Tag Archives: relationships

Protected: Game Clock Time – With Links

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Game Clock Time

I’m told in certain circumstances in tournament soccer play, it can be advantageous to lose a game so that you play a weaker opponent next, and a stronger opponent plays a stronger opponent, possibly losing, thus allowing you to play the weaker team and win. I suppose it is possible that under certain circumstances, a tie would be advantageous, and possibly a 0 – 0 tie. That supposition is a required backdrop for this poem.

The hour appears to draw near
When the game clock sings
And the crowd will cheer;

And I will leave the field a victor,
Despite the score being zeros.
Not by my being a hero, no.

By: my fear of the unknown,
the strength side of my weakness,
my ultimatum uncommunicated, unfulfilled.

All shots on the goal missed;
Some deflected, others poorly timed,
And some badly aimed.

And though time remains,
I’m like a quarterback
Kneeling after the snap;

I must keep the ball
Centered mid-field
And watch the clock expire,

For fear a warning dream
Becomes my future,
And I don’t wake with a scream.

I must watch the clock run out,
From self-respect on a two-way street,
Where what’s good for the goose—

You may think I’ll be tired,
Running around in circles
Trying to keep the ball away;

But the only circles I’ll be running
Will be the ones in my mind.
There’s but two on the field:

The goalie and me.
Guarding the goal, the goalie won’t yield;
Never engaging me to take the ball.

I cannot enter the goal box,
So I set the ball at mid-field,
And slowly back away;

Still, the goalie won’t engage.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

Almost, But Not Quite

He almost got out of bed early today.
Almost, but not quite.
He nearly hit a car as he squeezed past on the right.
Nearly, but all fears he did allay.

She almost ate lunch with them.
Almost, but not quite.
She nearly left in fight or flight.
Nearly, but she did not ruffle her hem.

He almost told her of his ultimatum.
Almost, but not quite.
She nearly kept her words from finding her kyte.
Nearly, but she swallowed ’em.

She nearly fulfilled the ultimatum.
Almost, but not quite.
He nearly broke it, had she been in sight.
Nearly, but he swallowed his “Hi”, literatim.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

Sand Castle

Two children meet on a beach;
For their sand shovels reach.
A castle they build,
With dreams it’s filled.

But the filling of the moat
They leave to the sea.
And the sea is pleased:
On the castle he dotes.

He reaches the moat with each high tide,
With each high tide, the moat is complete.
With each low, the heat competes
For the castle’s mastery.
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Silent Lunch

Leftovers find their way
To a paper plate in the microwave;
The container finds itself
Filled with soapy water.

Peach looks good,
Though bruised.
Paring knife supplied
Leaves bruised flesh behind.

And I’m near ready to eat.
But lo! There in the sink,
Another’s bowl soaks,
Now with leftovers and peach flesh.

The choice seems simple:
Do nothing, and risk that this other
Gets her feelings distressed;
Or, wash and deliver it to her desk.

I choose the latter,
Not wanting to hurt her,
Not even in the most harmless way;
Bright and fresh and clean,
I bring the bowl her way.

But she’s not there.
I kindly place the bowl on her desk
And return, unlike a house-elf,
On my own two feet, to the lunchroom.

I hear her voice as I depart,
Turning, I see: several yards away, she saw me leave.
“No matter,” I think,
“She’ll see the bowl and know.”

Quest completed,
I’m now seated;
My mind begins
To haunt me again—

Exploring possible thought paths
She might have started down.
Racing, racing around in circles,
A frenzy stirred up inside:

Fearing her wrath,
Or a giant frown;
An injured porpoise, I see tail heterocercal
As HR pulls me aside to chide.

Oh, to have been that house-elf,
And snapped my fingers to avoid this bind.
“Silence! Let me eat in peace!”
I yell into the void in my mind.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

What Profit?

“Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only true gift is a portion of thyself.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

I wanted to give a gift to someone. Nothing particularly fancy, but getting it involved a lot of personal effort, and finding something appropriate required a lot of thought. Having selected what I felt would be a good token, I waited for the right moment to give it. I had planned to give the gift without any wrapping paper or other covering, but on the spur of the moment, just seconds before giving it, I changed my mind and decided I wanted to cover it. I used what I knew I had available: a facial tissue paper. I probably would have been better off to stick with my original plan. The moment came that I presented my gift, with a customary greeting for the occasion.

Nothing in my history of giving gifts could have prepared me for what happened next. She looked at my poorly packaged gift and after a moment of silence said, “I don’t think I want your gift.” Hurt, enough that I could have cried had I not been in a relatively public place, I said, “Okay.” I thrust my extended hand into my pocket, dropped the gift in, and withdrew my hand. Calm as a balmy summer day, a trembling puppy frightened by thunder, I walked away. It took all the focus I had to not run, not cry, not look back. I turned a corner, and put on a façade of normalcy as I interacted with those in the vicinity. Returning the gift to the place it was obtained would be impossible, so I put it where it would be available but out of sight.

When I was in junior high, an object lesson was taught using a slice of cake to represent the gospel of Jesus Christ. The cake was shown to the class, and the question was asked, “Who would like a piece of cake?” Several hands went up; one was selected. The person selected went to the front of the class to get their slice of cake. However, before they were given the cake, it was mashed up until it looked like leftovers retrieved from the garbage. The analogy made was that you might have a wonderful gift, such as the good news of the atonement of Jesus Christ, but if you present it poorly, the person you are giving it to may reject it. Thus, you need to take care that your life and your presentation of the gift match the wondrous quality of the gift, to reduce the likelihood that the gift will be rejected. Perhaps she was rejecting my gift because of how poorly it was presented.

There is another possibility. “For what doth it profit a man if a gift is bestowed upon him, and he receive not the gift? Behold, he rejoices not in that which is given unto him, neither rejoices in him who is the giver of the gift.” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:33) Did the presentation of the gift matter at all, or was she really rejecting me? If I was on the other end of such an exchange, I would at least receive the gift, and if I didn’t like it or didn’t want it, I’d throw or give it away. But I have forgiven the rejection and the rejector.

And now I think of all the times God offers His mercy to us, and we reject it, either by refusing to apply the atonement to our lives, or by choosing to apply it for a time only to backslide our way to rejection of the gift. I think of how sorrowful He must be at our rejection of Him. His hand is extended in mercy, ready to deliver us from all the chains that bind us captive; it is extended all the day long, and yet we do not listen. And unlike imperfect me, who ran from rejection of the gift or of me on account of emotional pain, He feels but stands as before, His outstretched hand yet offering the gift. His gift is no apology for a gift, but the truest gift of all: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” — John 15:13.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

My Weakness, My Strength

I am weak; it takes but touch to draw me along.
But the siren song is not so strong
That I cannot resist its charm.
I can withstand, do your best, you’ll do me no harm.

But take me by the hand,
Put your finger to your lips
To silence questions in the sand
As I ask where we’re headed on this trip;

My weak knees will obey,
And my heart will not delay.
But this weakness, it is no concern,
On it’s head you’ll see it turn.

Most of the double-x chromosomes
Want one with a y, enticed by sweet honeycomb,
To be the instigator,
Or it’s “see you later”.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

Taciturn Turn

My taciturn trait
Love of conversation stole;
Kissed the blarney stone.

But not so of late—
A taciturn turn I took.
Resumed quiet look.

Speak when spoken to—
Unspoken words fill my mind;
Keep comments inside.

No tragic event
Stole from me the gift of gab;
I just grew weary:

Content to listen
To banter between two friends,
Clenched jaw hides my tongue.

A banter party
To which I’m not invited;
Tired of butting in.

Copyright © 2014 H.K. Longmore

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 Task Master

A task needs doing,
It’s mine to do.
I take it from the queue;
It becomes all that I’m pursuing.

It becomes my master,
My humanity subdues:
A “good morning” buried, a hello refused
Helps me get it done faster.

But as I leave from task completion,
Things left unsaid—now exhumed—
My thoughts completely consume.
A cause for relationship depletion?

When will I rule my tasks,
Rather than they rule me?

©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