So Texted Zachary and Other Poems

By Ken Gosse

So Texted Zachary – a Phone Poem

He texted her, “Oh, Merry me!”
She texted back “That sounds so guy!”
But he continued, “We could B ...”
She interrupted, “Can’t you C?
You send your love from A to Z
but texting only makes me cry!”

If he’d just reached across the bed
instead of playing with his phone,
he could have touched the lass instead
of texting alpha unto to zed,
to let his heart speak, not his head—
but joys she missed were never known.

Don’t Clench in the Clinch

In the heat of the moment their clinch
became tighter each second, each inch,
but in spite of some pinching
there wouldn’t be flinching;
much practice had made this a cinch,
but
when she played the part of tart wench,
with her moans and her groans sounding French,
she was deeply entrenched
and his sweat left him drenched
out of fear that their dentures would clench!

Valentines Day at the Office

With a screen saver flavor all red, white, and pink
filled with chocolates and flowers and yes, kitchen sink,
wrapped up in a bow
by a beau, she’ll soon know
if this frog is a prince—with one kiss and a blink.

Louie, Louie, Don’t We, Do We?

A dooby dooby doo ensnared two strangers in the night
as the foggy, foggy dew began to hide them both from sight
while the froggy, froggy croaking in the dewy, dewy fog
wrapped their hearts within the cloaking of a foggy, foggy bog,
but her “Do we? Do we?” doubting burst the fog of his delight,
making Louie, Louie rout without requite of appetite.

Paradise Lost (Valentine’s Mourning)

It was the best of days, it was the worst of days—
one that’s called Valentine’s comes and it stays
in the heart, on the mind of all lovers who find
their delight in delighting a love of like kind,
but for those who are lost, having lost what they had,
yet have known what has flown, whether lass or a lad,
and whatever their ages, the poems of sages
(those wise folk who dared not step in through the ages)
delight many fools who dared tread where they dread,
but become a sad bane, driving many insane
who once had what they had and once sang their refrain
but now find it the worst of the year, as if cursed
by a Cupid whose poisoned darts long have disbursed
a deep dark where a lark had once flown long before
as they wander, alone, on a cold, distant shore,
ever lost in a daze on the brightest of days,
since they found that their heart and their hope parted ways.

Ken Gosse usually writes short, rhymed verse using whimsy and humor in traditional meters. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, since then in The Offbeat, Pure Slush, Parody, Home Planet News Online, Sparks of Calliope and others. Raised in the Chicago, Illinois, suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, over twenty years.