with a sprite, an elf, and a pixie by chance!

Soon he landed by a wild pheasant,

A rodeo becoming an idea most pleasant.

It squawked and it cocked and it twirled in flight to each and every rider’s delight.

The joy, the joy that the ball brings; ’tis the mettle, 

the stuff of kings; well Fredo the lad danced and had the time of his life.

And with this I think I will end, for my eyelids are drooping and my head to bend , towards the sweet comfort of a warm bed. So dear, good night, and let the sweet world of dreams take flight.