Love Crash ~ A series of poems, emails and other writing about love mostly gone wrong...
By Mo Conlan
My daughter says
something good will come of this.
Words, I think.
Like the first time my heart broke…
Many decades later, I remember the nausea,
the heart’s blood leaking out.
Eros decides that every decade or so,
a poet’s heart must be dragged
from its icy cave to be battered,
flayed; old wounds reopened –
to mourn and howl all the loves gone by,
heart naked as a gutted trout,
a once wary trout who knows better
and took the bait anyway…..
And then to write….
Eros and Athena join forces –
because you weren’t really writing before, were you?
love is gentle and kind, but Love with a capital L is insane.
Once those chemicals begin rushing,
Love is a rampaging bull elephant in rut.
love is patient, but Love cannot wait.
Love will ravish you.
love is not jealous, but Love is full of jealousy,
murderous – read The Bard, read the news.
love conquers all things. Love with a capital L mostly conquers you.
Once you fix your Love gaze, enter a haze
of enchanted delusion. Yes, he is witty,
but drenched in Love, he seems wittier, smarter, handsomer.
Once Love with a capital L subsides, he is just a man.
A man you may or may not love.
They meet at a coffee shop.
Decades before, he had been her professor; she had a crush on him. Now they each are a bit battle-worn, but game and looking pretty good, considering that, once, they had been knockouts.
She still likes him.
There is connection -- three hours of high-octane conversation. Finally, shemakes to go.
"I just want you to know that this won't be a romance,"he says.
What the hell? she thinks.
Still, it is going to be something, starting with email and an art exhibit.
SHE: It was fun talking with you -- I can't believe for three hours!
If you still want to attend the art show, there
is an Artists Talk in which I am participating on Saturday. I could introduce you to V -- she might be the perfect match
for you. (Her private joke; V is 89.)
PS. I may be wrong, but you could be wrong.
HE:I could be wrong, yes, it's true. About what? I'll try to get there, then. Thanks. 3 hours was easy.
How dare you come back
To haunt me decades after…
To pry open my heart,
Shut, and well shut?
With your wit
And your poetry
And capacious soul
And us seeing down,
to the core of each other.
How dare you come
If there are gods of love,
you might employ
metaphorically in some poem
as it suits you, they
so knifing cruel,
so gleeful to stir
send tinder for fires
they will douse…
Eyes glittering with malice
to see played out
your poetic lines: “the eyes
for which we fell would
fall for other eyes…”
They go to a play. They go to a movie, to art galleries. They tease each other and banter. They email a lot.
They get each other's wit and whimsy.
She feels layers of her heart begin to peel away.
She Makes a List:
Friendship vs. Lover
Friends are likely to overlook your idiosyncrasies/quirks/foibles, may even love you for them.
Lovers: “Why does he/she behave like this?”
Friends never have to see you naked – unless you skinny-dip in the dark.
Lovers are apt to see you naked. You are more vulnerable to feelings best left in adolescence.
Friends can offer advice when you are in pain or peril, confident you will come through this bump in the road.
Lovers may blame themselves or blame you.
Friends know your dark side, possibly wrestled with it.
Lovers may or may not see/understand your dark side. They may feel it is aimed at them.
Friends are not usually physically intimate – other than hugs/cheek kisses.
There is nothing more sustaining than a lifelong friend.
There is nothing like the true marriage of minds, hearts, bodies. Nothing. And nothing like the risk.
Never fall for a poet,
His words will woo you,
Glue you, undo you.
Never fall for a poet,
Words come so well
To him then dwell
With you – hell for you.
Never fall for a poet,
glib of word and wit --
hurled like fast balls,
torrents of wordfalls.
Never ever fall
For a poet whose head
Is rife with romantic trope
Save time, take the rope.
Email Email Email
He: I am honest, transparent, and intrinsically reticent.
She: I also am honest, to a fault (never learned dating games), transparent, and reticent/defended. Can one fail to be impacted by young love lost? Survival quite possible/echoes ever present. Love again --- not as sure.
He: One chooses not to learn games....I no longer intend, but hope to maybe love again. I'd like that. This is not a proposition, just an observation. I know I can love well; don't know if I can love wisely.
The Writer’s Heart
To love with open heart all the world so needing love…
To want for yourself that one love, bereft without it.
How to embrace all, yet fiercely desire the one?
To know you must let the one go?
Bewitching to find such a kindred soul,
Embracing him, knowing you will be left
Offering your heart as he dances on and on.
He is the world you have sworn to love --
Hard to live up to ideals. He is the one
Your heart has chosen -- not wisely,
But still you love and still he dances on.
Truly, this is how the heart is tested,
Tortured, brought low and taught to shine.
The gods laugh, we cry and our hearts bleed.
Then we write.