A sliver of hope
is enough for both of us
to keep on dreaming.

Real lovers searching here may find each other. This would be the right place.
There is no harm in trying, and you never know…

Shyness and bad timing are banished as desperate hearts cry out for the one they want.

And for each person who leaves a message to find that someone,
their wish to meet their match becomes real
and uncovered
as it takes on electronic form.

It is no longer a missed chance.
It is a public declaration of their hope and desire.

Good luck and courage true hopeful hearts.
We also believe in love.

 

Missed Connections are filled with good, bad, and hopeful-hearts-haiku. Did you write one? Did you find one? Before your declare your love over the interwebs, just email the link to Lovelorn Poets! We’ll preserve those soulmate-searching-syllables for all eternity.

The signs are everywhere.
Cherry blossoms, pink and white, waking up the downtown boulevards.
Magnolia, graceful cups and saucers, against the blue.

Closer to home,
the primroses and daffodils welcome me daily as I leave and return.
Each time I walk through my door I can’t help but stop and appreciate their brightness,
awake at last, after their long winter’s nap.

I have missed them.

I have missed them, but not nearly as much as I miss you, of course, when you are hidden from my eyes.
Finally, I am awake to the truth.
I realize, now, that missing you is my own weakness, my own unfounded fear.
Just as the flowers sleep, they are always there, invisible at times, but still present.
Patience is crucial. Faith, now, a given. An unspoken thought.

I think you understand.

And today,

Today the flowers smell even sweeter than usual.

Missed Connections are filled with good, bad, and not-really-a-haiku-haiku. Did you write one? Did you find one? Before you take time to stop and smell the roses, email the link to Lovelorn Poets! We’ll preserve those fragrantly-scented-syllables for all eternity.

Eggplant is a fruit.
And usually tastes bad
without a good sauce.

I know! I crack myself up too, with the myth of ‘The Not-Bitter Eggplant”.
(Salting, sweating, poking, floating, towelling… for real towelling the bitter eggplant slices?!. C’mon, peeps.)

Can’t we ALL admit it’s a just spongy, cellulose, bitter fruit…

(with a fantastically purple or black, shiny and tempting skin. oh that skin,
that shiny purrple skin.. mm hmmm yes.)

Umm right. Ah yes… a bitter fruit that we use only to deliver to our mouths all types of sumptuous tomato sauces, topped and saturated with aged cheeses, which were melted to a golden crusty perfection?

Let’s just drink the sauce instead of being slaves to the shapeless fried, or roasted slices of white flesh? Can we?

Child voice: We eat it even though it tastes bad?
Man voice: Yes. All over the world.
Child voice: And it’s always…bad, like this?
Man voice: Usually. I had Baba ghanoush one time that I think it wasn’t bitter.

Sometimes tradition is not enough of a reason not to change our tastes, or to keep on swallowing something bitter just because we did before.

Missed Connections are filled with good, bad, and aubergine-tinted-haiku. Did you write one? Did you find one? Before you attempt to swallow the bitter pill, email the link to Lovelorn Poets! We’ll preserve those beautifully-strange-fruit-syllables for all eternity.