Lovelorn Poets

From Anchorage to Zebulon: In Search of Missed Connections

Lovelorn Poet in Paris, FR: Shakespeare & Company

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Rue de la Bûcherie by Tom Fahy

Rue de la Bûcherie by Tom Fahy

On the 7th of June, you were sitting upstairs in the room with the writing desk in front of the window looking out upon the Notre Dame. That white cat was sitting in the corner across from you. I was about to go back downstairs but instead I strayed in your direction because of your enchanting british accent. No one can pull off glasses better that you! You were a walking, er sitting, Wikipedia sprouting off trivia facts of the bookstore: such as how students and wandering travelers would spend the night on the very bench you were sitting on if they had no place to go. I found this fact so touching but also your calm way of speaking was so fascinating yet utterly peaceful. I could have listened to you speak for hours on end. I believe you were stating this said trivia to your mother sitting next to you and your father who was roaming the room. Which is why I surprised myself as I replied to your last anecdote with, “Oh, that’s nice.” As if I couldn’t come up with anything more clever or witty to say. We left the room all too soon but simultaneously and you began to talk about the piano in the neighboring room and I couldn’t help but point out it was out of service/being tuned. As I led the way down the wooden staircase, I grabbed my Rainer Maria Rilke book hidden and tucked away to the left… You were so quick to leave. All I saw while purchasing my book was you walking out the door, to the right, and out of my sight. I’m not professing my love to you, but I rather mention how incredible the universe can spin and bring two strangers together for a brief heartfelt moment yet pull them apart again into two different directions. It’s been a week since and we were only together for five minutes but I don’t believe I will ever forget the magic of that bookstore and our beautiful moment we had together. -M. Maria

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconWe may never fully understand why some people have the power to make a strong, lasting, and unforgettable impression. When these individuals enter our lives it’s as if a burst of technicolor has appeared in an otherwise mono-chromatic existence.  Paths may never cross again, but the memory will last forever. “Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise.”

Lovelorn Poet in Vancouver, BC: The Mattress

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Bookshelf and Futon by Winston Hearn

Bookshelf and Futon by Winston Hearn

All I wanted was once on this mattress
In it, I submit my shoulders to relaxation
Forcing myself, to suppress thoughts
Sleep, Sleep, is all I have ever needed
And yet,
Glare plasters its wicked culture onto the eyes
Burying the truth of my life
Forgotten passions now – and – unwatered plants
In foam, I contemplate the choices made
And wonder if they can be remade
Like a dream, in the morning, I too am lost
As I routinely re-purpose the mattress back to a couch.

 

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconSleepy choices made from the luxurious comfort of bed. Restless choices induced by a night of sleeplessness. Sobering choices made while uncomfortably seated on a couch. Funny how one simple piece of furniture can become a complex character in our lives.

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: Nothing Stays The Same For Very Long

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Two People Looking in Opposite Directs by Lee Summers

Two People Looking in Opposite Directions by Lee Summers

The printer blinked. Paper jam. Out of ink.
In a blur of white lines, concrete, and trees, a little
boy– about the age I remember most–stared at
me from the backseat of his parent’s SUV. I wanted
to tell him not to ask for too much; that happiness
is not a town around the bend where we pull over
and settle down one day; that in all likelihood–
if you’re lucky–happiness is probably a few days
here and there, scattered like birdseed over years
of heartache and despair. I wanted to tell him that
being in love was the greatest, and the worst, thing
in the world–and gods are good, but they are not real.
I wanted to tell him to slow down, and not be in a hurry;
that nothing stays the same for very long. I wanted
to tell him that hope is really a word we use instead
of help; that ultimately we are nothing but chance,
and the choices we make along the way. I wanted to
tell him that death comes to all of us too soon; that
humility and awe are the only tools he will ever need.
As the printer whirred and snapped its teeth–waiting
for me to replace the ink cartridge–eyes, belonging
to the little boy’s mother, met mine in the rearview
mirror and I quickly wanted to add that I didn’t know
what I was talking about, and not to listen to me.

– Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconIf you could travel back in time with one piece of information, would you tell yourself? Advice about potential heartbreaks? Encouragement of certain behaviors? Stock tips and investment ideas? As much as we may want to re-shape the past so as to alter our present, would younger versions of ourselves even listen to or comprehend the words we so terribly believe we should say?

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: The Cycle

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Missed Connections by Dorothy Gambrell

Missed Connections by Dorothy Gambrell

Online
Out of life
I wander here
I rather wander outside
We don’t have to give
Excuses
For why we are here
We are all types
All different cycles
Stages
In our mind, life, relationships
We wander here
The reason
You may never know
It’s no one’s business
Unless
What’s missed
Is connected
In a way
Known only
To those
That do the connecting
Directly
Or indirectly
But souls may
Just vibe here
In a way
That’s unchangeable
Delusional
Feeling
Fingerprints of thoughts and emotions
And mentalities
Letting them
Float
Along a scrolling line
Of unknown
Lives with dreams

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconWe know so little about the people who post to missed connections but this fun little info-graphic provides a bit of insight as to where most of the events written about occur. Knowing that the chances of a message connecting with its intended recipient are small (at best), why are these forums more popular than ever? Is it romantic fantasy, boredom, or a last-ditch effort to find someone to connect with?

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: Capote

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Looking Out the Window by Jason Sweeney

Looking Out the Window by Jason Sweeney

Man-mother. Pride-father.
I don’t know which I love more–when he opens door to let me out or let me in.
Is that what love is?
I was let in long after the moon appeared last night; I slept beside him.
In the morning I tried to cast purspell of never-leave; he left, of course.
He always does.
I left too but he left farther than me, far up the steep gravelpath and past the waterspill pipe.
I will run to him when he returns, calling for him from the bushes.
This is our love–I love watching him go so I can watch him return.
Be let in.
Cast purspell each morning and fail.
Wildness is the failure.
I always fail adventurously; I chase moonshadows and windghosts over the neighbor’s blue tarp.
This is why I write you. To chase you in your window frame.

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconCould this be the best cat poem ever written and never seen by anyone outside of those reading the Pittsburgh missed connections? Fur-child, your purspell doesn’t fail, it’s what ensures your human comes home after their day of traveling.

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