Monthly Archives: October 2010

Waiting To Be Wrapped Like Coffee: Romantic Email Co-Written Prose

A friend and I started writing to each other about writing, about dreams, about wishes. This is what we came up with between Sept. 30 and Oct. 4, 2010:

September 30, 2010 at 5:43pm
She waited, sun slightly shaded, at an all-too-familiar coffee spot full of after-work men looking for a pick-me-up — liquid or otherwise –, after-school mother’s hoping their baby sitter could hang on for another half hour, and still-studying teenagers wanting to grow up too fast.
Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she’d imagine that she was in a continental Kaffe’, perhaps on a Strasse in Vienna, a Rue in Paris, a sun-drenched Plaza in Barcellona or Venice. She’d take her spoon and gently twirl her deep, brown liquid once, twice, three times, then lift her silver tool out, upside down, so each drop would fall back into the cup.
She’d purse her lips, gently, and softly blow on the cup as she lifted it with both hands to her ripe lips. Her eyes would close and her nostrils flair slightly as she took a sip of the steaming liquid.
Gazing into the back of her eyelids, sometimes she’d see a stranger — yet was he really unknown to her? — approaching: Dark, full head of hair; a wide, friendly grin; head tilted quizzically to one side.
He’d greet her in a lilting, foreign tongue: “Bonjour, madmoiselle!, Sava?”
“Bonjourno, ciao Bella! Mi ciamo D_____!”
“Guten Abend, Du Schoene. Wie geht’s Dir?”
And she’d gaze at him, flash her bright eyes, smile, toss her blonde hair slightly, and murmur softly, as she opened her eyes, “Hello.”
And he was never there …
because she’d never revealed where she’d be,
languidly,
sipping her coffee.

Then she wrote: October 1, 2010 at 8:45am
She sat back in her oversized chair…while slowly swallowing the warm creamy fluid, with its hints of cinnamon and slight bitterness of coffee. Enjoying the moment, she felt mesmerized over the dream that she was still awaking from…of being held so warm and comfortable in her mans arms and the total bliss still permenated her soul as she slowly opened her eyes and smiled….today was going to be a good day.

Then I concluded:October 4, 2010 at 3:59pm
Someday soon maybe.

She spoke, privately, in soft, subtle undertones and with far-away, dreamy gazes, of being held warmly, gently, securely, comfortably in her man’s arms. It was as though she knew it was there, that it was possible, whether in her home, or on a beach, or reclining on a seat looking upward at the stars, or cuddled in a blanket on a lawn, or in front of a slowly-dying fire.
She could sense it, feel herself being wrapped up as though in a warm quilt her grandmother gave her to snuggle in as a little girl, as though she was in a great down parka after having found refuge from a sudden blizzard while she was cross-country skiing, the way she imagined her children felt during all the times she’d wrapped them warmly and held them close to her and rocked their cares, concerns and cold away.
She knew, someday, her world would be rocked as she was held safely, strongly, securely, pulled into the arms and deep warm places by someone who understood the way a man can be strong yet sensitive, protective yet caring, providing yet nurturing, a man combining blue steel and strength with deep, rich dark velvet and tenderness.

As those thoughts ran through her mind, she became aware of a pair of strong, yet gentle, deep, yet insightful eyes burrowing, uninvited yet somehow welcome, into her opening soul. She looked at him and coyly smiled. He gazed intently back at her, seeming to read her thoughts. She heard herself thinking out loud, as though he’d placed the thought there, back in her sub-consciousness:
“Someday. Soon, maybe. Maybe someday sooner than I think.”

You could have met me, yet … (apologies to Michael Buble'): Romantic IMprov Email Poem

You could have met me, yet/
there was something you just don’t get./

The wit, the comedy, the intelligence, the flair,/
the romance, the courtesy, it’s still all there,/
like a gerkin and pastrami, smelly,/
straight from Katz’s Deli./
You coulda been “having what she’s having!”,/
and it woulda been served with no grabbin’./
You coulda won your heart’s bet./
You coulda been served morning lattes/
with dark chocolate./

With Mr. Buble,/
we coulda danced
and romanced/
to his latest romantic duet … /
and yet….

Here we sit. /
Another week’s come and gone./
It’s the pits/
what you haven’t done/
to have met/
me yet.

Just Say It: Romantic ConTEXTing Poem

I thot 2 myself:/
“She can’t get her butt off the shelf,/
2 email, text or call me?/
Anything at all 2 me/
2 say/
‘It’s not U;/
go away./
We’re thru!'”/
So, I did.

Thinking About Being Thoughtless: Revolutionary Improv Blogging Poem

Sometimes I have
things to say
that stick in my mind,
and won’t go away.

And sometimes the things
I realize,
and the understanding,
get supersized.

I’ve made someone,
through my carelessness, cry.
I understand how.
I understand why

the tears flowed.
But I don’t know
why my actions
happened.

Maybe I AM thoughtless.
I don’t mean to be,
but I guess
my actions betray me.

And if my history repeats again,
as it certainly will,
others will ken
the pain of my thoughtless pill.

My forgetting to call
when I say I will.
My checking out
to follow a thrill.

Whatever the reason,
it will happen once more
to each in their season:
of that, please be sure.

The risk is great.
But my caring is greater.
You’ll just have to wait:
Thoughtlessness has no regulator.

In the meantime I hope
you’ll experience near constant caring.
For that, you won’t grope:
it’s what I’m always sharing.