Has she come back?
I scream, nobody hears.
My eyes, flooded with tears.
Pounding, pounding the door.
Exhausted, fall to the floor.
Why is it that no one can see?
How hard does it really have to be?
Aren't I special, aren't I enough?
Isn't it worth it, is it that tough?
I inhale, look for the quiet.
I exhale, hold back the riot.
I listen, give me the message.
I regard, show me the passage.
Helen and I talk fairly often. One of the things we have in common is this on-line dating. I have a few good stories but so does she. She shares with me one “advance” and, sorry, but it inspired me to write:
Buck and Merle are no longer alive.
I should blow this town and hit the I-5.
Carrots and almonds are too hard of work.
Guitar picking is easier for this old turk.
Oh Helen, Dear Helen can't you but see,
How together we fit so perfectly.
Oh Helen, Dear Helen don't make me guess,
Sitting by my keyboard waiting for yes.
So I set my sights on heading north.
Doc said it would be without my horse.
And my poor dog Bo, I no longer see.
He disappeared at the truck stop in Weed.
I finally arrived at this small town.
Looking for true love, but where's it found.
Fired up the ole laptop and went on-line.
Hoping there would be one to find.
Your profile caught my heart for sure.
I read it three times to get all the words.
You look so fine in that eye-talian dress.
I'm sure you can look past my cowboy mess.
We are a perfect match, we must meet.
If not my heart will stop it's beat.
I'll impress you, for sure I'm clever.
We can hold hands and walk forever.
I consider this a country song. However, I don’t know when it will ever be complete because music is not one of my strengths.
We have left the Ell period (and of course, that is not her real name). We are now entering the Helenic period. Helen is a good name for her for many reasons but primarily, where Ell ignited and played with my poetry, Helen has inspired.
Sharp readers will have noted a reference to Helen in September of ’16. She was a long distance relationship (LDR). She wrote an excellent profile, which is how you catch my attention on this site. We emailed, texted and phoned. A date was arraigned in her town. I think it went well, even for me. We took a long walk and talk after a long lunch. We agreed to set up a second date at some upcoming Oktoberfest event. I went home happy. And then she cancelled. Turns out I wasn’t the one. Lights out.
And then I hear from her again. What, 6,7,8 months later. She essentially explains that she missed my friendship and I, of course, completely misinterpret the situation. I insist on playing an ’80s brat pack movie, with me playing the role of the smitten geek in pursuit. However, I think to myself, I’m now a poet. Who could resist? So poetry started flowing.
I can do my chores, clean my messes.
I can feed myself, comb my tresses.
I am totally able to do my finances.
I am wholly, completely secure in my oneness.
One is the most special of numbers.
Unlike adding to any other,
If you take the time and the trouble,
Adding one to one makes it double.
Two opens the door for rapport.
Two offers a place for comfort.
Two provides something to support.
Two explains the reason to court.
It is off to the races. Enjoy.
Been at this on-line dating scene for some time, can’t say that I understand it any better.
For example, why would someone join this site, agree to a meet and then never show up or offer an excuse later?
As I see it there are three major aspects to on-line dating once you are up and running; writing, phoning, meeting. It has to be obvious the most important is meeting. But do you try to set up a meet soonest, without some mutual interest already being set. Some people are better/worse at writing. Same with talking/texting.
But imagine this common scenario:
Two people see each other’s profiles and pictures, drop a line saying let’s meet Tuesday and then do. Where is the spontaneity, the mysterious, the magic? You know you are walking into that coffee shop with a person waiting, waiting for an interview.
Instead, imagine this.
She is walking through the botanical gardens and spots the man taking pictures. He has obviously had some miles put on the tires but still looks good, somewhat weather worn and geeky. She drifts down to see what flowers have caught his attention. Bumping into him slightly she apologizes. He looks up with a smile and says hello. Then his brow wrinkles. She lightly places her hand on his arm and asks him if everything is ok. He looks at her and says how he knew something had been wrong with the flowers, but hadn’t been able to place it. He tells her he thought something had been missing and now, looking into her eyes, he knows what.
Retirement is becoming a more common word in my vocabulary. A lady, met on-line, retired from her elementary school teaching job. Upon which, I wrote this for her:
Let us all gather for a great big cheer.
It's been a long, happy, rewarding career.
Many a child was given a good start.
For each of them got a piece of your heart.
It was not a sacrifice, trying at times.
For the world to function, it takes all kinds.
And those kinds had to be mentored and nurtured,
To have any hope for a bright, new future.
So a big door is closing, there is no going back.
But the memories will linger, for there is no lack.
A new door is opening, it is shrouded in haze.
But I'm sure, like you, it will never cease to amaze.
It came to be my daughter’s birthday. As a present I wrote:
Conceived in love, let loose to live.
Thrown to the world, transformative.
Gather experience, take strength.
Generate an effect, at length.
Do not forget, be sure to play.
Take every chance, along the way.
Money and jewels, items of kings.
These aren't counted, when the world sings.
Look inward, what your heart can give.
Conceived in love, let loose to live.
Finally finished the third “snow” poem from my December drive. Enjoy.
Time for another trip.
The studs are mounted and ready to go.
I noticed they weren't presenting themselves
With as much enthusiasm and confidence as I would like.
The sky was not overly threatening.
The roads were clear.
I didn't feel rushed to finish the loading
And there were a few stories still to be spilled.
I'd be gone for awhile and miss the Christmas season
With these folks.
The light snow that began to fall
Was easily ignored by pulling on another yarn.
Yes, I know, the car doors were still open.
At some point you couldn't be ignored.
Was that at the first inch or the second?
Everyone helped me throw your snow out
and the rest of my things in the car.
Time to go.
Well, actually, I should have gone with the earlier time.
There were two passes to pass
And too many miles to go too slow.
Luckily, the snow plows were doing their job.
So sorry, but you wasted a dump.
Over pass one and over pass two.
Not the fastest but not too slow.
But now what?
Light, fluffy snow that billows as I drive by.
And by billow, I mean you can't see a thing when behind a truck.
Who needs to see?
Stay in the left lane, zoom by
And you are in the clear.
And you develop a feeling.
Like I'm feeling the force of this billowing cloud
Pushing me to the left.
I can now hear/feel the rumble strip.
BTW, for anyone not awake, this would be a good time to open your eyes.
I am now presented with a decision.
Is that trucker really trying to put another notch in his belt?
Do I slam on my brakes, remembering the snow, ice and that I can't see?
Or do I accelerate, remembering the snow, ice and that I can't see?
Studs are not born, they are made.
I'm going to look you in the eye
Or at least in the direction I think the eye of your storm is,
And say bring it on, I'm motoring on.
But I bet we'll meet again.