Lovelorn Poets

From Anchorage to Zebulon: In Search of Missed Connections

Lovelorn Poet in Philadelphia, PA: Urban Legend

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Urban Legend

Urban Legend

A distant memory, told like an urban legend.
Hypnotizing the young boy in me, as he holds onto every word fascinated.
A story, like a dream, in a dream,
Past so fast, that it may have only been a dream.

Reliving the sensations
when sun rays beam down upon me,
like it did us in such a way.

Or maybe i’m just retelling the story.

“I remember”
But then again,
“I think it goes”
How did it end?

I don’t even know,
Or if it ever did…

“I forget what happened, no wait, how it happened”,
“I usually don’t remember my dreams when i wake up.”
But i see it so clearly.
It felt so real.
I still feel it…

But im forgetting what she looked like,
as if i ever really knew, it happened so fast,
im searching for a clue, if it was a true story.

I may be mixing it up, but i pictured her
something totally different than how im remembering her now.
If the book had pictures, i may get a better picture, and could refresh my memory.

But wheres the book?
A distant memory, lost, and fading.
I spend countless time hoping, and waiting that it comes to me.
A light bulb and i’ll remember, preserve and retell.
I may even memorize it, if i remember it well.

The greatest story, I’ve ever heard.
like a fairy-tale,
i find hard to believe, and even perceive.
The story goes,
it goes.. It goes?
and goes, and goes,
and goes
farther in the distance.
Maybe with every other memory distant.

Having flash backs as if I was him with her,
like visions from a past-life but feels it was wasn’t long ago.
So maybe it really was a dream,
or maybe im remembering how I felt, when I first heard the story.
Or maybe i’am just In-Love, with the story…

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconSome days, the beautiful ones just fall right into your lap:
maybe i’am just In-Love, with the story…
A distant memory, lost, and fading.
“I remember”
Or maybe i’m just retelling the story.

 

 

Lovelorn Poet in Philadelphia, PA: There’s A Crack In The Sidewalk

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Goodbye 2008 by Art Siegel

Goodbye 2008 by Art Siegel

There’s a crack in the sidewalk.

No one who walks over it remembers where it started, but there it is, between their soles. Everyday it leans on itself a little more. It grates on itself until bit by bit it chips away at its own crooks and reaches out new dents into the concrete. It’s as much a part of the sidewalk as the footfalls, and one day someone will walk over the cracks and wonder if there was once sidewalk in the pebbles and sherd.

When the sun is hovering about ten feet above it with unbearable, wavering arms, then the downcast eyes of passersby are upon it. Then, it’s a splitting, fracturing trail. It’s a sweatless enervation and anyone who sees it is really only thinking about the shade and the coolness and the relief at its end.

There’s a little yellowing leaflet, there in that crack. Right there in the elbow of the third weariness from the center – it’s lying flat, and it looks downtrodden. It isn’t clear whether every footfall smashes it down, whether drought grinds its edges, whether solstice squeezes its life out of it. But it won’t give up.

The city may walk upon concrete paths, but all things crumble. This here is a little crack in perfection, and here the leaflets may grow.

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconTo you, Missed Connections. Keep sprouting.

Lovelorn Poet in Philadelphia, PA: The Art Of Forgetting

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Missed Connections in Philadelphia

The Art Of Forgetting

If fate would confer a blessed favor on this weary serf
I would till my psyche of the deep roots that have been sown
Harrow the landscape of my consciousness
To forget

If at that moment of our encounter, I could have a portent of what lay ahead,
The abrupt, calamitous end,
And, my timorous regret along with the concomitant listlessness
I may have taken more measured steps, or walked away from nourishing my indulgences with thoughts of you

And, yet in life, I have made an art of forgetting
I have compartmentalized the past in the shadowy catacombs of my memory
Packed away to accumulate sedimentary layers of neural dust

But, there is no salve to mitigate the steady impoverishment of my mind
And no suture that will close this carelessly opened laceration
We can neither remake history nor shift its burdens from our backs’

And, regardless of my most sanguine attempts, to feed the terra firma of my soul with mental bloodletting
I cannot shear away the stricken segments and make my concentration whole again.

And, I can only lay vituperative blame upon my own head.
Because it is the fleshy substance within that does not follow my will,
But, wills what could, but never became.

I can only keep practicing the art of forgetting, continue working upon soil of my spirit,
And hope that something flourishes from it.

 

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents

The art of forgetting is a skill we often profess a desire to master, but if we understood how removing even one small memory could have a dramatic, life-changing effect, we might reconsider. Memories are like the knit of a sweater: cut one piece out and other bits begin to unravel, possibly resulting in a complete dismantling of the creation. Is it worth giving up everything connected to the painful portion? Is it worth completely altering who you are?

Lovelorn Poet in Philadelphia, PA: Barista Haiku

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Haiku For Old City Coffee Barista
Missed Connections in Philadelphia

heart

heart

many mornings now
my heart quickens as you hand
me a small coffee

 

Missed Connections are filled with good, bad, ugly, and mildly caffeinated haiku. Did you write one? Did you find one? Still your beating heart and email the link to Lovelorn Poets and those lovingly counted syllables can be preserved for all eternity. Juicy new haiku bits are always wanted.

Lovelorn Poet in Philadelphia, PA: Haiku #1

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Haiku #1
Missed Connections from Philadelphia

beard

beard

So fellow that’s looking to mingle
I appreciate your little jingle.
But reveal who you are
or we won’t go far!
Hey buddy, you look like Kris Kringle?

 

Missed Connections are filled with good, bad, and ugly haiku (as well as those with non-traditional line structures that might inflame the poetic sensibilities of the haiku police). If you wrote one or found one, email the link to Lovelorn Poets and those perfectly counted syllables can be preserved for all eternity. Don’t be shy! Juicy new haiku bits are always wanted.

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