Lovelorn Poet in NYC: Closing Time

Closing Time by Ricardo Wang

Closing Time by Ricardo Wang

Missed Connections in Manhattan

Closing Time

Closing time
There is always Last Call
Now when king has gone
Gone again for search of love
She dreams
He licks the salt
with pulsing music in his ears…
Oh, Happy Hour…
I guess we are not at fault
where are we then?
She figures – Eternity is not a closing time..
Are we in Paradise?

 

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Are Happy Hours truly happy? Is the Last Call ever the final word? Closing Time marks the end of one thing and the start of something else. What do you hear? What do you taste? What do you see? What do you feel? Eternity is our container, but we get to decide if it’s Paradise or not.  Cheers!

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: Tiger Sweats Haiku

Missed Connections in Manhattan

Haiku For The Girl In The Tiger Sweats

girl

girl

striped pants, spotted bag
i snuck a covert photo
you live life out loud

Missed Connections are filled with good, bad, and creepy covert photo-snapper haiku! Did you write one? Did you find one? Did you grab a screen-shot of one? Put down the camera phone and email the link to Lovelorn Poets. We’ll preserve those sneaky syllables for all eternity.

Lovelorn Poet in New York, NY: I Will Write To You Every Day

Mixed Media Painting (Detail) by Choichun Leung / Dumbo Arts Center: Art Under the Bridge Festival 2009 / 20090926.10D.54929.P1.L1 / SML

Mixed Media Painting (Detail) by Choichun Leung

 

Missed Connections in Manhattan

I Will Write To You Every Day

I feel everything so much.
Sometimes it’s overwhelming
The happiness that makes me cry
The sadness that brings me to silence
The tears that well up when I see an act of love

I can’t be afraid to allow love into my life
I have to give it freely and without fear
Love without fear
Just the thought brings on panic

Everyday that passes
I know you’re getting closer
Maybe you’re here already

I know that only when I learn to love without fear
And not be afraid to feel
Then, will you emerge from the mist of constant hesitation

I am a woman. Not so young, but not so old. I love life. And I love people. I love everything this world has to offer.

And one thing that is missing is someone to share that with. And I have been foolish. I have been foolish throughout my life, and careless with people and relationships. I have taken things for granted and not realized what I had until it was gone.

So, I am convinced that I must have met you, but not realized that you were the one. And so, I will write to you every day until we meet again.

Starting today January 12, 2014, I will write to you every day and let you know that I am here and that I want you to share my life.

One day, maybe I will share yours…

 

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At the start of the new year, this letter and poem appeared on the NYC feed. I was immediately intrigued and curious to see if our anonymous writer would communicate more and how this creative and personal project might evolve. A few additional messages appeared over the following days, and then, like many a New Year’s resolution, faded away never to be heard from again. Did our poet find their love? Did they give up altogether? Did they decide to use more traditional avenues like online dating and Meet-up groups? All we have left is the original intention. What came of it we’ll most likely never know.

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: My Haiku Love Her

Missed Connections in Manhattan

My Haiku Love Her

lost

lost

I was lost but now
I am found, you hog my day
Concretely like ground

 

Missed Connections are filled with good, bad, and well grounded haiku! Did you write one? Did you find one? It doesn’t matter how you spend your days, just email the link to Lovelorn Poets. We’ll preserve those loving syllables for all eternity.

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: Our Love Was Art

Williamsburg Mural by Icy and Sot : Hope

Williamsburg Mural by Icy and Sot : Hope

Missed Connections in Manhattan

This Is What We’re Capable Of (Our Love Was Art)

august came too soon
and I’m counting the days
until time will return
to the normal way of things
no more of this speed of light bullshit-
lately the sun burns so hot
and this city drinks in the heat
leaving me helpless in the humidity
that burns like a rough whiskey-
it is only in a place like this
that the sound of a hurricane
is generated by the excessive amount
of artificial air
trying to keep the seasons away-
last night i thought i heard
the sound of shattering glass
and this morning
the sun’s reflection was in pieces
shining with the stupidity
of last night’s drunks
walking around like they owned the place
but in a place like this
no one owns much of anything-
the summer has been flying by
as summers tend to fly by
even when there is nothing to talk about
but the absence of social encounters
and personal relations skills to master-
I’ve dreaded September
ever since i was a child
trained to hate the re-institution
of the same old institution
taking my mornings
when i just wanted my morning for myself-
i realise i’ve been
looking out the windows more
waiting for someone to walk by
on the street outside
so i can watch them smoke a cigarette
or lean casually against the wall-
these days
during these heat waves
and somewhat cooler weeks
that seem out of place
the line between freedom and chains
begins to blur
because a filled day is a filled day
and sometimes it feels
like that’s the goal anyway-
if life is too short
maybe a cold, hard winter
is all i really need-

 

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If a cold, hard winter is what our Manhattan poet was hoping for when they released this poem to the world, I sure hope they’re happy with the results as they look out their window and try to navigate the ice and snow covered sidewalks. For me, I’d gladly take August now, I’d gladly take September now, even with all its end-of-season wistful longing.