Lovelorn Poet in San Francisco, CA: A Little Song I Wrote…

Rattlesnake by Chase Elliott Clark

Rattlesnake by Chase Elliott Clark

(tuning guitar)

This is a song I wrote when I was going for a drive through the back roads of where I’m from.

It was late at night time (or early in the morning). And I caught a flat. And I didn’t have a spare. So I said “fuckit” and I walked home. And tripped over a goddamn rattle snake in the dark. No flashlight.

(continues tuning guitar)

anywho it goes a little something like this…

(ahem)

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I wrote me this song
and it didn’t take long
cause there was so much I’d had left to say

leftover from the night
that we had our big fight
and I drove home the following day

with the sun in my eyes
yeah I just about cried
but I couldn’t because I was numb

and it’s lasted for days
cause you pay for your ways
and it’s double-e so when it’s love

oh the nights here are longer
and you pour your drinks stronger
and you chase all your water with wine
and there’s nothing to say
about the one who got away
but she’s gone and has been for sometime
and you count all the ways
that things could’ve been changed
but you know you’re just wasting your time
so just pick yourself up and say “who gives a fuck”
and go put another hook on your line

so you’re piss drunk again
and the girls at the inn
are out calling your name from the stairs

and they challenge your pride
and guess your johnson size
cause they know just what’s grindin your gears

but your better than that
plus, middle one’s fat
and they’re ugly and dirty to boot

so just tip down your hat
wave goodbye and then skat
cause you’ll catch a lot more than the blues

oh the nights here are longer
and you pour your drinks stronger
and you chase all your water with wine
and there’s nothing to say
about the one who got away
but she’s gone and has been for sometime
and you count all the ways
that things could’ve been changed
but you know you’re just wasting your time
so just pick yourself up and say “who gives a fuck”
and then put another hook on your line

oh now your almost home
couple miles left to go
and you’re aching from shoulder to shoe

and you’re moving so slow
that you don’t even know
…what the f***…
F*** F*** F***
IS THAT A F****** RATTLE SNAKE?!

omg…omg…omg i almost died…holy sh*t

(ahem)

thank you.

(c chord)
(applause)

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconAnd the rattlesnakes sing,
“Don’t tread on me, you drunken cowboy, our song is plainly sung
boots are made for walkin’, so quit your jive talkin’,
put a hook on the line, you’ll do just fine.
Now get back on the road and let us be!”

Lovelorn Poet in New Orleans, LA: Keywords

Magnetic Fridge Poetry by Steve A Johnson

Magnetic Fridge Poetry by Steve A Johnson

the funny thing about the “o” ‘s (though it’s a formality)
control in all of its formats
former northern explorers
Amazonians
ugly garments
drive thrus
numerous holes in the head
black dogs
Northern pacific
the hippies
planting portably
my favorite place to retreat
Seattle
global politics
kamakaze fish
Twix v. Reeces v. Whatthefà ‚ £{=à ‚ ¡!ever that was
things that float
the “Robin” issue
determining distance
superhumanism
street signs
DYNOHUGS!

if you thought I loved you then,
I wouldn’t even know what to call it now.

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconKeywords are used to reveal the structure and focus of a writer’s reasoning – a shortcut of sorts that provides a reader with a glimpse or “sneak preview” of what can be found within the body of work. Quite a story, many stories actually, could be generated from our poet’s list. If we write the keywords before we write the story, how might the outcome be different? Hmmm …

Lovelorn Poet in Santa Fe, NM: Oh The Places You’ll Go!

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List of minimum employment leave by country
List of countries by income equality
List of minimum wages by country
Mercer Quality of Living Survey
Index of Economic Freedom
World’s most livable cities
List of freedom indices
Press Freedom Index
Global Peace Index
Happy Planet Index
Democracy Index 

 

“Oh, The Places You’ll Go!”

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Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconAnd where-ever you go, there you are. :-)

Lovelorn Poet in Paris, FR: Shakespeare & Company

Rue de la Bûcherie by Tom Fahy

Rue de la Bûcherie by Tom Fahy

On the 7th of June, you were sitting upstairs in the room with the writing desk in front of the window looking out upon the Notre Dame. That white cat was sitting in the corner across from you. I was about to go back downstairs but instead I strayed in your direction because of your enchanting british accent. No one can pull off glasses better that you! You were a walking, er sitting, Wikipedia sprouting off trivia facts of the bookstore: such as how students and wandering travelers would spend the night on the very bench you were sitting on if they had no place to go. I found this fact so touching but also your calm way of speaking was so fascinating yet utterly peaceful. I could have listened to you speak for hours on end. I believe you were stating this said trivia to your mother sitting next to you and your father who was roaming the room. Which is why I surprised myself as I replied to your last anecdote with, “Oh, that’s nice.” As if I couldn’t come up with anything more clever or witty to say. We left the room all too soon but simultaneously and you began to talk about the piano in the neighboring room and I couldn’t help but point out it was out of service/being tuned. As I led the way down the wooden staircase, I grabbed my Rainer Maria Rilke book hidden and tucked away to the left… You were so quick to leave. All I saw while purchasing my book was you walking out the door, to the right, and out of my sight. I’m not professing my love to you, but I rather mention how incredible the universe can spin and bring two strangers together for a brief heartfelt moment yet pull them apart again into two different directions. It’s been a week since and we were only together for five minutes but I don’t believe I will ever forget the magic of that bookstore and our beautiful moment we had together. -M. Maria

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconWe may never fully understand why some people have the power to make a strong, lasting, and unforgettable impression. When these individuals enter our lives it’s as if a burst of technicolor has appeared in an otherwise mono-chromatic existence.  Paths may never cross again, but the memory will last forever. “Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise.”

Lovelorn Poet in St. Louis, MO: Voice Like A Hurricane

Hurricane by Gioia De Antoniis

Hurricane by Gioia De Antoniis

This is very stupid. Incredibly so.

You were just a voice in a sea of voices, a terrible moment of clarity. I was a telemarketer from Seattle that tried to sell you an auto-warranty. I’m glad you didn’t buy it. It seems like a scam to me, really. (I do what I have to.) My name was Anthony.

I wish I could say that the day I called you was a good one, full of sunshine and people not telling me they were going to find and hurt me. As you might imagine, it was not. In fact, here, was the normal Seattle rain that seemed to hang over the city like an unusually wet and sad blanket. I don’t know how it was in Missouri. I hope it was nice. I usually find the distance between me and the people I call to be comforting, but this is not one of those times.

I did not think they made people like you in Missouri. I didn’t think they made anything in Missouri besides soy beans and white privilege, really, but I’m not here to bash your home state. I’m sure Missouri is very nice. I hear you have an impressive… uh, arch or something. I think the first ever parachute jump was in St. Louis.

Your name was Summer and you drove a 1990 Chevrolet Camaro IROC-Z and you spoke with a slight Southern accent – nothing extreme, but it was certainly cute. I fell in love with you the only way you can fall in love with a disembodied voice – quickly and with no small measure of insecurity of your own mental well-being. I didn’t know you. I didn’t know what you looked like, what your hobbies were or even why you were going to school. All I knew is that you were kind, intelligent and drove a pretty bitchin’ car.

I asked you the mileage twice just so I can hear the way the words rolled from your lips (“Ninety-Eight Thousand”) and I melted as you laughed when I stumbled over my introduction. “My Anthony is name and I’m calling in, uh, in regards to your…” I’m such an idiot. You probably think I’m an idiot. We talked on the phone for a five minutes that seemed more like five-thousand years. I didn’t tell you much about warranties, instead I asked you about the weather. You told me talking about the weather was stupid. I agreed, really, I did, but I’m not good at talking to people and it’s amazing I managed to sell anything at all. But you didn’t judge me. You didn’t seem to mind that I was fumbling over my words or that I called you, randomly, at 10:00 am. I fell in love with you the stupid way that people do: with absolutely no idea who the other was at all, based on a mental projection of you. I picture you have red hair and freckles, maybe wearing glasses. I picture you as outgoing and trustworthy, maybe a bit mischievous. Summer from Missouri, I know you’ll never read this, but if you do… well, I’m sorry I tried to sell you something you didn’t need and I’m sorry I fell so in love with you. I didn’t say, couldn’t say, bye to you by the time you hung up. I thanked you for your time and you thanked me. Before I heard the click on the line that changed my life, you put your phone to your lips one more time and you said to me “Don’t be sorry, Anthony. You have a voice like a hurricane.” And then you hung up.

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconThe sounds of a hurricane are wild, strong, and without restraint. A powerful force that cannot be stopped by any man-made means – regardless of how we try otherwise. While our poet may have the voice of the hurricane it’s the sounds of Summer that have laid waste to an unsuspecting heart…