Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: There’s Room In The Quiet

May 12, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Bedsheets, Thursday, 2:22PM by Chris Doherty-Ingram

We see each other so infrequently that when we do
it’s easy to notice the accumulation of years
creased in our faces

reminding us that time is chiseling us down
into an older version of our
younger selves

still trying to adjust to the one simple fact
that whether we’re here
or not, life goes
on

I’m laying in bed watching a small sliver of light
seep through an opening
in the sheets

and i remember you saying that this is
where my dreams
went

so i clasp the sheets tight and in the
morning, i crack the blinds and
lift the shades and
wait

for my dreams to
come
true

Her Two Cents

Several years ago, I confided in a friend that I wanted to start a blog that explored the creative writing and poetry found on Missed Connections. My friend confided in me that she wanted to improve her WordPress skills so she could start a website design business. Three and a half years later, Lovelorn Poets is still publishing regularly and Au Coeur Design is going strong. Thank you, Amber Hinds, for working with me all these years and for this wonderful website re-design. And thanks also to Brooklyn missed connections poet Lee Taylor who submitted this new piece just a few days before today’s re-launch. Sometimes we don’t have to wait long for dreams to materialize.

Lovelorn Poet in Las Vegas, NV: Lapis Lazuli Skies

April 23, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Lapis by Kevin Walsh

Missed Connections in Las Vegas

Lapis Lazuli Skies

in my desert garden the arid winds blow
whirly sandstorms that put dreadlocks on my dolls
who distract me until my true love comes
to explain our project of the day
and i am struck dumb by his passion bent
for mischief, my freckle faced Hermes who
tells me i am Aphrodite
as he teaches me of heathen roman gods and a little hurt,
i say i want to be Iris, the beloved sister of the
Messenger god
After the sand devils leave we go out to the water tower
And the sky is dark from a locust swarm
he runs home and comes back with charcoal BBQ lighter
And the locusts explode when doused and lit
I said why, though…
Why are you killing them
They are dying, that’s why they fall
Like rain
He goes home and pours the rest of the fuel
Over the paper Parthenon he has meticulously
Spent time away from me to build…
Brings it to me in excitement I can’t understand,
telling me about a small man called Nero,
who was the same as Napoleon;
I only knew of Napoleon ice cream?
no, no, these are men from ancient times who burned down Rome.
we are going to burn this symbolic paper Parthenon!
as I struggled to absorb this thinking
a tear rolls down my cheek while I watch it burn,
I protest in confusion
While he watches me.
And for a moment our love is precarious, our first disagreement.
I distance myself and try to burn one of the giant gold grasshoppers for added perversion
Until gently my love explains it won’t light without fuel…
He brings the chairs and telescope now,
in my desert we sit until dawn
side by side in folding beach chairs
of which i endlessly twine my small fingers
into the thick woven plastic tubing while my
flaxen blonde boyfriend Mercury tutors me the
constellations in my Mesopotamian sky with his
torturous telescope that dizzies me
i’d rather look at him in case he gets an urge to kiss
finally i tire of astronomy and my love tires of pointing and explaining
and we sit silently facing the slowly awakening lapis lazuli desert sky and my Mercury,
my only love surprises me just as i gave up hope and gently holds my hand
and i secretly wished that time would freeze because
he was my love and even though my hand got all sweaty and we let go because my mom called me in,
now i thought
he is fully
Truly
mine.

~ Susie Hewitt, that crazy Las Vegas poet

Her Two Cents

A day spent with a heart’s true love will always be prized for the intense color it leaves on our memory. Polished to a sheen or rough-hewn, these precious moments, like mystical ancient stones, take on mythical proportions and turn the seemingly ordinary into something almost other-worldly. In the story of your heart, which Gods and Goddesses are in residence?

Lovelorn Poet in Baton Rouge, LA: Poem 1

April 18, 2014 by lovelornpoets

12/04/07 by Mao Carrera

Missed Connections in Baton Rouge

Poem 1

We were like falling stars at midnight, tearing thru the sky
blowing out the glass ceiling between our two worlds
I still find cryptic messages from the other-side of your universe
seeing signs of you everywhere I travel
your initial on a random door
Red coat tails turning a corner in the rain
I still write lifelines on stolen bits of paper left behind by strangers on the floor
and recognize the envelope of memories of your love
still contain my dried tears
my heart left in your pocket of forgotten fullness

Her Two Cents

A lovelorn poet has been running wild (a.k.a. writing like mad) on the Baton Rouge missed connections forum the last few weeks and I’ve managed to capture close to ten pieces of writing so far. Not sure if I’ll post all of them, but Poem 1 is a real winner. Some days, our eyes register nothing in the landscape. Other days, a simple glimpse of a door, a coat, a piece of paper, can cause pebbles of memory to release like an avalanche. Having to choose between blindness or being buried alive isn’t a decision anyone ever wants to make

Lovelorn Poet in Portland, OR: You Are My Missed Connection

April 17, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Untitled by katiecooperx

Missed Connections in Portland

You Are My Missed Connection

Steel cables stretch across the desert floor….relief dips in the eighties. There are visions of Carrot Top dancing in my head…dancing and dancing…
I think I can hear it now, the distant buzz of those neon signs you talked so much about.

I think I’m losing my mind.
Put on a brave face kid. Sleep is for the weak he said,
those sad beautiful eyes fixed on mine.
God, those eyes…
Who’s weak now? I never thought I’d live to see the day.
You were supposed to be invincible. You promised you would be okay.

What the fuck do I do now?
I miss that smoke filled car. I remember the way your delicate tracks felt beneath my fingertips, the way my chest would ache as I’d choke back the tears… the way my touch could diminish that ego you held so dear.
I miss the wandering fingertips, I miss your sweet and gentle kiss.
I miss feeling so small and fragile in your arms, the arms that I always thought would be waiting there to keep me safe. I miss being vulnerable.

I miss you being the smoke, no…
I miss you being MY smoke.
I remember watching as you rose to the ceiling, I remember the fleeting but inevitable feeling in my heart right before you slipped through the cracks…the emptiness I feel now, just an awful reminder that I could have pulled you back.

I can’t stop wondering what would have happened,
what could have happened…
I can’t accept that it doesn’t even matter anymore.

I would give anything.
Anything. I don’t know why I didn’t stay the whole night through, I don’t think I’ll ever know. I don’t think I’ll ever stop asking myself. I should have held you closer, kissed you more… I should have let you in. I know that now…

I would have hopped on that train, you know it’s true.
No destination, no plans …It would have been me and you.
But you said you would be okay.

You said you would be okay….

What I wouldn’t give to hear you whisper in my ear one last time,
“I love the person I become when I’m with you”
All I wanted was for it to be real.
And now it’s too late, it’s too late to tell you that I know it was, to tell you that I’m here.
I’m lost without you. Please know…
I love you, I do

Her Two Cents

In a sea of messages selling sex, NSA hook-ups, locker-room fantasies, rants against humanity, and inebriated ramblings crafted hastily in the early hours of the day, it’s all too easy to pass-over a real message, written by a real person, about something terribly tragic and terribly real. We often hear and say the words, “I’ll be ok.” and we hold them to be true until the day comes when they no longer are.

Lovelorn Poet in Toronto, ON: Short Form For Missed Connections

April 16, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Mad Libs! by LittleBear1127

Missed Connections in Toronto

Short form for Missed Connections

We locked [eyes/nose rings/tongues/fenders]
[this morning/last night/every frigging day this week/Stone age]
[on/at] the [DVP/401/street/at the bar/tim horton’s/].

You: [pretty/hairy/tall/sunburnt/indecently pierced][asian/illegal alien/stockbroker/homeless person with weeping facial wounds].
Me: [/handsome/hot/short/morbidly obese/obviously aroused/unspeakably scary][garden gnome/leper/crack addict/corporate shil].

You were wearing [vintage Dior/Hefty Bag/Spongebob Squarepants costume/oven mittens].
I was [in pajamas/draped in ermine/freshly waxed/nude].

I wanted to [share my medication/say hello/give you my number/lick your nipples]
but was too [drunk/dizzy/incontinent/mentally deficient] to do anything.

If you [see this/care/are still alive/are in need of a tongue bath]
please [respond/flick your high-beams/submit your resume].

Then we can [take it from there/screw like lice-ridden monkeys/have a garage sale/meet for a drink].
Looking [forward to hearing from you/for another meal ticket/hot].

Her Two Cents

So many missed connections messages are generic, unoriginal, boring, and poorly written that “critiques” are becoming more commonplace. Some readers (those hoping/waiting for a message about them, perhaps?) take umbrage with examples of deficient writing and communication skills and can be harsher than a 7th grade English teacher with a fresh supply of red pens. Filling in words to this sardonic “Mad Libs” style poem might actually help some writers develop a more attention-grabbing post!

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