Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: The Woman and the Razor Blade of Man

It's All in the Lather (The Saturday Evening Post) by Internet Archive Book Images

It’s All in the Lather by Internet Archive Book Images

Wearing a dress made from her parent’s credit
cards, and clutching a handbag made of next
month’s rent, a beautiful girl with perfect hair
stands in front of Marc Jacobs on Main Street–
coveting what she cannot have. In several
years, she will hurry past wearing leggings
and a leotard, drinking coconut water and
carrying a yoga mat.
Maybe, by then, she would have married
and raised two kids; maybe, her husband
would end up being less than she hoped for;
maybe, she will catch him cheating and
push him out of a 25th floor window.
Maybe, she will be in jail for murder. Maybe,
as she told the judge, “it was worth it’.
Or, maybe, none of this will have happened,
and she would have forged a glittering career
in public relations or have her own show on
television. Maybe, she would have fallen in
love with a photojournalist and given it all up
to become a UN Ambassador. Maybe, he will
die too soon, and leave her a widow. Maybe,
she will be so heart-broken, that she will never
love again. Maybe, she will pour her grief into
writing a memoir that empowers not only women,
but the entire human race; maybe, one overcast
afternoon she will give a commencement speech
that brings down the roof of every glass house;
and when she is attacked from the right and
the left by the zealots and the bigots–she will
be strong; she will not waver; she will be the
embodiment of grace; and she will prevail.
All I know, with any certainty, is that most
of this will come to pass with me sitting
here in my underwear trying to decide
if I should shave, or not.

-Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Icon Funny how the smallest of details can make the biggest difference. Maybe, it’s all in the lather.

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: Kind Of Love

Breathing Like a Spaceman by mindgallery

Breathing Like a Spaceman by mindgallery

On the way to the grocery store
this morning, I fell in love.
It wasn’t the marrying kind of love,
or even the fucking kind of love.
It was the kind of love whose shadow
stays with you for the rest of your life.
The kind of love that poems are made of.
The kind of love that takes the kind
of courage you don’t have.
The kind of love that makes you skip
a step but keep walking.
The kind of love that, once you buy
a pint of milk and a loaf of bread,
makes you treat yourself to some
fancy marmalade.

–Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Icon

Bison Jack (Savannah) and mindgallery (Brooklyn) have been posting poetry on the MC for years, and I’ve saved many of their poems during their brief appearances online. However, this is the first time one writer’s poem reminded me of work by the other. I discovered “Breathing Like a Spaceman” back in 2010, and it’s re-appeared with slight edits under other titles, but it still remains one of my favorites. I don’t typically place two poems in one post but in this instance, both complement each other in such a lovely way. Step into the sunlight, laugh, and enjoy some fancy orange marmalade. It’s summer, still.

Breathing Like a Spaceman 

I walked out at my stop on the f train this morning
and saw him playing his plastic keyboard
filling the station with a soundtrack for
the new day

as I climbed the stairs, I heard him say
I hope you fall
in love

and as I stepped into the sunlight
I realized I was laughing
and I was

light

 

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: The Listening Hour

Bison Bar by Jim Nix

Bison Bar by Jim Nix

In a late night bar near the motel, she listened
to him talk about the town and how things used
to be before the mine shut down; but she saw
also saw the fear in his eyes when he talked
about people’s benefits running out, and how
so many had packed up and left. I never did see
a moving truck, he said, it was like they just
disappeared.

She smiled and took a sip of her
drink to let him know she was listening, but
really she was thinking about the long drive
she had ahead of her in the morning.

When he told her of his plans to start his own
tree farm and get the old lumber mill back up
and running, she thought about her father’s
hands, and his initials that he carved into the
Willow Tree at Persimmon Creek, and promised
herself that when she got home, she would
carve her initials next to his.

For a while she even thought about turning back;
imagining that when she arrived at her apartment
her father would still be alive, and she would call him.
He sounded like he believed it when he said the town
would come out of the recession, and that once
people got back on their feet there would be plenty
of opportunities for those who stayed.

But it was only when her knee brushed against his,
and stayed there, that he could tell she wasn’t
listening–and it was something else she wanted.
How far away do you live? she said.

– Bison Jack

 

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconBison Jack’s poetry, which has frequently appeared on the Savannah missed connections feed for over two years, tells stories of quiet desperation and hope. While the Bison Bar of Jim Nix’s photo illustration is in Ireland, and not Georgia, I’m sure it also has had its share of stories told and listened to.

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: Magical Love

I'll Follow the Sun by Linh Nguyen

I’ll Follow the Sun by Linh Nguyen

Magical Love
Ever had it once
Now on a desert
Cactus hopes
Can’t wish
Right
Because your heart
Was broke and stretched
Because the cows ain’t come home
Because you
Let them in
By mistake
And you
Revealed
To the wrong dope
Ha ha ha
Here we go
Dust pan of the broke
Hope
Confidence and dignity
Leaks
And drops
On to your next
Give away
Just for fake love
Desire
Less
And desire
More
It feels hopeless
But it’s not
When you
Love yourself
You will respect and expect again
The world is full of losers
Or winners
Who behave like losers
Till
Love explodes
Can’t do wrong now
You on the right road
Again

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Icon“Dust pan full of broke” is a nice way of expressing the feeling of an emotional mess. But, like love, the sun returns for another rise, another set. There will be another day, another road to travel. Lights are up ahead. Don’t forget to use your turn signal.

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: For You

For YouIneffableness
Most things we experience can be described.

The spontaneous jazz improvisation can be described by pressure waves.
The transformation a seed into a flower can described by photosynthesis.
The wondrous sight of a rainbow can be perceived by the processing of visible light.
The enthralling fragrance of a rose can be elucidated by a complex chemical process.
The taste of fresh picked blackberries are also disclosed by chemical interaction.
The weight of a book is easily illustrated by gravity.
The flight of a comet is easily defined by Newtons laws.

All of the above explanation defile the magic, purity, and awe of the experience.
Love defies explanation.
One can only barely come close by saying it is an act of faith and trust between two people based on a pure feeling deep in one’s heart and soul.

 

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconI would venture one step further and say that while experiences, such as the ones described above by our Manhattan poet, can be described using words, images, and numbers, the articulations of those complex combinations are still limited compared to a whole body sensory experience. It’s just the tip of the iceberg, if you think about it.