Words, when they are tailor-made for you, are what you remember when you wake up in the morning, or before you go to sleep at night.

Sexting, the use of mobile phones to swap saucy messages, is a common occurrence these days. It’s fine when it’s between two consenting adults, but it’s proving to be a problem among teenagers – the whole explicit thing lending itself to bullying and peer pressure. Also, if you ask me, half the fun of romance is being thrown out of the window.

In Malta, we pretend it’s not happening. In the UK, Education Secretary Michael Gove came up with a romantic cure. He suggested that young people in love should, instead, text each other love poetry, via an app, called Love Book. “This will allow children to make sense of feelings in a way that is more graceful and beautiful,” he said.

In Britain, this caused nationwide tittering and a flurry of comments akin to: “Roses are red, violets are blue, I want to have sex, with you”.

But it’s a valid point that he’s making. Gove has already made poetry and literature a key feature in his new curriculum in British schools, with pupils expected to recite poems by the time they leave primary school: students practise memory work while appreciating the beauty of language expression.

I think it’s a brilliant idea.

If you really like someone, you ought to be able to text something a bit better than ‘URGr8’, or a semi-nude selfie. It is sad that we have become so cryptic that we no longer are able to stare into nothingness and think of words to describe the person we are flirting with.

Words, when they are tailor-made for you, are what you remember when you wake up early in the morning, or before you go to sleep at night.

If we’ve stopped making an effort for romance, then we can hardly be expected to do it for more arduous stuff

Maybe it’s because we are becoming a society in need of instant gratification. The concept of working hard to earn something is becoming obsolete – because we want things now. Let’s face it, if we’ve stopped making an effort for romance, then we can hardly be expected to do it for more arduous stuff.

Take education. In particular, last week’s news that two ‘E’ passes are now acceptable as an entry requirement for the law course at the University. I’m sorry? An ‘E’? Isn’t that one mark away from ‘F’ for failure? How can that count?

If you can’t get yourself a mark over 50, wouldn’t you be better off choosing another subject and another career path? I would’ve thought people would want to shine in their studies and careers, not condemn themselves to a lifetime of mediocrity.

It’s such a prime example of taking shortcuts to achievement. The new mantra is: If I want to join a law course, then, I bloody well will, come what may. Next up: dumbing down of the entry requirements for architecture (fancy a house built on the sand?), then medicine – oh, hang on – that’s already happened.

It’s not fair, and it’s not good for anyone: not for the talented student who is kept back because her ‘E’ mates feel out of their depth; not for the University, which will have compromised its standards; and not for the economy, which will have lost out on the potential talent. But we have become too short-sighted to see that.

Which is why I really wish our Education Minister would take a leaf out of Gove’s book, and rather than dish out tablets, he encourages students to learn to express themselves better through language, so they are able to process thoughts better, and strive for greatness, not mediocrity.

In the meantime, we can all start practising.

If you’re no John Keats or Rużar Briffa, not to worry. These days, thankfully, there are much more light-hearted, comical, witty poets. Here, I’ll share with you my favourite one: the Brit Wendy Cope – incidentally, introduced to me by a well-versed flirtee.

The poem below, ‘Flowers’, is a piece of beautiful writing which immortalises a happy moment in a love story.

Some men never think of it.You did. You’d come alongAnd say you’d nearly brought me flowersBut something had gone wrong.

The shop was closed. Or you had doubts –The sort that minds like oursDream up incessantly. You thoughtI might not want your flowers.

It made me smile and hug you then.Now I can only smile.But, look, the flowers you nearly broughtHave lasted all this while.

– Wendy Cope

Quick, reach out for a pen and paper, and rhyme something about your story today, scribble it down and leave the note around for your husband/wife/best friend/neighbour. We’ll all be so much happier.

krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @KrisChetcuti