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 Baton Rouge, LA: Poem 8

Looks like rain by Butterbean Man

Looks like rain by Butterbean Man

Right there in the rain
One day, yes that one
a single sentence dripped from her full red lips…
let’s begin again our love, soulmate
Eyes stuck in a trance for my own liberation
Unable to refocus my view
I repaired my insides in the aftermath that was two
life force liberated my cup ran over and over nothing was out of reach with you
Your Humpty Dumpty pulled all apart and then reassembled just for your affections
I was weighed, measured and found lacking it’s true
Soul suffering long winters bone twice
Hard frozen heart, lifeless and blue
I walked to our place in the rain,
That place in which I thought you already knew
Watching rains droplets become one with their fate
Felt those old feelings I’d learned to hate
Birds flying by singing our songs
Moons light blackest of blue
Stars tear from the sky jilted lovers of her moon
Looking across the water swearing I saw you
I’d say ask Alice, for she was there too, stirring her eggs in the brood
I’ve tried replication my purchases false
their substitutes have no revelations,
their prophets are all lost.
She who knows my truths in the faces of liars, has the scarlet letter in hand
I bow knee to her alone my head at her throne
Her golden syllabus runneth over
letters dropping like flies in the soup of her careful words
Ears pressed against the universe listening for my vibrations in these stanzas
whose heart filled dark with concerns
My quills ink flows to paper and my heart learns to beat the familiar tune
my eyes now fixated in the mind of truth
I will not rest until I hear from you and your intoxicating brew
You know my desires inside and out, betwixt and between
all the weathered cracks and seams
if your love with fated pair be true
why is it I keep running into you
no kindness left undone
whose loveless life you wanted
seems ill fitted for you
I am madly totally completely and still, enamored with the thought of you.

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconThis is the last in the series of rather tragic love poems posted to the Baton Rouge missed connections earlier this year. I did save, and read, all of the pieces that were shared and chose to publish those I thought spoke a universal language. Love, desire, heartbreak, and pain know no prejudice and offer equal opportunity in bestowing their emotional riches and traumas.

Lovelorn Poet in Baton Rouge, LA: Poem 4

Louisiana Red Fish by Spencer Blake

Louisiana Red Fish by Spencer Blake

Leaving your troubles at the exit
should’ve been easier after all we’ve learned.
Incandescent lights in the distance,
we find ourselves in our own created darkness.
Lips stitched tightly together,
by an unknown thread whose other end lies at your tired feet.
My undying love can set you free,
its embers ignited by the thought of you,
simply call my name.
I miss you more than you can see, but only feel with your frozen heart.
Cracking the ice between us at last, our souls remain, having left my bones at your doorstep.
I never cared what you did with your body,
your heart always belonged to me.
I punished myself on my knees, each time you left and every moment since.
The day we met I knew after five minutes of looking into your eyes I’d never be the same until you returned.
Park bench at waters edge I await.
Our lives are not our own at this moment, but could be.

 

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconPoem 4 is part of a poetry series that was shared on the Baton Rouge feed earlier this year. While the words were written about a particular person (according to a message posted by a person claiming to be the author) they could also represent the voice of the animals in our lives. So often we get consumed with human-to-human relationships that we can forget the ones we share with all other living creatures.

Lovelorn Poet in Baton Rouge, LA: Poem 2

MISSING: Have You Seen My Soul?

MISSING: Have You Seen My Soul? Photo by LarryBobSF

Coptic lines written on the feathers of angels,
Love letters not burned in the fires we set for each other
We remain inches in distance,
but lifetimes apart.
Skewed moments and memories creep back into the room we just left.
I am haunted by your love that I still feel deep where you left it,
inside my soul.
I find that Nowhere is there a place to hide.
We are still connected,
as always
and two different cars exactly like yours in rapid succession always means we will see each other,
that very day.
You pretend me a stranger, and deny me twice,
as if we’d never been in love at all, or even met.
And sometimes when I’m alone at night, I wish that were still truth.
If I believed in betrayal, I might have accused you of it;
you went missing like a child on a milk carton.

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconThis is the second in a series of poetry that was posted to the sleepy Baton Rouge feed several weeks ago. All written by the same person? Perhaps… perhaps not. One anonymous message made an authorship claim, but as LarryBobSF’s investigation of this street art photo illustrates, just because it exists doesn’t mean it’s real.

Lovelorn Poet in Baton Rouge, LA: Poem 1

12/04/07 by Mao Carrera

12/04/07 by Mao Carrera

Missed Connections in Baton Rouge

Poem 1

We were like falling stars at midnight, tearing thru the sky
blowing out the glass ceiling between our two worlds
I still find cryptic messages from the other-side of your universe
seeing signs of you everywhere I travel
your initial on a random door
Red coat tails turning a corner in the rain
I still write lifelines on stolen bits of paper left behind by strangers on the floor
and recognize the envelope of memories of your love
still contain my dried tears
my heart left in your pocket of forgotten fullness

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents

A lovelorn poet has been running wild (a.k.a. writing like mad) on the Baton Rouge missed connections forum the last few weeks and I’ve managed to capture close to ten pieces of writing so far. Not sure if I’ll post all of them, but Poem 1 is a real winner. Some days, our eyes register nothing in the landscape. Other days, a simple glimpse of a door, a coat, a piece of paper, can cause pebbles of memory to release like an avalanche. Having to choose between blindness or being buried alive isn’t a decision anyone ever wants to make