Karma Notes Archives - Page 22 of 169

Lovelorn Poet in Flagstaff, AZ: Hetty Green

July 17, 2019 by lovelornpoets

Hetty Green, photo from Boston Public Library

was quite able
in the miser department
the witch of wall street
inherited money
knew what to do with it
knew how to say no

they say she wore newspapers
as underwear
how
Idk

another pair of pants
I’ll never get into
and left wondering
about sports pages
and box scores
—-
the cities and towns are all the same
as I pass another small town
town
wont
will not
be a knot
untied
—-
m is er able
blame is er
and some days that’s what I think
for me
the emergency room
others
real estate

—-

I once had a pair of sneakers
that cost two dollars
I was ridiculed
and they hit two homers
in the first inning
I calmed
then stuck out the next 10
then limited by
parental actions
we lost 2-1

and I once read about a pair of dollar sneakers
everything else
going to her passion
my kind of miser
my kind of capitalism

and maybe that’s true
more bored
when I stop
in one of those
small towns

Another winding, wandering tale from the Flagstaff Missed Connections. This one is from several years ago, and I must admit it was such a treat to find them, like coming across a small town that has an amazing diner with really good coffee.

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: Data (mindgallery)

July 12, 2019 by lovelornpoets

shabooms by mindgallery

When we go and every things gone
will our metadata
live on

mindgallery . twitter

Good question. Sometimes it does and sometimes it seems to disappear. But when we go, we won’t really know, will we?

Lovelorn Poet in Seattle, WA: Protect Haiku For Hopefuls

July 9, 2019 by lovelornpoets

Love

My instinct says, “Save.”
But to protect my loved ones,
I’d strike instantly.

It is such a natural reflex actually that it almost went right by without me noticing it.

When we (I) get involved emotionally with someone special, a transformation occurs. The primal drum beat of the protector awakens from it’s hibernation. ‘Guard the cave or die trying.’

(Lucky that my new place has a real door and a bolt. It makes the job way easier.)

It’s no joke though about that feeling we get. It’s a powerful surge of ancient DNA sequencing that makes us prepared to defend, and to protect our precious ones, and, then, to begin to live in dread of losing them.

It permeates our self and seeps through our total being.

It explains the searing pain of break-ups and failed unions, of rejection; our primal fears coming to modern fruition. It burns through us in reverse, an acid tearing away all the old assumptions and synaptic predictions we had made about the life we expected.

The only salve is to remember the good. The good moments, the sharing and loving times. They don’t lose their luster. They just become untouchable in life, but captured like photos of our best moments in an un-burnable book of our lives.

I’m coming to the end of my stash of “Haiku for Hopefuls” poems from the Seattle Missed Connections! I still have a few more Haiku for Hearts, but this is the second to last of the Hopefuls series. Enjoy!

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: The Sound Of Memory (mindgallery)

July 5, 2019 by lovelornpoets

The Sound of Memory by mindgallery

Sometimes it’s so deep in our heart
that it emanates from
our breath

and in the right light or shift in
the air, you can still hear
the memories

like antiques with
tongues

mindgallery twitter – beatboxbliss tumblr

On the Brooklyn Missed Connections, mindgallery published three other poems using the title, “The Sound of Memory” and each one was different, although similar in theme and tone. However, this image was used twice, perhaps as it was a more fitting visual memory to accompany the sound of the text.

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: As Did A Butterfly (Bison Jack)

July 3, 2019 by lovelornpoets

South Bend, IN by moominsean

It took her most of the afternoon to
find the tree. The land once belonged
to her family, and she had grown up here,
but along the way she found herself
lost and had to backtrack, and by the
time she reached the bend in the river
it was almost evening.

The water was shallower than she
remembered; but, It was here that her
father had placed the stones in the river,
the same stones that almost thirty years
later were covered in a thick carpet
of emerald green moss.

Her backpack suddenly felt heavy, but
as she started crossing the river she
felt her father take her hand–as he
had always done when she was a child.
The shimmering water lapped at her feet.
Splinters of mica glinted on the river bed.
A dragonfly hovered, briefly, as did a butterfly.

She remembered the day her father caught
a rainbow trout with his bare hands, and let it go.

_Bison Jack

This Bison Jack poem from the Savannah Missed Connections has been languishing in the depths of the oldest archive for long enough! I never recorded the date I found the piece (a decision I now regret) but I think it’s from six or seven years ago – right around the time he started posting regularly to the forum. Regardless of when it was first shared with the world, it’s a perfect story for this time of year, and one that is beautifully told.

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