Lovelorn Poets

From Anchorage to Zebulon: In Search of Missed Connections

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: Please. This Posting Has Expired.

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Missed Connections in Pittsburgh

Please. This Posting Has Expired.

expired

Please. This posting has expired.

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I’ve featured a few pieces of “text-art” from the Pittsburgh missed connections feed in the past – and to the best of my knowledge, this is the only place where it appears on a regular basis. Considering the cold, grey, and snowy/rainy weather conditions that are blanketing much of the U.S. right now, this image of palm trees, sun, and water is mighty appealing. Yes, please!

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: I Know You’re Out There

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I Know You’re Out There
Missed Connections in Pittsburgh

This posting has expired.
(The title on the listings page will be removed in just a few minutes.)

________________________
( It’s still the place. )
( You’re still the case. )
————————
o
o
o
__
/ _^)
_.—-._/ /
/ /
__/ ( | ( |
/__.-‘|_|–|_|
XelDCDRnboE

 

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This summer, the Pittsburgh missed connections forum has had a number of cryptic messages that start with “This posting has expired.” (the standard CL message) but then go on to include short notes, secret codes, and occasional text art. What it all means, I do not know, but I know that something is in the works every time I see one. Sometimes you need to open your eyes and look beyond the expiration notice…

 

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: I Hope You…

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I Hope You…
Missed Connections in Pittsburgh

Had a good day
Have love in your heart
Learn to forgive
Smile more often
Enjoy the little things
Listen to the rain
Think of me

 

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We all have something, or many somethings, we’re hoping for. What I like most about this little poem from Pittsburgh is the word choice for how each line starts – you could remove all the rest and fill in your words. Here’s mine: “Had a restful sleep | Have good health | Learn something new today | Smile at people who seem unhappy | Enjoy each task at hand | Listen to the birds | Think of the goodness life brings” Try it yourself. It’s actually kind of fun.

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: To The Boy

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To The Boy
Missed Connections in Pittsburgh

He is gone from here, I know, indulge me.
Whatever, it’s free.
Not regarding any recent post.
Just putting out waves of care and love forever and ever,
no matter what rolls out.
I know a lot of people judge him and come down on him, consequences, I’ve had them too, in the past, I get it.
I can’t change their opinion of him, so let them go like fireflies.
I want him to survive it, the odds, to grow into his great awesome self.
I am the official knower of awesomeness, and he has it.
I dream that we are lying in a huge meadow someday, looking up at a perfect sky, so far from this heavy, ill Pittsburgh air.
Then, we just get right.
And it’s all good.
I hope he sees, I hope he understands, I hope he believes, who I am: from here on out.
That’s what hurt so, so much, that he didn’t, or wouldn’t.
Or couldn’t.
Some hearts thrive on the soil we walk on, an earth that feeds the beat that sustains us.
So, do you know, now?
Did I prove it, somehow?
Hand to hand we do grow something good, invisible or otherwise.
My friend.

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Sadness and grief are a part of our lives – no matter how hard we try to say positive, upbeat, and looking to the bright side. So often we try to mask sorrow with a happy face either because we think we should or because others have told us it’s the best thing. But I’m all for embracing the darkness; look at it, sit with it, write/paint/dance it. It’s only by acknowledgment that you can make it through to the far side.

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: Do You Remember Either/Or?

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poet

poet

Do You Remember Either/Or?
Missed Connections from Pittsburgh

What is a poet?
An unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart,
but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry
pass through them,
it sounds like lovely music….

And people flock around the poet and say:
‘Sing again soon’

 

 

 

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There is creation fueled by pain. There is creation inspired by the muse. And there is creation patiently grown like an apple tree. The first two are delicious and addictive, comfortably wrapping around your soul; the last is focused on practice and steady attention. It’s not always possible to tell in which soil the root of creation lies but sometimes, when asked to sing, and sing again, the source can be revealed.

 

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