Love Poems

I think I’ve committed a grave online dating faux pas.

So one of the really fun things about me is the Internet dating. Not “fun” in the sense of actually enhancing the quality of my life, you understand, but “fun” in the sense of generating amusing stories to tell at the expense of the evil ratholes I occasionally date or (more often) refuse to date.

I am fond of writing love letters. It feels so damn good expressing my feelings in a form of writing. For me, it’s a powerful expression in any day of the year. I don’t have to be Shakespeare to write the perfect love letter. It’s just how I feel. It’s very personal. I want to fan the flames of a fledging romance with my written words. It maybe sexy, romantic, crazy, foolish or wondrous. Letters are legacies.

Cory sent me a URL …and This article made me laugh, and realize that I’m not alone. This should be the manual for a girl who wants to hit on me. Except for the part that I’ve got lack of social skills…I’ve overcome that problem and I already know a lot of people and I do behave like a normal person with a heavy geeky style. I don’t wear those Microsoft T-shirts anymore…and some other things…

Dave Lee calls the following poem one of the greatest love poems written in the English language. I am not as well read as he, but I think it's pretty damned powerful. I will let you decide for yourself.

I get nervous on dates at the best of times. I never know exactly what to say or do, and most of the time I end up saying stupid things. Anyone who’s ever gone out on a date with me will know firsthand how awkward it can be, but I make no apologizes as I really do try my hardest to impress and have a good time. Of course with age and experience the whole dating scene is becoming somewhat less nerve wreaking for me, and when it’s with someone I’ve sort of been out with before it isn’t so bad.

This cup has touched
Zenophila's teasing mouth, sweet snare of love.
Oh happiness, if she
Would press her lips to my lips, and in one
Deep draught drink down my soul!

Glory be to God for dappled things--
  For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; 
    For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; 
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; 
  Landscape plotted and pieced -- fold, fallow, and plough; 
    And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim. 

All things counter, original, spare, strange; 
  Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) 
    With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; 
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: 
           Praise Him.