Tag: poetry

Ed note: I forgot to mention, while in Astoria I did stay at an Airbnb place. I didn’t want you to think I was totally failing on my mission.

So, it is off to the races, again. Still using my new poet super powers, which I don’t do anymore, I took relevant info out of profiles and wrote them something original. The following are all to different ladies.

Now those are twinkling eyes.
Don't they belong in the sky?
Don't they belong in a vault?
They make my heart somersault.

—

Did you see the full moon last night?
It was up early.
Was it excited to get to work?
Or was it as excited as I am to see you?

She was dressed up in a wispy, vermilion number.
Quite lovely really. I just had to stop and stare.
Was it really just for me?
Even though the whole world was there.

Moods and phases.
Waxing and waning.
There is a lot
That needs explaining.

—

Sandra,
Ok, I'll acknowledge you are sending me flirts.  That is not the way to get my attention.
I have a very active and imaginative brain.  I also have a pretty active and in shape body.
I am not so shallow as to be an ordinary skirt chaser.
I am expensive.  I need you to excite me.
In exchange, I can excite you.  Well, I would try. 
Failing that means we aren't compatible.
I'm an easy man to please, if you have the tools.

Ok, now before you get all upset at me sending this you need to understand the situation. I was in this weird communication loop. I would send her a message and her only reply was a “wink” or “flirt”. I kept asking her to actually type or call or meet. My patience wore out. She didn’t reply.

Tonight was built upon
Every moment preceding.
Remember hard times won,
Early pain receding.
Show the world your sun,
Absolute joy exceeding.

From History#5 do we all remember an Acrostic? I enjoy the challenge. I have a feeling that I have another one laying around, but I can’t seem to find it.

The ending of the Helenic period.
Yes, I tried. I was as forward as is possible for me.
I wrote her poetry.
But no, she was steadfast in her refusal to see, properly.
So, I gave up, writing her this:

I love you.  Hold on, hang with me.  
I don't really know the meaning of the word, but I do know the feeling of the word.  
I know the feeling I get from talking with you, making you laugh, making you poems.  
Actually, I even dream about you, though I don't really remember them.  
This must be love.  
But it is not an all-consuming love.  I'm not a Romeo.  
So, I've come to realize that even though there is not enough love in this world, 
there is plenty.  
And the more you make, the more there is.  
It is not a zero sum game.  
So, you have helped me make love, which I will take into my numbers game.

As a consolation prize, and my don’t we like those, we have stayed friends and communicate quite often. She has been strongly encouraging that I will find my next one. I have not been so gracious. Hmmm, maybe that is a problem.

So, why was I in Astoria, Oregon? I was sorta invited to an open mic poetry read by a lady I was trying to establish a long distance relationship with.

I made it to the open mic event, as did she. I drove further.
The event was great. Astoria is great. There are real writers there. And, mostly, they are my age or older. They were appreciative of my performance and asked me to come back.

She didn’t.

Yet, I still wrote this poem:

Title:  First Meeting
My pulse is doing it again.
You would not want me performing surgery
Or even licking stamps.
Monarchs have nothing over the butterflies in my stomach.
However, I’m here.
I’m smiling.
This is important because,
Because
They say at the end of the day
What is important?
The things?
The stories?
The love.
So here I am.
I had things.
I know stories.
Love, I had and lost.
Now I’m searching.
And to search is to take risks.
And to take risks is to grow and improve.
And to improve means my pulse, one day,
Will act normal.
Or will it?
I’m here to meet you.
Are you the love that I can now
Roll in, relish, relax in?
And all because of the
First meeting.

Call me an eternal optimist.