Tag Archives: love

The Can’t Gauntlet

“Don’t let others tell you
What you can and can’t do,”
Advice often given
And more often taken.

But I have a challenge,
I’ll throw the gauntlet down.
Take your pick, be my guest.
See if any of these
You can wrest from truth’s hands.

You can’t let go of what you never held.
You can’t finish what never started.
How can it be over if it never began?
You can’t lose what was never yours,
Nor what you never found.

You can’t have a conversation
With someone who refuses to speak to you in return.
You can’t respond to an ultimatum
That was never delivered, never known.

So call off the ultimatum,
Bind up the broken-hearted,
Keep looking for the things you want to find,
And start something before you end it.
Hold dear those things you don’t want to let go.

Copyright © 2014 H.K. Longmore

Protected: Take Me Out to the Ballgame

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The Cost of Comfort

“Oh, my pillow, my soft, absorbent pillow!
What words of comfort have you for me today?”
Cheer up, all is not lost.
“And what will be the cost?”

Two drops is all.
“And what can I get for five?”
You are loved, even if some mistreat you.
You can have the pair for six.

“And how much for a verbal hug?”
Now that’s a tricky one,
A difficult task for a pillow.
What’s it worth to you?

I’ve saved up a lot,
Over days, weeks, months.
I wonder how much I should offer.
Would a cup be too much?

But as I start to pay
The dam bursts,
The stream won’t be held back.
“Is this enough?”

©2014 H.K. Longmore

The Land of Red and Green X’s

In the land of green and red x’s
No dance is ever in step;
Every good deed can be overturned
By the next misstep.

In the land of red and green x’s
Disappointment is par.
Human frailty guarantees
The tally can’t reach the bar.

Red X's, Green arrows
In the land of red and green x’s
The chroma of the red implies
The focus it will have:
The red gains control of the eyes.

In the land of green and red x’s.

Take a little trip,
It’s not too far—
But you can’t get there by car—
To the land of seventy times seven.

In the land of seventy times seven,
Even when a relationship must be severed
That does not diminish the love that grew.
Though the love may change form:

Eros may become Philos;
Either may become Agape,
But surely love
Will yet endure

In the land of seventy times seven.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

What lies beneath

Uncomfortable in his skin,
He vowed it would never happen again.
He claimed mostly he was disappointed in him.

But allowing time for reflection,
It turns out he lied.
Yes, he was disappointed—
Even in his self—
But more than that,

Disappointed he didn’t act
When the timing was right,
Sorrowful for the confusion,

And heartbroken at missed opportunity.

The Cocoon and the Butterfly

Oh, return to me, my cocoon!
In days gone by I tried to flee
Thy protecting wall;
Enticed by a beautiful butterfly,
Beautiful, smart, and cunning;
Who passed by to catch my eye.
Confident you were holding me back,
I tried to flee, but it made my skin crawl.

One day I fled, I pushed through thy barrier;
I was free to pursue the dazzling beauty.
But it took time for my wings to dry.
As I waited she passed on signals,
Intended or no, that she fancied me.
At long last, my wings dry, I tested them.
They felt strong, they felt beautiful.

I sought an answer to the paradox
That to know whether I’d like to fly
On a long journey with her at my side,
I’d need to spend more time with her;
Yet making the request could rend her desire.

I forgot lesson learned, and sought
A simple answer to a simple question.
I fluttered and flew ’til I came to her;
The air around was warm,
Warm as the day man discovered fire.
I asked if she would for a time fly with me.
But lo! I took too long, or she forgot,
Or she was filled with treachery, I thought.
I play no games, words at face value take.
My beauty was sufficient, she had already revealed,
But by her words she chose disinterest,
And I, I nearly froze.

Come back to me, my safe cocoon!
Bring back the crawling of my flesh.
Protect me once again, and I’ll grow,
I’ll grow more beautiful than before.
Let her do whatever she will;
I will emerge when metamorphosis completes,
A grander thing with prettier hues.

Can a butterfly enter a second time into his cocoon?

I spent a sleepless night, defenseless;
Vulnerable as I tried to find you, my cocoon.
I carried on with my life, sad, solemn, painted smile,
Until time and circumstance provided that simple answer:
Her response, “Why would you ask me that?”
May have meant something else to her,
But for me it is the pointing finger of rebuke:
By asking that simple question,
I lost a slice of honor, and with it beauty,
As the missing honor reveals my inner caterpillar.
Treachery it was not, but her wings fluttered
More true than mine, flailing and ripping from caterpillar me.

I look about to find she has fled,
Distancing herself by degrees;
A dream I had while still cocooned,
Before I ever saw her, stands partially fulfilled.
In the dream after she fled, I could not find her,
And I became a creature most reprehensible.
Oh take me back, my cocoon,
Heal my self-inflicted wound!
Let me not arrive at the fate foretold.

But can a butterfly enter a second time into his cocoon?
I can’t seem to find you, my cocoon; gone as the butterfly.
So I seek building blocks of water and bread, flesh and blood.

Copyright © 2014 H.K. Longmore

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

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.

Midday in Manhattan

Three tourists by the shore,
Capris and shorts they wore.
Reading the signs, the lore
Casting eyes where birds soar.

Lady Liberty
At Lady Liberty
They gaze, filled with wonder;
In awe of history,
Founding Fathers ponder.

No time to ferry ride;
Hold hands, walk side by side.

Leaving Battery Park
By foot they head to Wall.
Construction leaves its mark:
They pass Scaffolding Hall.

Three young men talk on stairs
Their skin darker than mine.
To greet hello he dares;
Of brotherhood a sign.

His light he will not hide.

But not a word he speaks
Not because he felt weak
Rather the tallest lad
Spoke first.  It made him sad,

For what the tall one said
Echoed around his head;
I can’t repeat it here,
It’s a bit crude I fear.

A euphemism: died.

The tall one asserted
To he who held her hand,
Freckled white on brown tanned,
White would be deserted

If euphemism sought
When being intimate;
Yes, indiscriminate.
His voice in his throat caught.

Words he could not abide.

His heart did palpitate,
His stomach nauseate,
As fight or flight took hold,
His face he painted cold
Ground Zero

On they walked, on to Wall
Their pace they slowed, they stalled.
Pondered holes and heroes
While paused at ground zero.

Again the subway ride.

They arrived at Times Square
Soon to get in line where
Tickets were but half-fare;
Until then linger there.

Strolling, his hand she squoze
The gesture he returned.
What happened next, juxtaposed
With what you have just learned.

Words made him smile, bona fide.

One darker skinned than me
Pointing at tourists three,
The affection he framed
To his friends he exclaimed,

“That’s what I want! It’s love.
That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!
That’s what I want some of,
Real affection, no doubt!”

As the two events vied,
His head his heart did guide.

Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore