Fragments Of Me

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This is an old post for my newer blogging friends to get to know me.  It posted three years ago.

Fragments of Me

When we were young our lives consisted of questions.

The questions we needed answered. The hundreds of questions our parents and teachers asked.

But a ten year old was never meant to have all the answers.

My classmates attended the big party. Stupid me promised to dance with every girl. Boys stood on one side, girls on the other.

My friends taunted me. “Go dance.”

With wobbly knees and sweaty forehead, I tried to look cool.

Then I spotted Lisa Big Boobies Barelli. Oh my, she could fill up a B-cup like no other girl in school.

Ever since kindergarten when she first smiled at me, I knew the other girls didn’t compare. Lisa had all her teeth.

From across the room I admired her.

Who cares if she had rounder cheeks than the other girls?

Lisa had something the skinny girls didn’t have.

She had curves.

Deep breath…..I broke the ice approaching the circle of “cool girls” as they giggled like hyenas.

Unable to speak, I did something that became my signature move. Never inviting her to dance, I took Lisa’s hand and led her to the dance floor.

Everyone watched us dance as I impressed her with witty banter.

She said, “Nice party.”

I replied, “Uh-huh.”

“Are you wearing perfume?”

“Yeah.”

Even at that early age I knew women preferred a good smelling man. So, I wore my mother’s Chanel #5.

My friends mocked me for dancing with Lisa. I maneuvered us around so she wouldn’t see their hurtful antics.

The boys never understood. Why dance with other girls if I was already dancing with the prettiest one?

“Andrew, there’s so many beautiful girls here with lovely dresses and their hair in pretty curls. You could’ve danced with any of them.”

Then, Lisa asked the terrifying question.  “Why me?”

I felt the universe collapsing on me. Boys laughed. Girls gave me dirty looks. Now, I had to answer this….

How much pressure could one ten year old take?

Searching for infinite wisdom, I gazed into her big blue eyes and whispered. “Why not?”

The lights dimmed.

A love song came on.

Lisa gave me a bear hug and kissed my cheek.

Thankfully, the darkness cloaked my confusion.

That ten year old boy learned so much that night.

He learned about having the courage to be the first.

He learned to go after the girl he wanted, no matter what anyone else thought.

And dancing cheek to cheek…

He learned some questions are meant to be answered by asking another question.

Photo of myself taken by friend of the family.

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I Am A Flame (All You Need Is Love)

 

 

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I Am A Flame

I am a flame
Wrap yourself in my loving warmth
Let my light illuminate your darkness
Do not worry
Tears will never extinguish me
For I am a flame
Glowing for eternity

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I hope I reached a few of you with these heartfelt words.

This past Monday was Worlds Beatles Day. I wasn’t aware of it until I read a post by my friend Bernadette of Haddon Musing. Please check it out.

TO ALL OF MY LONG LOST FOLLOWERS: If you are reading this, you have been missed. Please accept my warmest and most sincere heartfelt apologies. Sorry, if I let you down. I assure you I will NEVER let ANYONE come between us again.

TO ALL OF MY NEW FOLLOWERS: My blog has always been about writing, poetry, humor, healing and love (in all of its wonderful forms).

Through email and chat, I have built connections and bonds. I have accompanied bloggers through heartbreak, divorce, infidelity, lost family members, illness, and depression. Once, in December of 2015, during a Christmas Eve party I attended, I chatted for almost six hours with a lonely blogger who voiced thoughts of suicide.

I am not a counselor, I am just a good friend you can talk to.

Should you need to get things off your chest, air out some concerns, rant, need advice, or anything else; I am here for you. You can find me here through my blog.

My emails settings have been changed, so you can easily reach me at: thelonelyauthorblog@gmail.com

Since doors have been slammed shut, my heart is open to anyone who needs it. Please, do not be afraid to reach out. We can heal together.

Finally, we should learn from those four young men who came out of Liverpool.
Whether you are living, hurting, or healing……………ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE.

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Corazón

Had to repost. WordPress had trashed this post.

Corazón is heart in Spanish. It is also used to address one’s beloved as “my heart” or the equivalent of our “sweetheart.”

Marisposa means butterfly. But it is the name of the Cuban national flower (pictured below).

Corazón

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Earrings swaying like maracas
As the scent of Mariposas filled the air
My Corazón crooned so lovingly
A Caribbean breeze of lyrics
Blew through my yearning hairs

She ignited a bonfire of passion
With her Spanish lullaby
A hymn that came from up above
As angelic goose bumps danced on my skin
Sashaying to her tender love

My heart were her bongos
Intoxicating words drenched with nourishment
Are more vital than the air I breathe
Corazón whispered loving words to the world
As she serenaded me with her poetry.

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Today’s post was inspired by Nandita’s live recitation of Pablo Neruda poetry in Spanish and English. (It was the first time I heard her sexy accent speaking Spanish). Should you wish to hear the poem here is the link.

nanditayata.wordpress.com/…/recitation-of-love-sonnet-no-17-pablo-neruda

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The White Ginger (Hedychium coronarium) called “Mariposa” in Cuba, is a native flower of India but it has become so common in the island that it has been selected as the national flower.

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Silence Screamed Your Name

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Earlier today, I woke up searching for a good morning message from my Baby.  When I found none, I wrote her a few separate messages.  Hours passed with no reply. This little thing was born during those moments of worry.

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Silence Screamed Your Name

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Today I awoke

when silence screamed your name.

Now, I lay here in fear

of never having you,

and distraught that

tomorrow

silence may

do the same.

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Please, don’t do that to me again Baby.

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Photo of beautiful young lady from Google Images.

My Crescent Moon

Moon

My Crescent Moon

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She believes she came from the dark side
Never realizing she descended from the stars
More stunning than the rings of Saturn
She radiates a love as red as Mars

I admire her imperfect little craters
Loving every phase unless she’s blue
She will forever be my crescent moon
Longing to be new

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haunting memories of her

 

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Drink enough wine and combine them with lonesome thoughts and your mind can conjure anything.  Monday night, thoughts about what would happen to me if my precious Baby said goodbye, plagued me.  This is a product of that dispirited mood.  Something very different.

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haunting memories of her

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her absent love hangs heavily
like the dusty drapes in an abandoned mansion
forbidding hope to enter
forever entombing me in darkness

white blown kisses float aimlessly
appearing as wandering apparitions
chanting unanswered questions
in search of eternal light

pale ghosts of affections lost, torment me
dragging my unrequited carcass
burying me alive with haunting memories of her
in a tomb I could never escape

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Don’t worry.  Love is on the menu for tomorrow.

Photo Credit:  ghost of love 2 by marcianus

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Your Love Rains Poetry Over Me

 

Your Love Rains Poetry Over Me

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In search of the sweetest oasis
I’m parched from drinking sand
After an arid life sadly roaming
Lonely deserts as love demands

Your arrival was a major storm
As wet metaphors matted my hair
And a precipitation of pink passion
Left us a quivering shivering pair

Douse me with your tender verses
As your love rains poetry over me
Immersed in the bliss of your oasis
Let your downpour deliver ecstasy

Your Love

Your Love

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Your words are the sweetest melodies
That echo inside my brain

Your love is a metaphor on a gondola
Flowing through my veins

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Let me tell you a little secret. My beautiful Tangled Weeds is asleep right now, but she asks me to prepare breakfast for her everyday (meaning a sweet good morning message). I wanted to start her Sunday with this little surprise so she knows I was thinking and missing her.

Photo credit: You know the drill.

Rescued

Rescued

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The deep stitches that mark my flesh
Are medals from battles worn with pride
The wounds that line her battered heart
Moisten her breath with tears she’s cried

Me, the lonely beach boy surviving broken love
She, an indigo child tangled, a hand without a glove

It was my role to be the valiant knight
To rescue her from the pain of broken dreams
Bravely fighting off the slings and arrows
I was rescued by the poet in tattered jeans

I normally don’t post on Fridays, but my Poetry Muffin needs to read my words. And her wish is my demand.

Photo credit: Nandita.