Lovelorn Poet in NYC: After Glow

After Glow

After Glow by mindgallery

I saw you from the bedroom window
beneath a blanket of
dreams

dressed in an iridescent night shirt
but, covered under years of
sorrow

in the morning you watched
the swans land softly
on the lake

because water is
so still at
times

and when you smiled
there were
stars

in your
eyes

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Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Icondreams
covered under years of
morning

 

water is
there
in your eyes

 

 

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: Let’s Create Our Own Missed Connection

Let's Create Our Own Missed Connection

Let’s Create Our Own Missed Connection

He’s standing. He could squeeze into a seat, but he doesn’t want to make anyone else uncomfortable, so he stands. He’s reading a book. An actual book. Some days it’s some crime fiction junker, a chick lit novel or a non-fiction book about architecture or filmmaking. Other days it’s Hemingway, Balzac, London or Ginsberg. He reads it all and she notices it. She’s reading on her phone, but she stops to look at what he’s reading. She always checks. Sometimes she’s across from him or next to him or at the other end of the car and some days she walks down a couple cars to try to spot him, but doesn’t find him. But she always checks.

He’s over six foot and well built. His hair is dark and his eyes are green, but she would swear they were blue. It doesn’t really matter, she thinks. She just wants to look at them. Some days she gets to. It’s brief. He looks up from his book and glances around the car. His eyes pass over her and then stop. He smiles gently and shyly then returns to his book. But he’s not really reading right away. He thinks about her shoes or her boots and her jacket and the bracelets she’s wearing. He thinks about her watch or the shade of lipstick she’s chosen today. The fresh highlights in her hair and the color of her eye shadow. He always checks. He spots her when she gets on in Jersey City and he checks. He thinks she’s beautiful. He loves her fashion sense. She carries herself like she’s certain about who she is and what she’s doing and that’s what he admires. He wants someone to admire.

They never get to talk, but some days, when she’s sitting across from him, they notice the ridiculous behavior of other passengers and when she looks at him he’s smirking and rolling his eyes at them and she smiles in agreement. But they never talk. They’re too scared. She’s scared she’ll discover he’s unavailable and it wouldn’t be the same. She’d feel foolish. Stand at the other end of the platform when she boards. He’s scared because it’s been so long since he’s held anyone and he’s worried if he’s forgotten how to love. She could remind me, he thinks. She could awaken that dormant part of me.

He’s reading a new book today. She’s read it. She loved it. It’s her chance. She waits the whole ride, but finally, just before the WTC, she says, “Can you believe Dominique marries Keating?”
He looks up. He thinks her voice is sweet and gentle and he wants to hear it again. His eyes light up and she wishes she had known how to make them that bright before. She wants to see them that bright all the time. “Keating would never allow himself to be truly happy. He doesn’t realize he wants to be just as discontent as she does. “His discontent has only just begun,” she says.

“Don’t tell me, don’t tell me,” he smiles and she laughs. Then there’s an enriched silence that houses the solution to every state of loneliness ever experienced by either of them. They’re too dedicated to the moment, to the fullness of it, to realize how fulfilling such an emptiness can be. But they sense something happening. Something palpable and meaningful that they want to explore more and they want to feel apart of. They want to belong to it. To submit to the fullness of the moment and let it take them where it knows they need to be, where they want to be: next to each other. Their bodies coming together, their lips separated by a vacuum of empty space waiting to be breached and closed forever in some ways. They want to experience a oneness between their bodies and their souls that transcends anything they’ve previously encountered. They want to share a heart and a mind and spirit that basks in the certainty of itself.

“Let’s talk about it when I finish. Over coffee,” he says. She watches the brightness in his eyes and she wants to dive into them.

She smiles and he waits to hear her answer and before she agrees to coffee he thinks about how sweet her voice is and how he’d wait a hundred years just to hear her say one more word.

 

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconShe always checks
It doesn’t really matter, she thinks
He always checks
He wants someone to admire
he smiles and she laughs

They want to share a heart and a mind and spirit
She watches the brightness in his eyes
he’d wait a hundred years
“Don’t tell me, don’t tell me”
she says
he says

His eyes pass over her and then stop
discontent has only just begun

 

 

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: Outside My Watertower At Night

watertower XI by [mementosis]

watertower XI by [mementosis]

Hello….
I recently moved into the water tower across the street..
there’s some kind of magic…
sitting outside my little urban yurt..
at night…when the rain falls..soft on my skin
like your kisses….and my eyes..take in the skyline..
and are then drawn…to the building across the street…
with all its open windows..revealing her secrets..
every window a different tone..and shade…
a man reads a newspaper while..his wife..
drops her dress to the floor…unnoticed…
an elderly woman with trembling fingers…tries typing..
w-w-w-dot-c-r-a-i-g-s-l-i-s-t-dot-com-missed-c-o-
while her aide…blushes nearby…
children eating what has been doled out onto their plates…
while their father watches..carefully..
while just above…a couple pulls out a record..and celebrates
ABBA night…with bellbottoms pulled from their closet…
And in another…a man removes a magazine from..
his secret stash…
a blimp passes by…overhead…
…..oh the humanity…
lights start going out one by one…
yellow to black…curtains billowing in the cool air..
and I am alone with my thoughts….

click….
a light goes on….
in a bedroom

….you throw him overboard
sneakers and all…
and come to the window…..looking straight at me…
and I catch my breath…
it’s as if you’ve known all along…
where to find me….hiding…
you step out onto the ledge…and board the tram…
the one that takes you to me…
as an amtrak train heading upstate…
speeds by below us..with its own open windows…
the sound and the fury….
a light has turned on in august….
it’s the light that has brought us together…
and has made me the happiest man..
outside of middle earth…
I might’ve traveled the world…
I might’ve crossed all of Venice’s 1,280 bridges…
or..is that Amsterdam?
but….somehow…there is one place..in the word..
where I want to be…and that is
right here..beside you…
under the mistletoe
my love
so happy
together

click…

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Iconclick…
click….
a light goes on….
Hello….

 

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: You Can’t Know Who I Am

You Can't Know Who I Am cover
You can’t know who i am, when your few steps on the moon winded you
in that foreign place, deep in space you wondered where i was
but i was always there

watching you from a distance because you’re dangerous
not only to me, but to your own kind
just look at what you’ve
done

and yes, it’s not all black and white
it’s always been about the in
between shades

and subtle shimmers
placed just so

so the rest of them
know

that there’s
hope

 

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Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconToday marks a birthday, and an anniversary. Today is the start of year five of Lovelorn Poets and this year, it seemed most appropriate to celebrate and appreciate by publishing a collection of select works stored in the archive. Today, thanks are offered to all of those who have knowingly and unknowingly been a part of this creative endeavor.  You Can’t Know Who I Am is available as a pdf or send a message with a mailing address if you’d like a paper copy.

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: Once Upon A Time

Cups and Spoons by Hernan Seoane

Cups and Spoons by Hernan Seoane

wform response by mforw
It was a dark night
Not
Unlike
Any
Other
Dark
Night
Except this one
was
filled
with
deep
sleep
as the images rolled by
on the movie screen of the mind
and
THOSE IMAGES WHICH HAUNTED ONE’S SLEEP
had a
magic
quality
to them.
Not filled with Color
or Black and White
FANTASIES
but the deepest
communication
that any two distant
SOULS
could
ever wish for.
A LINK
that though distant in body
connected in dreams
of what should be simple
BUT OF COURSE
is never easy.
The pain of betrayal and deceit
interrupting each image like
COMMERCIALS OF THE MIND.
Alas, there was hope
FOR THESE LINKED DREAMS
was a gift that few could claim
but these two distant in location souls
KNEW would hold them bound together
and that soon
the
joy
of sharing
same
space
and
time
was
fast
approaching
their
forever
future
so
that indeed
they
would
REJOICE IN THEIR EMBRACE
B

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconREJOICE IN THEIR EMBRACE
THOSE IMAGES WHICH HAUNTED ONE’S SLEEP
FOR THESE LINKED DREAMS | COMMERCIALS OF THE MIND
KNEW SOULS LINK FANTASIES
BUT OF COURSE