love

Runny nose poem

Standard 
RED, RED NOSE
O my Love’s like my red, red nose,  
That’s newly sprung in June;  
O my Love’s like an allergy,  
That helps us snore in tune.  

Now you’re so cool, my bony lass, 
But so deep in snot am I; 
And I will love you still, my dear, 
Till all my sinuses go dry. 

Till all my sinuses go dry, my dear, 
And we can have some fun; 
But I will love you still, my dear, 
When again my nose does run. 

So see you soon my only Love, 
And see you, for a while!  
And I will come again, my Love, 
With one big snotty smile! 

(Author’s note: Apologies to Robert Burns for the take on his poem ‘Red, Red Rose’)

© Neil Dufty

A poem on Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus

Standard 
SHE:HE
You never show me any emotion
I’m always showing you devotion
You do not even know how to try
What do you want me to do? Cry?
You so do not really understand
Hey, I am only trying to be a man
A nice gift, a little kiss on the lips
What’s the problem? We go on trips
Surprise me, be romantic, my honey
I know, you want more of my money
Wait, there’s someone I’ve got to text
Let’s go and have wild, passionate sex
You’re always trying to get me into bed
Now you’re really playing with my head
At least the girls they will shop with me
And the boys they let me feel so free
This long discussion is going so nowhere
It’s an argument, you’re not being fair
You’re shirty, you’ll now give me the snub
That’s right, I’m off now down to the pub.

I’m sorry, here are flowers to show I care
Flowers, that’s a change, so very rare
Can we kiss, make up, and get some food?
Long as it’s not make out, not in the mood
Let’s call it a truce? I will be there for you
And I will try to accept you for being you.

© Neil Dufty

The Bachelor

Standard 
I really want to be The Bachelor,
Inviting morsels for me to trawl,
Flicking them off, so spectacular,
I wish I could taste them all!

And I find The One, The Only One,
“My love is like a red, red, rose”,
The final, millions watch, she’s won,
A moment in time that froze.

But is it real this game of love?
Is it only a scripted illusion?
Parts are acted, producers shove,
All in all, a romantic delusion.

To be The Bach my looks will hinder,
I’ll go back to finding real love on Tinder.

© Neil Dufty