Today, as I drove down a midwestern road filled with too much construction, the chaotic piano of LCD Soundsystem’s “All My Friends” began.
Suddenly, I was back in a muddy park in St. Louis dancing with two friends who were about to move cross country. We were all mingling with strangers we’d met earlier that day, catching each other’s glances in our crinkled eyes. Flashes of light from the stage in the distance were reproduced like delayed lightning by the enormous screen in front of us. Barefoot, dirty, entangled with strangers, we made our way back to each other, laughing from the strange perfection of the moment.
We knew this felt different. Everything would be different soon. This festival would be discontinued the following year.
However, we’d been there: at the reunion show of LCD Soundsystem.
Years later, we’d find our way back to each other, in the Pacific Northwest— in a car stuck in traffic— mumbling along to “All My Friends”.
We’d leave little room for silence between conversations untainted by any separation or time. The gaps filled instead with the songs we’d each collected over the past few months, our voices mingling with ones much more qualified.
This is my snapshot, but I know that others have their own memories containing the same soundtrack. How odd and splendid and beautiful to share a melody with so many different stories.
In honor of Sir Edmund Spenser – the Forefather of Roses are Red, Violets are Blue
In 1590, Sir Edmund Spenser (pictured below) penned the epic Faerie Queen – the inspiration for what we know today as “Roses are red, Violets are blue…”
While Spenser would probably choke on a fig (I just assume that all Sirs in the 1590’s are in a perpetual state of fig-eating) after hearing the reductive, Hallmarkian ode we know and love (by which I mean feel complete apathy for) today; I feel he would at least be able to celebrate the longevity of his poetic contributions – as well as the iterative love poems spawned by it’s creation.
<— Try and tell me this guy didn’t enjoy a good fig.
In an attempt to further (re: tarnish) Sir Edmund’s assumed-fig-over-consuming legacy, the luvdaily team set out on a mission to give “roses are red, violets are blue” another refresh – several, in fact.
We reached out to poets, comedians, authors, marketers, and friends for multiple perspectives – ranging from the political to the downright obscure.
Read. Enjoy. Show some Love.
Read through these 38 roses are red, violets are blue love poems while enjoying a fig. Also, make sure to follow our contributors on their respective platforms, and leave them some love in the comments or on their social media channels!
And we highly encourage you to share this little article with all your loved ones and greatest enemies – in the name of Sir Edmund!
We have broken these poems into subsections for quick parsing (love is all about efficiency these days):
Roses are flowers. Violets are flowers. Sugar is a disaccharide composed of fructose and glucose… And comparing you to that upsets my central processing unit – luvdaily crew
38. Your Perception of the World Love Poem
Roses can be blue,
And violets can be, too…
I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this…
“And how does that make you feel?”
Asked my therapist.
– luvdaily crew
How do you think Sir Edmund would feel about this?
We hope you enjoyed these lovely (and unconventional) takes of “roses are red, violets are blue.” Also, a HUGE thank you to all of our contributors. To those reading this: please, please, please let these lovely humans know that you appreciated their words with a follow on social media – or leave a note in the comments section below.
Additionally, we encourage you to submit your own version of “roses are red, violets are blue” in the comments.
And lastly, we must give thanks to the inspiration for all of this -Sir Edmund “Fig-licious” Spenser. May (a highly derivative version of) your legacy continue – for many decades to come.
Love is everywhere, if you take the time to notice. It’s in the birds. It’s in the trees. It’s in the bees. It is in the venom of those bees, as they sting your friend shortly after he bragged about how good his aim was with a baseball…and attempted to prove it. It is even in the Epi-pen you have to thrust into your friend’s chest cavity, and in the oatmeal bath he takes post-thrust.
Yes, love is truly all around you.
But how do you tell love from obsession, or a hobby, or food you really like? Well, that’s why you’re here, right?
Make a Sweeping Proclamation – and Commit!
The first trick in understanding love: is to swear off love completely.
You need to make yourself into some sort of hermit.
Ideally, you’d have a castle and a township (at said castle) that’s easily frightened at the mention of your name. Every now and then, you should have a carriage or someone on horseback ride by your estate. As they fumble through the woods (due to a flat wagon wheel or missing horseshoe) you can offhandedly try to help them.
Refine Your Body Language for Better Results
To do this effectively, try communicating with them through a series of high-pitched growls (like a bear that just had it’s foot run over).
Make sure your hands are raised very high up in the air, as to look somewhat menacing. They’ll probably scream – and that’s to be expected.
Afterwards, they run back and tell the rest of the townspeople – getting them all riled up. Then, they usually start singing a song about you (again, this is just part of the process).
Shortly thereafter, the townspeople hang signs around the village – saying things like “$1000 Reward for the Head of Count Derek!” It’s never quite clear how they got the picture…or who was paid to print all the posters…let alone coordinate the distribution process…but…part of love is accepting things we don’t always understand.
Invasion of Privacy
Next, an unassuming (but slightly pretentious) French woman will move into your house and start re-arranging all the possessed furniture in your castle. This is annoying at first; but you begin to see her vision and understand that maybe it was time to get rid of all your haunted band posters.
This is your life for a while.
Now, you may begin to ask yourself, “Is this love?” No, it’s not; but you’re getting pretty close.
Roommates, Honeymooners, or Stockholm Syndrome
Following a series of heavy thunder and lightning storms – where you and the French lady both look out different windows of the castle (while dramatic music plays) – you begin to ask yourself, “Am I so much different than her? Why can’t I enjoy the spontaneity of a coordinated dance with a room full of inanimate objects? Will I ever learn how to love…or read…or get rid of these band posters?”
This is called the “Honeymoon Phase.”
Confront the Ghost of Another’s Past to Exercise Your Own
Enjoy the honeymoon phase of your relationship – it’s doesn’t last long. Pretty soon the French lady’s ex-boyfriend, Bartimus, shows up at your door asking for his favorite shirt back…or if he can stay with you until his dad reactivates his credit cards, or say he wants to kill you.
You feel kind of bad for him, and say he can stay…but just for a few days.
Inevitably, you discover he’s eaten all of your favorite breakfast cereal and decide Bartimus is in serious need of intervention.
Using a delicate approach, you confront him honestly and firmly, as you dangle his body over the edge of a nearby cliff. This part isn’t easy, but is necessary.
After he begs for his life, and promises his dad will pay you back for the breakfast cereal, you both have a good cry. You realize that, maybe, Bartimus isn’t so bad after all.
The two of you go back to the castle and talk all night about how cool all your haunted band posters are, and develop lots of inside jokes about living with a French lady who’s best friend is a sentient candlestick: “What does he even eat?!” you ask, laughing.
Finally, the French lady decides you’re too immature, and will never change, “You can’t even keep plants alive!” she says, in French (rudely).
You realize that the only thing that French lady ever wanted to do – was change you.
After she leaves, and moves back in with her father, your bond with Bartiums continues to grow – unlike that dead plant next to your bed.
Discovering the Love Which Surrounds You
You and Barty (new nickname) sort through all your possessed furniture – donating most of it to the Haunted Salvation Army thrift store, up the road. You finally take all those old capes to the dry cleaner, and pick up all the ones you forgot you left at the dry cleaners, so many, many years before.
You’re finally be able to look in the mirror, and say to yourself – as it screams at you in terror (possessed mirror): “I am enough.”
When you step outside, you begin to notice the birds. You notice the trees. You notice the bees, as they descend upon Barty, with their stings. And you smile to yourself…because, love truly is all around you.