Tag: on-line dating

In on-line dating there are these annoying profiles. They have no pictures and very little information. In other words, they are clogging the channel for us serious daters. Frustrated, I sent the following. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get a response back.

Who are You?
Are you really mean?
That's why you can't be seen?
Do you get a lot of lectures?
Why no posted pictures?

Are you a cougar, a predator?
Sneaking up, disturbing no air?
Seeing but not seen.
Disappearing if not keen.

Are you window shopping?
Or are you stopping
To send out messages?
Or to receive blind passes?

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.

So, it is over with Ell. Time to get back to work.
Like a kid with a new toy, I am now a “poet”. Which means I have to be a poet.
Over the next few weeks I insert poems into initial greetings. I’ll share a few below, but basically I want to say they had no effect, which is not to say they didn’t have a bad effect. No response from any of these. I don’t do this anymore.  You’ll be shaking your head, but all of these were written within some context of their profile.  I had to show how clever I could be.

Is your intuition still on high?
For you, I am just not the right guy.
Or are you holding back on the start?
Of what could be a path to your heart.

Didn't your Mother say,
Dark alleys and gutters, you should not stay.
Wasn't she very clear,
Fun at first, but what came of too much beer?

Oh, hello again.
It is nice to see
My young friend from the
State of Hawaii.

Most people are jealous
Of what you do not miss.
Searching, searching all over
Where is the state of bliss?

A cricket is an odd creature
To think that it is a feature.
Small and hard and black and shiney
Folks want to render it slimey.
Then there is the music to hear.
Quite the enjoyment to be near.
They are an interesting class.
Specially if you are a bass.

I’m going to meet Ell. Butterflies. I walked up to the door. It opens.
I’m shocked, instantly.

Now my friends all know that I have many a fantasy running in my head. I want the world to be one way, it is another.

Please, please, please do not misunderstand. Ell has never said an unkindly thing. Her work is probably saintly. Via email, text and phone she has inspired me in my poetry.

Call me a hypocrite for claiming tolerance. I have issues over weight and so does she. Mine are psychological, hers are physical. Sorry, but she does not look like her pictures. I stumble through the day. She is a perfect hostess. I am a perfect gentleman. I’m chastising myself to look past this one issue. I try. Being a coward, I never address the elephant in the room (now stop that, not her, the issue). Eventually, I leave diplomatically.

I called back from the road. It was a long drive back home, real long.
Let us say we had a disagreement over the situation, with her pointing out some of my shortcomings. She scored some points by reminding me I could not see the future and what her intentions were. I was suffering from cognitive dissonance.

Over the next several days we talked. She tried very hard to recapture the past and convince me of the future, which included the two of us together. I wrote her:

Life is a jumbling, tumbling mess,
Where we honestly try our best.
But that is not always enough,
To bring all of us through the tough.
And end in a jumbling, tumbling mess.

In the end, amazingly, we stayed friendly. I kept corresponding with her both as a friend and as my “poetry editor”. I continued writing and she continued to like everything I wrote.

And then one day she called with awful news.  She had been diagnosed with cancer.
Please, meaning no disrespect, but I’m going to skip ahead to: she was treated successfully.

During this time an amazing thing happened. She reached out to a very old friend, who turns out to have always had a flame for her. He was available and willing to come help her through this tough time. He did. They decided to get married. He bought them a house on the lake.

I’ve never heard from her since.

I sent her this poem. I don’t know if she liked it:

Two fast sailing ships met on the sea.  
The SSA and the SSB.             
Both courses were running parallel.
So close, being spotted on each swell.

Long from port, long at sea    
Enjoying each other’s company.   
Swapping stories, comparing sights,   
Happily they passed through the night.    

With busy crews and too much sea.  
Back they went, on with their journeys. 
Often the case, noted in the logs.
They drifted apart, lost in the fog.  

Many storms later, beaten by the sea.  
With places they would much rather be. 
Being plagued by alternate visions,             
Wondering which were the right decisions. 

A harsh mistress they say of the sea.  
How can it make anyone that happy.   
But luck and the right currents and winds,
What was lost may be recovered again.   

Thus written is one legend of the sea.
When the SSA re-found the SSB           
Joyous celebration was the report. 
Now they reside in the same small port.

For Ell, as usual, a 4:06 poem;

To rebel, must you be young or old?
Objecting to that which you are told.
Is your need to be right,
An entertaining sight?
Or does it hinge around what is sold?

Else wise, must you follow the mighty?
Worrying to be labeled flighty.
Is your need to be right,
An entertaining sight?
Or does it keep your world tidy?

I believe I mentioned that this was a LDR (long distance relationship). Up to this point that “relationship” consisted of email, text and phone calls, lots of them.
Tomorrow we are going to meet. I drove close to her place so that we could meet for breakfast. I texted the following goodnight:

As the distance shrinks, anticipation.
As the full moon sinks, participation.