“My Blind Date” Cute Love Poems

Beneath the clock I’m waiting expectantly
Awaiting my blind date a little nervously
He’s late but I don’t mind, at least not yet
He’ll have a good reason no doubt, I bet
He’s here at last and only an hour late
A good-looking man it was worth the wait
A kiss on the cheek and a smile how terrific
Oh but his breath could stop the traffic
But nobody’s perfect and he has a kind face
And he’s booked a table at an exclusive place
The restaurant looks fine, very expensive
Let’s hope appearances are not deceptive
The food is poor, and the service shambolic
His conversation is dull and monosyllabic
He drinks too excess and slobbers his food
His table manners are nothing short of rude
His drinking is driving me around the bend
I really can’t wait for the evening to end
The bill arrives and I’m asked to pay half
My immediate reply “you’re having a laugh”
He leaps to his feet and explodes with fury
Then falls backwards into the shrubbery
I throw him a look of contempt and disdain
Embarrassed I leave saying “never again”
How could I have known it would go so amiss?
I just can’t believe I shaved my legs for this

“The Legend of Patrick Malone” Cute Love Poems

Patrick was loud, burly and mean
And he loved to start fights drinkin’ pints o’ poteen
Had a mean lookin’ scar on his broad, manly chest
And he’d show it off proud thinkin’ ‘e was the best.
He’d go down to the pub, bein’ downright sur-lee
‘Til he met a young lass name o’ Brigid McKee.

With stunnin’ green eyes and pearly white teeth,
she was a Daughter o’ Mary who fought for the free.
In the days when the rebels were Pope-lovin’ poor,
Every head turned around when she walked through the door.
Young Pat said to his friends, with his eyes all a-gleam,
“Step aside all you sods, here’s the woman fer me!”
So he strode up to her, smoothin’ hairs into place,
flexin’ his big strong arms, with a confident face.
An’ he said, “My name’s Pat, I’m the toughest man here,
Now come on love, let’s dance, and I’ll buy you a beer–”
But ol’ Paddy he didn’t know he’d met his match,
And young Brigid just scoffed, as she said, “Not so fast–”
“You tell me that yer tough, yeah y’think yer so great,
Cause y’ fight all day long, an’ men’s snots yeh can break.
Now it’s one thing t’ fight fer a reason that’s good
like a’fightin’ the Orange in yer neighborhood,
but yer here raisin’ hell, makin’ a holy show
yer a pitiful slob, in a bar, don’t yeh know.
I’m sure yer used t’ havin’ young brassies galore,
bet y’ twirl ‘em around on the Devil’s dance floor
but not me, I’m a lass of a quite differn’ kind,
Now get out of my way, yer a’wastin’ my time!”
And ol’ Paddy’s face fell, as his brow did a’frown
And ‘is buddies all laughed, as they all said, “Shot down!”
Then young Pat said something, as he swallowed his pride,
“Surely that can’t be all, won’t y’ give me a try?”
An she said, “I suppose, if you think you’ve a shot,
Go to Father McNeil, an’ when you’ve washed the pot
Clean yerself up an’ work, go to church, start t’ pray,
An’ the speck o’ red light will guide you on yer way.”

And with that she was gone, Patrick watched her retreat,
And he said to ‘is friends, “Boys…I think I’ve been beat…”
So he did what she said, went t’ good Father Mac,
Scorned himself for ‘is sins, an’ he never looked back.
He cleaned up pretty nice, once ‘e scrubbed ‘is pale face,
but there jus’ weren’t no jobs in the good ol’ free state.
So ‘e hopped on a boat, headed for a new land
An’ he toiled ever’ day like a hardworkin’ man.
‘Til one day ‘e got caught with cratur on the job
an’ in those days that meant ‘e was breakin’ the law.
He was sent off t’ jail, breakin’ bricks in the sun
But ‘e never complained, not once to anyone.
He became a good man, some men called ‘im a saint
Always liftin’ men up, helpin’ them on their way.
So they labored an’ toiled, fingers worked to the bone,
Singin, “Rebels o’ the good Sacred Heart won’t be broke!”

Finally, Pat was done, for he’d paid all his dues
And he left with some cash and a pair o’ new shoes.
Fifteen years ‘e had spent in a whole differn’ land
Fifteen years had made Pat quite a whole differn’ man.
So he hopped on a boat that was ‘eaded fer home
An’ ‘is buddies all said, “Why it’s Patrick Malone!”
He asked them where he could find Brigid McKee,
And they told him she’d be in the sanctuary.
Then he found her a-lightin’ the crimson red lamp,
(So the speck o’ red light really DID bring ‘im back!)
Though her hair had gone gray, her eyes sparkled like old
As she heard all the tales that good Patrick now told.
An’ he said, “Miss McKee, yer pretty as a rose,”
She replied, “Thank ya Pat, but I think we’re too old–”
Patrick said, “Though I’m old, I am sure not dead yet!”
But at that Miss McKee laughed so hard that she wept.
Wiping tears from her eyes, she said, “You’ve had yer fun,
But come on now dear Pat–
–don’t yeh know I’m a nun?”

Cute Love Poems | 2

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