Unrequited Love Spasm

When I was so very young
I loved an older girl;
To me, she was perfection, and
The crown of the whole world

I helped her with her homework
For many days on end:
But as much as I loved her, she
Saw me as just a friend

A friend whose name she seemed to have
Some trouble in recalling;
Although she saw me every day
And knew that I was falling

In love with her – she did know this –
But that happened a lot:
So just one other dude who liked her
Didn’t get her hot

I’ve looked back on it since, and thought:
I know that I was callow.
But what is more amazing’s that
I didn’t know how shallow

She was; or how bad I was
In my youthful incoherence:
To love someone who really was
Not much more than appearance

Then recently, I saw her:
Thirty years had past since then:
And she was bright and charming and
All that she should have been

So I had to revise my
Patronizing memory:
If I had seen the real her then
She’d have seen

(“Unrequited Love Spasm” – 1-27-2015)

The Pines

Among the pines we walked; we were in love –
The sun was streaming through the boughs above –
Our hands were clasped together by our sides
Out in the place where happiness resides

And even breathing did intoxicate
Us, stopping constantly, to share a kiss;
The moments between moments seemed so great –
The shining sun looked down on all of this

Just peeking through the pines to see us there –
Two soon-doomed lovers, as he knew we were:
So thoughtlessly we wandered, me and her,
Two lovers in the morning forest air

And though, this sonnet now, I may enshrine:
He pines the most, who lives but to repine

(“The Pines” – 7-21-2015)

Love Spasm The Seventh

Alright, then. She was forty-six
And I was twenty-three;
And I would fantasize about her
With some frequency

She worked just down the hall, divorced,
With boys about my age;
And we were friends, we laughed, we talked
And one day reached the stage

Where she thought she would fix me up.
So I would choose from three
Young friends of hers; we’d all go out
And see what we would see.

After that evening, at her place
She asked me who among –
But the next words I never heard
Instead I felt her tongue

Inside my mouth, her lips on mine
And it was everything
I had imagined it would be.
And so began our fling.

We weren’t “together” all that long
She broke it off one day;
Saying it was not fair to me
And had to be this way

But that’s another story.
Life seems strange, then, in review:
For fantasies aren’t always idle
They come true

(this prompt)

a wanderer’s life

my dream, always, was to travel –

in my early twenties, first real job,
money in pockets, time off, no one to answer to –
driving randomly, stopping wherever,
staying wherever,
by myself

seeing the world,
listening to music,
just taking it all in —

following the old roads, wherever they happen to lead;
seeing the country change
before my eyes

once, on an empty stretch of beach in Florida,
on a windy January day,
hearing the ocean in full symphony —
feeling like the only one who had ever been there:
well, except for the used condoms on the ground
of the parking lot

all of which made quite an impression on me, for
whatever reason

traveling, not to get anywhere preconceived,
but to develop new conceptions from
the act of traveling, itself

two weeks in a car
no company
no cell phone
no gps
no real destination, except
that night’s bed, wherever it might be —
the wanderer’s life

and what a life
it was

you never knew…

not even years later on facebook would i admit this to her … ever …

i never told you how i felt
before you went away;
although we’d sat in class together
several times a day

for you were dating someone else,
and i just let you be;
you never knew i thought about you
daily, constantly

you transferred in our junior year,
while i nearby did stay;
i saw you once or twice again
but never did i say

my feelings were a secret, which
i’ve held fast, faithfully:
i loved you in my way, but thought
you were too good
for me

Remembering My First Real… Breakup

The last kiss that we had was by my car,
Two nights after our most romantic night.
My first true love became my first big scar;
We broke up without so much as a fight.

She was away at school where she then met
A guy; and love had forced her to admit
That his was love like none she’d known as yet.
So she hung up the phone. And that was it.

I sat there brooding, my father inquired;
I told him why I looked so out of whack.
He said, “At least she was honest with you.
And not cheating on you behind your back.”

I sat there shameful, for I didn’t know
He known of my dalliance all this while:
I felt my foolish anger start to go,
My frown of rage became a sheepish smile.

He said, “My son, now that’s an honest girl.
She treated you with honor, not with stings;
I hope one day, as you go through this world
You will prove yourself worthy of such things.”

Oh worthy I was not – not at that age.
For I was fickle, false and just a mess.
My first real breakup hurt only my pride
The love had died by my own selfishness

Remembering My First Real… Love

When I last wrote about her
It was at my first real dance;
But soon, she was my first real love,
My very first romance –

And all that lovers always feel
We also underwent —
The crystal pure elation
That we could not help but vent –

And it was like real happiness
Was something new to me;
When she was anywhere nearby
I was in ecstasy –

But, strange in thinking back, how much
Of heartache we went through;
Of all the infidelity,
The cheating we’d each do –

Our love was real, though. Very real.
Although we grew estranged;
The love between us still remained —
It is that “us”
That changed