Lovelorn Poets

From Anchorage to Zebulon: In Search of Missed Connections

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: All Of It

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Me in Summer Window by Blanca

Me in Summer Window by Blanca

For all of it: The slight
of hands, and the sideways glances,
the easy lies, and the broken promises.
For all of it: The shallow breathing, and the
unsaid; the unforgiven, and the violence.
For all of it: The chaos, and the medicine,
the rub of things, and the consequences.
For all of it: The salt lips, and the summer
dresses, the bruised fruit, and the last chances.
For all of it, I wouldn’t change
a thing. Except, maybe, the timing.

–Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconWe often speak of being, “in the right place at the wrong time” but doesn’t that suggest looking at events generally considered positive through a lens of regret? What if, instead of wishing to alter what has already come to pass, we simply look into the glass, capture the moment, and continue forward. “Do-overs” only ever exist in our minds.

Lovelorn Poet in Salt Lake City, UT: For Him

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Water by Andrew Wright

Water by Andrew Wright

And for him you find your well-pressed F. Scott crumpled on the floor-
for him you find your naked Hemingway
intoxicated, ready.
And he says to you,
“Let’s go down
to the river and do the full experience
thing. Let’s go fishing
for monsters in the black.
Let’s find something pretty to hunt
and something mean to kill.
Let’s get drunk and bar-brawl with locals.
Honey, he says, You start it
and I’ll take it home.
Let them chase us, like bulls
back down to the muddy banks.
Let’s get bloody, exhausted and hot
After, let’s cool off nude
and swim together by starlight.
Let’s get unholy
and splash the good clean water
out in the
dirty, dirty dark.”

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Icon

Andrew Wright’s photo, “Water,” reminds me of characters in Hemingway’s stories – broken and imbued with a cold heat that burns and destroys. Frozen water can look like glass, but its response when fingers close tightly around it can leave you with nothing or scars to last a lifetime. One isn’t necessarily better or worse than the other, you just need to know what’s in your hands.

Lovelorn Poet in Western MA: Poor Man’s Romance

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Shadows in the Rain by Peter Tandlund

Shadows in the Rain by Peter Tandlund

Rolling tobacco for 6 bucks a pouch, 1 dollar pizza, bacon and cheese, mr boston, half smoked cigs, one glass cup, 20s sent over from family, pre paid 30 dollar piece of shittle for a phone, ancient kitchen tables, crumbling drywall and rusty tubs, trailing smokers on the sidewalk to get your nicotine fix, deep stained jeans, plastic wrap for a belt, doughnut for breakfast bagel for lunch pizza for dinner, mad dog 20 20. Winter struggles, summers good graces, bums on the street still begging you for change endless walking. Jumping the subway, asking for cigs, skipping the bill for a burger, nice days cold days rainy days.

Days pass slowly.

Window shopping roses for a long lost love, petting dogs wishing they were yours, sweating out nightmares that came true, bloated from eating chocolate alone, waking up and calling for water, waking up and realizing you’re far away, happy somewhere else. Rainy days of silence. Strange feelings of the past- happiness. Mistakes still being made. Sobriety lost in a rain storm.

Love A.

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Icon There are so many photos depicting rain: awe-inspiring rainstorms in stark natural locations, umbrellas left on glossy city streets, thoughtful looking men peering through blurry windows, women with calm smiles and water streaming from their hair… but in the end, I liked Peter Tandlund’s Shadows in the Rain as the image best capturing the essence of this piece from Western Massachusetts. Confusion with just enough detail to navigate, just enough emerging color to sense that grey rainy days may soon pass.

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: As Far As My Eyes Could See

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and then he went east... by Jes

and then he went east… by Jes

As far as my eyes could see–
past the Belgium Café and the
Korean deli; past the hairdressers,
the fancy flower store, the French
restaurant, and the Chinese laundry;
past the ugly new apartment building,
the Rite Aid pharmacy, and the
children’s playground–I could see
her coming, but still I could not
get out of the way.

–Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Icon“The question is not what you look at, but what you see.” ― Henry David Thoreau

and sometimes, you find yourself wishing you could just look the other way…

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: More Than Words

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Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconThe Brooklyn and Manhattan missed connections have a reputation for “stories,” and some have actually made their way to lifestyle blogs like Elephant Journal. You never know if the stories are creative non-fiction or outright fantasy, but they’re generally well written and interesting to read. But the question still remains; is our Brooklyn poet fishing for larger exposure or expressing themselves through words about their past actions and emotions? Does the answer even matter?

More Than Words

The last ten years passed so quickly that I have found myself in a place I do not like. Graduate school, wedding, fund raisers, cocktails parties have all blurred my vision. The other day my son asked me “Dad, who was your first girlfriend?” I was speechless because it hit me like a ton of bricks. I could not process all of the feelings and still can’t.

It feels like yesterday that your friend, SM, approached me and said that you thought I was cute. We talked all night. I leaned toward you with my hands in my pocket so you did not see them shake and we kissed. That was the first of thousands. We would talk for hours about nothing. During our first argument, we laughed and marked the occasion romantically. Our love was pure. Material items, money, station in life, car, job, education, and clothes did not matter. We made each other little gifts. I can never wear another string bracelet. You always kept me grounded and reminded me of the simple pleasures of life.

As we got older our relationship always continued on and off. You decided to stay local and I had dreams of concurring the world. We always returned to each other but I always left with more to concur. I recall the last night we were together; I wanted to take you to a new hip restaurant before I left to show you I was moving up in the world. But you did not care were we went. You just wanted to spend time alone and talk, like we always did. We went to the beach with some snacks and a bottle of wine. We talked and danced under the stars until the sun came up. You felt we were soul mates. We were two parts to the same soul that could not live without the other. We promised to remain together forever. You never had to say I love you because I saw it in your eyes.

I was gone too long when you called to tell me that someone had proposed. I knew that the DB took advantage of my absence. I knew that you wanted me to stop you. But I could not, I was too afraid of ruining your life. It would have been selfish for me to have you wait while I was trying to define my life.

We would occasionally talk and I knew that the DB was taking you down a bad path. As my career was now in motion, I was a few months away from my return. I was planning to leave the armor, weapons and troops behind. I was absolutely certain that when you saw me all I had to do was close my eyes and reach out my hand. Before I could return I received a call from SM, you were in the hospital and needed me. I rushed home but did not make it in time. I walked into the wake and felt numb. Part of me was gone. I had lost the only pure thing in my life. The person in the casket was not you. I did not want to remember you like that.

You now lay sleeping for eternity. I returned, married, and started a family. It is unfair, but I measure her against what was pure. She is not you. She still does not understand that a hand made string bracelet was the best gift I ever received. My thoughts of you lessen at times but the reminders are everywhere. I sometimes walk pass the spot where we first kissed. I thought that time would have healed this wound but the guilt and sadness have grown stronger. What if? I want to find your grave so I can visit and lay on the ground and stare at the stars with you. I wish we could talk, like we always did.

When I would leave you always gave me a letter to read on my journey. I recently found the last note in my parents’ attic. You asked me never to change and never to forget you. I have not forgotten you but I changed the day your part of me died.

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