Monarchs in Motion by Tarnya Hall
This fly, why this fly!
first a monarch but now just
a sly butterfly!
!a first butterfly
now sly, fly but this monarch
this fly why just a!
Lovelorn Poet in Ogden, UT: The Monarch And The Fly
Lovelorn Poet in Salt Lake City, UT: For Him
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
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 Salt Lake City, UT: Like A Messenger Bird
A Small Gathering by Phillip Kirk
It’s that time of year when if you stop talking and start listening, you can hear the birds sing.
Even with the traffic, you can still hear the birds.
What is it that they want to tell you?
They are so frantically trying to communicate their message.
But you just won’t listen.
You just look at them and say, “Dumb birds. They should learn English.”
But if you stop talking for like, five minutes, you’ll start to hear the message.
And therein lies the rub.
Who has five minutes to devote to listening to birds?
Not you. Not me. Not anybody.
So we are where we are…
in a world where our useless babble drowns out the voices of the birds and their real message of the importance of loving and being loved.
I love you.
But you already knew that.
Her Two Cents
Once upon a time, in a far-away, distant land, I lived next-door to an elderly woman who was a avid gardener. From my kitchen window, I could see her every morning, walking and working amongst the blooms and greenery. Occasionally, small birds would alight on her arms and shoulders and chatter would ensue – communication no different than if a neighbor had stuck their head over the hedge or the letter carrier came around with a package to sign for. Simply, friendly conversation. “Nice to see you. How do you do? What about this weather…” Lovely, yes. Yes, love.
Lovelorn Poet in Salt Lake City, UT: Ma & Paw’s Bakery
Lost by L Filipe dos Santos
Ma & Paw’s Bakery
Missed Connections from Salt Lake City
In the store behind me, I was struck by your pheromones.
And I think you are cuter than a young Davy Jones.
You carried out 2 big bags of dog food, like it was a feather…..
I wanted to talk you up, but all I could think of was ‘how’s the weather’.
I was parked on your left, standing. Around my confidence, a ginormous vice.
If I could get another chance, that would be really nice!!
You, me, our furry friends, park, frisbee, run?… then meat and treats? I think that would be fun!!
Her Two Cents
It’s been a long time since I’ve found a good Walkin’ the Dog missed connections message, and this cute little rhyming poem is the perfect light and fluffy antidote for an otherwise gray rainy day. Perhaps our poet’s dog should be enlisted to put up a few “Lost” signs as well. 🙂
Lovelorn Poet in Salt Lake City: Playing with Matches
Playing with Matches
Missed Connections from Salt Lake City
Playing with Matches
It’s been weeks.
I was fine…Really.
Better off.
Amputation was most humane choice.
…But tonight.
Tonight I can’t stop thinking about you.
Inconveniently, you’re suddenly everywhere.
And sweetly insidious.
No poetry.
Too burned out for impassioned longing.
Not up for another run around the ‘we had our moment’ track.
Declining to even unpack and browse memories of the good times and the sad.
I simply miss you.
Feeling your absence keenly.
Crave that ‘I just swallowed the sun’ sensation.
God in Heaven Damn the flickering hope that our tale has yet more chapters….
Phuking trick birthday cake candle.
Won’t go out.
Unfortunate fire hazard.
Her Two Cents
I’ve never thought that trick birthday candles were amusing. All that extra wax dripping on the cake and the repeated attempts at blowing the candles out (at least one more time) without spitting all over everything is neither entertaining nor enjoyable. For some things, it’s better to bring about a natural end and move on to the next activity rather than press the repeat button (repeatedly).