Best Of Archives - Page 16 of 18

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: Skimming Across The Pages Of A Travel Magazine

October 10, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Qunitessentials by Scott Maxworthy

my sniper perch….on a certain rooftop
guarding my V word with admirable courage
Until Cupid came along…set up shop alongside me
love lost lust found Mind lust
and the ice is melting
Because there’s never enough…
so another five hour energy and dopamine is happy
oh you….
Under my skin…
I zip line to Morgan’s home
where you beat me to it
and filled a memory bank and countless poems
In one hours time and I haven’t stopped smiling
Shut up you say
and for once I agree
Plotting the next non hookup
where there will be no ice
and no mirror….
In the interim we waterski skimming
The pages of travel magazines
holding on for dear life…
where you sunbathe on a Florida beach
and me?
I tie Madonna to a Rocky Mountain tree
laughing as I skip along to our little cabin
Where the blankets are never big enough…
and I can never get enough
of you

Her Two Cents

Shut up you say
the ice is melting
Because there’s never enough…
for once I agree
I can never get enough

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: A Rough Draft

September 11, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Passing the Mail by Pat McDonald

buried under all the masturbation and couches for sale
advertisements there you were

on missed connections looking for me while
i was looking for you

not that i ever believed in that sort
of thing

but sometimes, thou i never
mention it to anyone
ever

here i am too, buried
under other advertisements
looking for their

missed connection

Her Two Cents

mindgallery has posted poems, thoughts, and musings to missed connections for as long as it’s existed and on the Brooklyn feed, one can find a regular offering of the “greatest hits” (of which most, if not all, have been captured and saved here). While the old steady favorites are a treat, it’s extra nice when something new comes into the flow – even if it’s considered a “rough draft.”

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: Kind Of Love

July 25, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Breathing Like a Spaceman by mindgallery

On the way to the grocery store
this morning, I fell in love.
It wasn’t the marrying kind of love,
or even the fucking kind of love.
It was the kind of love whose shadow
stays with you for the rest of your life.
The kind of love that poems are made of.
The kind of love that takes the kind
of courage you don’t have.
The kind of love that makes you skip
a step but keep walking.
The kind of love that, once you buy
a pint of milk and a loaf of bread,
makes you treat yourself to some
fancy marmalade.

–Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

Bison Jack (Savannah) and mindgallery (Brooklyn) have been posting poetry on the MC for years, and I’ve saved many of their poems during their brief appearances online. However, this is the first time one writer’s poem reminded me of work by the other. I discovered “Breathing Like a Spaceman” back in 2010, and it’s re-appeared with slight edits under other titles, but it still remains one of my favorites. I don’t typically place two poems in one post but in this instance, both complement each other in such a lovely way. Step into the sunlight, laugh, and enjoy some fancy orange marmalade. It’s summer, still.

Breathing Like a Spaceman

I walked out at my stop on the f train this morning
and saw him playing his plastic keyboard
filling the station with a soundtrack for
the new day

as I climbed the stairs, I heard him say
I hope you fall
in love

and as I stepped into the sunlight
I realized I was laughing
and I was

light

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: Lay A King

July 14, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Pawns by His Noodly Appendage

His eye began to swell shut. A rivulet of blood traced
the contour of his face and formed a tear on his chin.
He could hear his heartbeat and smelled the burning
dust of the central heating. A bird crashed into the dining
room window. He heard the thud of the newspaper
landing on the front porch–but he couldn’t open his
mouth to ask for help. He wondered if this was the end;
undone at 71 years old by the chord of a vacuum cleaner.
The phone rang briefly; then hung up. An ice cream
truck turned into his street, and distanced itself. Beneath
the sofa he saw a few pine needles gathered in the curl
of an old post-it note. Nestled against the back leg was
a forgotten pawn and inches away–waist deep in the
blue polyester carpet–lay a king. He thought about
the bird that crashed into the window. He thought
about the symmetry. He wondered if the bird was
dead, or laying on the ground undecided like him.
He thought about what he might have done differently.

–Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

“I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind-and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.” ― William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: Capote 2

July 9, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Neighboring Cats by Erik Berndt

carnivore obligate, not carnivore literate.
let’s cut to the heart of it: silver spoon?
part with it.
at witching hour i devoured heart of mammal, not once considering my animal enamel.
my feet barely touch the gravel.
i don’t hear the judge’s gavel.
between rock and hard place i can always choose to travel.
saw you in a polish hill window in the morning, your day woman was out late last night.
how do you spend the time?
you have a right to revolt.
topple the food dish tip the water scratch the drywalls bare and eat so much you puke on the floor.
i can’t work the door;
i want to see you in a forest.
between ankles in a market square.
four dirtpaws in mud along river.

Her Two Cents

I’ve found four Capote poems from the Pittsburgh missed connections and they’re all pretty fantastic – this is the second of the group. Fortunately, Flickr has no shortage of excellent illustrations when it comes to felines, and this one by Erik Berndt looks like it comes straight from the Polish Hill neighborhood…

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