Tag Archives: communication

Fruit and Fruitcake

“A potluck! Whatever you bring, bring fruit.”
The announcement came as no surprise:
His brother was on the planning committee.

Aiming for some humorous response,
He tried to say he’s a little bit crazy
“Can I just bring myself, because I’m a fruit?”

The room filled with the laughter
Of men, mostly twenty-somethings,
And the few women giving the announcement.

“That worked better than expected,” he thought.
Then, too late, he realized it was “fruitcake”
Not “fruit” he had intended to say.

Too much time had passed,
His explanation too feeble.
The label stuck.

Many moons passed;
A certain few still this label used
For far too long, until—

At long last, another opened his mouth—
The jaws of hell could open no wider—
And inserted his foot and leg, up to the knee.

Those who used the label still
Agreed this last faux-pas was far worse,
And bought the burial of the label.

Gone As The Year

Gone are the days when she parented me,
Saying, “You should come with us sometime;”
Should being a parenting word,
Not a word for use with an equal.

Gone are the days when she talked with me,
Free as the dawn, bright as a butterfly.
Plauged with constrained conversation,
No give-and-take reciprocation.

That year is gone; now I get the silent treatment
Or paying no attention to me,
Only to others around.
A test of jealousy?

I feel no jealousy, only self-respect.
Of him, nor him, nor him am I jealous.
Rather, I respect myself to enforce this condition:
Pay attention to me, talk with me, be an equal.

Today the condition is not held.
Today she has only deliberately ignored.
Today is filled with inequality.
So I fill my heart with disregard.

Tomorrow I’ll try to disregard today.

Copyright © 2014 H.K. Longmore

Related Posts:

Reciprocation

John Lyly we paraphrase: “All’s fair in love and war.”
My euphuistic lines elicit sounds nasal,
Through bore bring some to snore.

Do not chase, some say,
The right people who belong in your life
Will come find you and stay.

But remember reciprocity is a knife
For opening packaged moments
With emotion rife—

Those which strife foment,
Those we wish would endure forever;
And some that changed what “Oh!” meant.

It is at work in nearly all endeavors,
The reader to the writer
The chef to your olfactory pleasure.

It is in the ring with prize fighters,
The teacher and student learning together;
And two that hold each other tighter,

In the hills of Banoffee, in the heather.
It aids mighty generals, war-seasoned,
And strangers talking of the weather.

Reciprocity is also the reason
For joy deep in the core
When laryngeal treasures aural nerves are pleasing;

When heartstrings sing “Je t’adore”.

Copyright © 2014 H.K. Longmore

Related Posts:

 

Languages of Love

An Americanized Haiku cycle

I was clearing snow off of people’s vehicles at work the other day before leaving, and I was reminded of an event and conversation from a few years ago. This served as a partial inspiration for this poem. One Sunday in March that year, I was clearing snow off of people’s vehicles after church (the congregation consisted of single students). There was one vehicle in particular that I wanted to clear the snow from, as an act of service to utilize that third language of love. A friend was helping me, and I made sure I cleared the snow from the car I wanted to. We did several other cars, and eventually a female friend leaving from choir practice "caught" us as we were near her car. Later, our ward congregation gathered for prayer in the evening. This female friend brought up the snow clearing. In response to whatever she had said, I mentioned that indeed, there was one car in particular I wanted to get. My friend asked, "So did you get the car you wanted to get?" I said I had. Another young woman had come near around then, heard that last bit, and asked, "So what kind of car did you get?" It still makes me laugh.

Doctor John Lund speaks
Of three languages of love.
Not Latin nor Greek;

Communication
Of feelings of affection,
Of adoration,

Is what classifies
These universally known
Tongues of human kind.

The first, as a dove,
From our mouths come dulcet tones
Showing forth heart, mind;

To loved ones they fly.
A kiss, a hug, holding hands
In Venn Diagram

Circle of second,
Dear to the heart they beckon
As time slips away.

Oh be not dismayed,
I’ll tell you language third;
‘Tis where love is shown

By deed, being served.
In all these my heart has grown,
And each I have sown.

Sometimes by custom
Or by laws of God or man
Language may be banned.

These words, please trust ’em,
When speaking love is taboo;
Ca, c’est défendu,

Skin—largest organ—
To caress, tickle, or kiss.
Use laws De Morgan:

Not second or first
Leaves for use only the third—
In service find bliss,

Though craving for word
And spark and fire you may miss
(Not alone in this),

From one heart they come.
Ability to feel not numbed
By unspoken tongues;

Heart with song now hums
E’en though sleep be required,
By thee inspired.

Copyright © 2014 H.K. Longmore

Cathartic Ventures

The whistle of a teapot
As the painter adds another spot.
The spillway with water flows
As the writer pens some prose.

Steam exudes from the dryer vent
While the poet works out what he meant
And what he said from what he intended,
For fear the meaning was upended.

But tonight well after dark,
This guy, he was a madman in the park:
Singing at the top of his lungs,
A full concert was sung.

He sang some old favorites, some new
In full pursuit of cathartic stew.
Twenty songs later, he left for home
Solely because his smartphone battery groaned.

Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore

The inside of a guy’s mind

A page telling women how to flirt says:

A guy’s mind is simple. He wants the attention of all attractive women. If he knows you like him already, he’ll lose interest in wooing you or impressing you.

If it seems too obvious that you like him already, he knows that he doesn’t have to work harder to get your attention and he’ll forget all about the chase.

Clearly, they’ve never seen the inside of my mind (nevermind why I was reading the article, that’s a story for another day, like probably never). They don’t know that all the flirting games become too apparent to me. The more these rules are adhered to, they don’t make me more interested, but less. The tips claim to guard against it being too obvious, but if I’ve already figured it out (which doesn’t take reading the article), and you flirt with another guy to try to get my attention, it does exactly the opposite: makes it too obvious. Plus, I have a tendency to say fine, flirt with him, if that’s what you really want. Don’t be fake on my account.

Take, for example, a young woman I was pursuing a few years ago. We were sitting in church, and I was sitting at the sacrament table to bless the sacrament. This meant I had a clear view of this woman, who was sitting on the same side of the building. The meeting had not yet started. As people were coming in, my attention was drawn to another guy coming in. Of this man and his brother one of my friends said that no guy wants to invite either of them to his own wedding, for fear their fianceé will abandon them at the altar. They were significantly taller than 6’0″, muscular, handsome, secure jobs, well-paying jobs, talented, athletic.

So, in walks one of these brothers, and my attention is drawn by the color of his shirt (pink, I think). This young woman I was pursuing notices the shift in my eyes, and turns around to see what I’m looking at. When she sees him, she she looks back toward me, then tries to make it look like she’s ogling him, and trying to get him to look at her. As he passes the row she is sitting in, his eyes focused on whatever his goal was, she gives up and shrugs her shoulders. I had to stifle some laughs. No matter how highly I thought of this woman, he was still out of her league. Saying that makes me think of a line from a nursery rhyme: “The little dog laughed to see such sport.”

If I already know you like me and you try too hard to be coy, I’ll think maybe you don’t like me anymore, or at least not as much as you used to, and I’ll be singing along to Blues Traveler’s Run-around: “But you, why you wanna give me a run-around? Is it a sure-fire way to speed things up, when all it does is slow me down?” I won’t start thinking, “What can I do to continue the chase?” No, I’ll start thinking, “What did I do or say that resulted in her choosing to lose interest in me?”

On another occasion, this same young woman, again at church, was heading from the back of the chapel toward the front. The meeting was over; I was cleaning up the used sacrament cups and putting the cloths away. The ward choir had performed a few musical numbers; I was a bass in the choir. I knew, as I saw her approaching, that she was coming to compliment me on the performance. But, there was no one else around, as they were all in the gym behind the chapel socializing. This made it so that when I smiled upon seeing her coming toward me, she stopped, contorting her lips to the left side of her mouth (ladies, please know that this doesn’t look attractive, it just looks like, well, like you’re trying too hard), and turned to the left, exiting out the door on that side.

The effect this had was not to make me try harder. I spent many hours trying to figure that one out, and yes, eventually came to the conclusion she was playing by the rules at the above site. Have I mentioned I don’t like playing games? I don’t consider flirting to be a form of playing games; I do consider flirting with someone else to try to get me to chase to be playing games.

2022-09-03 Update: did you notice how much of the above included in-person interaction? I’m not good at picking up on interest signals over text. I’m lacking all audio and all visual cues, which apparently I rely on heavily. With audio only, I figure I have a 40% chance of picking up the cues and interpreting them correctly. With audio and visual, I figure it goes up to 75%. Audio and visual, in-person? Up to 85-90%, as long as Captain Oblivious doesn’t get involved. With text only, I figure it’s at an abysmal 5%. Unless it’s made very obvious, contrary to what that page says to do.

Of Dreams and Tears

An amazing thing
Is the heart
Beating strong
Life-long

But here’s the sting:
Some come apart—
Hardened with age,
Or filled with rage—
And fail.

Some are supple and soft,
But for all their calm,
Their dreams aloft,
Even seeking Gilead‘s balm,
They will yet wail.

Time has passed
Since I awoke
Dreams saline-soaked—
Streams of a lass.

Though I knew her name,
I knew not why tears came
Streaming down her face.
Oh, if I could her sorrow replace!

She sat three rows in front.
I wondered to what affront
These brooks belonged.
For knowledge I longed.

So of my dream-guide
I enquired discretely,
Who replied so sweetly,
“On thy account she cries.”

Dreaming still, I motioned
For her to come talk with me
Away from the people-ocean.
I took her by the hand
Beyond the people-sand—
For all her tears she could barely see.

Through stifled sobs
The reasons for her sorrow
She revealed.

To reasons for hope I appealed;
Her pain my heart did harrow,
With handkerchief I daubed

Until heart beats
And desire’s throbs
Did meet.

I awoke with a start
My thoughts darting:
Was it real? No, just a dream;
Tears ephemeral.

But now I wonder
Have I blundered?
Have my actions been cause
For her to pause?

When she is where I can’t look,
Have tears streamed down her cheek?
When I’m not where I can take a peek,
Has she formed those saline brooks?

Or is her heart
Safely at rest
In a simple chest
Of bone, and sinew, and flesh?

Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore

  • Done Trying (crazyhotmess1995.wordpress.com) – Though most certainly not the inspiration for this poem, this post captures the idea of the sorrow in the dream.

Veil of Curiosity

The query heard so oft
From the mouth of young
From your lips now ascends
Softly to my ears.

A child who holds “why” dear
Rarely she pretends
To hold it in her lungs,
Nor her mind aloft,

The answer that she seeks;
Her query comes sincere.
Repeatedly he asks,
His keen mind filled with
Curiosity.

I think between your cheeks
An answer appears;
In the light your face basks
Of words with great pith
Hoped for aurally.

But no matter how bold
Nor how confident
I may be, I am bound;
To say what I wish
Is not my luxury.

My tongue I must hold,
Or reap the consequence
Foretold—I have found,
When words hoped for you fish,
I know I’m not free

By the way my skin crawls
As I mentally
Take that small step.  I stall;
To my face gently,
Quickly I raise the veil:
Curiosity.

My answer returns softly,
My desire unsung.
Disappointment transcend
As heart changes gear

And through thin veil I peer;
My words I amend.
Hope upon these words hung,
As thin veil doffed:

If it’s meant to be,
Then someday it will be.

Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore

Power Struggle

Think not about Watts,
Not Joules over time,
Nor strength of rhyme
Cast from thought scheming plots.

Not one of delta-delta or wye-wye,
Nor yet of turbine against hydro-flow,Lightning
Nor Quixotic blades by air or lance
Made to do their circular dance.

This struggle is with powers on high;
And powers here below;
Powers of the mortal mind
And powers of human heart.

The struggle brings him to his knees;
Too proud to kneel, he cannot Heaven please.
A power granted once to another
Now his heart smothers—

Power granted was not announced,
Lest upon the opportunity the recipient pounce
And his heart—as the moment flounced,
And his mind seized up by the jounce—
Fail him.

Power over his heart was given,
Not the power to make it riven
Nor the power to with others be shriven,
But towards unity be thriven.

But the power unannounced remains
With the giver, unclaimed,
While under its weight he strains,
And to proclaim itself the power does not deign.

Awaiting resolution from inside or out,
He finds his words lose clout
And the unspoken is not kind.
Fear of losing dear ones makes him start—
He seeks someone to hear his pleas
Again, the struggle brings him to his knees.

Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore

Soft Theft

Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore

Confidently I will tell you
Of the crime I witnessed at noon.
The thing occurred sometime between
When she stole a glance at his jeans
As she stole away to get lunch
And when she her last bite did munch.

Confidentially, it was hers
But he stole it away with ease
He didn’t try, needed no keys
His touch was so soft—soft as furs.

Confidence—the thing she now lacks
Which he fain would return if asked
(I asked him if he had realized
Her attempting to cauterize
The wound, stealing backward glances,
But by her eyes he was entranced).

Consistent, compliant, softly
Now he seeks to her to restore
The confidence he never took
And I wish to tell her before
Her confidence by him was shook

This well-worn sagacious two bits:
If she’d have, in time, her druthers,
Never give it to another;
Only she has power o’er it.

Conextrainformafusion

Conextrainformafusion – /kən-ek-strə-in-fər-mā-fyü-zhən/ – noun
Confusion resulting from saying too much and having the extraneous information misunderstood.
Etymology: portmanteau of confusion, extraneous, and information.
First use: 2013

I thought I’d coin a word today.
But instead of simple thought post,
Presenting with rhythm and rhyme
Is how I’ll coin, with some word play.

He who wins is he who says most
Is not a truism for our time
Unless imparting confusion
By the excess information
Is the goal to which we aspire.

Your intentions misunderstood,
Your priorities now in mire.
See these results if see you could
Whether by light of moon or sun.

Here is the word, write it in clay
Say it proudly, say it with boast;
But don’t say it in unison:
Conextrainformafusion.

Soon comprehension will disperse
By the length of my little verse
And now perhaps I’ve caused again
Conextrainformafusion.

Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore