A Sonnet for St. Valentine

Why should this martyr be the saint of Love?

Why should this martyr be the saint of Love?

Here is a sonnet I composed in honour of the original St. Valentine. I notice some FB posts implying that as an early Christian martyr he has nothing to do with Romantic Love and should be dissociated from it. I believe that on the contrary there is every reason why he should be the patron saint of Love and this sonnet explores why.

As always you can hear the poem by clicking on either the title or the ‘play’ button. This poem is published in my collection ‘Parable and Paradox’

St Valentine

Why should this martyr be the saint of love?

A quiet man of unexpected courage,

A celibate who celebrated marriage,

An ageing priest with nothing left to prove,

He loved the young and made their plight his cause.

He called for fruitfulness, not waste in wars,

He found a sure foundation, stood his ground,

And gave his life to guard the love he’d found.

Why should this martyr be our Valentine?

Perhaps because he kept his covenant,

Perhaps because, with prayer still resonant,

He pledged the Bridegroom’s love in holy wine,

Perhaps because the echo of his name

Can kindle love again to living flame.

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4 Comments

Filed under imagination

4 responses to “A Sonnet for St. Valentine

  1. stan

    Good day.I had no idea there was a move to separate Valentine from February 14th.  What would it become, love day?  However, it might explain Happy ❤️ Day.  I thought it to be laziness,  instead it may be ignorance.  At any rate, enjoy a sonnet.❤️JanSent from my Bell Samsung device over Canada’s largest network.

  2. Love-ly (forgive the pun, I meant it)

  3. Hi Malcolm,

    Bob Phelps here. I enjoy ALL your poetry. I’m an 83 year old Capuchin first located in Beacon, New York USA. He is my LENT

    Lent

    Lent has come to sit on the trees and shake the hardened branches, Pusillanimous efforts to coax new breath through the impenetrability of winter’s freeze; enough movement though to attract the black throated blue warbler, recently back from the south, bird brained and with aviary ambivalence borne of forgetting a forgotten season, hovering over the trees in aerial indecision, mimicking the dubiety of her human cousins with their broken wings, standing below and looking up at her, waiting for their cue.

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