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
ugly garments
drive thrus
numerous holes in the head
black dogs
Northern pacific
the hippies
planting portably
my favorite place to retreat
global politics
kamakaze fish
Twix v. Reeces v. Whatthefà ‚ £{=à ‚ ¡!ever that was
things that float
the “Robin” issue
determining distance
street signs

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!






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!”








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…

Lovelorn Poet in Raleigh-Durham, NC: Musicland

Grandmamans harp

Grandmaman’s Harp by Miguel Tejada-Flores

Mend your harp
Musical beauty
Low notes rise
Soul sound gratuity

As teacher a’lesson
Your song-heart hear
Noting mistakes
By practice make clear

Keep time selfless
Encompass percussion
String to brass
In-concert instruction

Strum beyond
A harp’s’accord
By one in tune

Grow more too
Than solo synphancy
Past beyond
Their mortal infancy

Love in heart
Harp to band
The gift you give
Your musicland

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Icon“To be creative means to be in love with life. You can be creative only if you love life enough that you want to enhance its beauty, you want to bring a little more music to it, a little more poetry to it, a little more dance to it.” ― Osho