Did anything happen last year?
You met me
That’ll be it then
It was for me
Her spring, his autumn… their days between
Did anything happen last year?
You met me
That’ll be it then
It was for me
Her spring, his autumn… their days between
Sam and Erin – their story – their days – believing sight unseen – revised, tightened, – post #3:
Hello, Erin. I guess I’ve been holding back a bit. I didn’t want to seem too pushy. Yes, I’d like to get to know you, who you are, what you do, what makes you tick, if that’s okay with you? As for me, Sam is my given name. I’ll turn fifty this year, and I’m single, but I haven’t always been. I feel like a thirty-year-old in my head – as for the rest of me, I do what I need to, to keep in shape. I’m a scientist, and work where I’m needed, usually abroad. I’ll be in Brussels next week for a few days, but I should be back by the weekend.
Of course you can get to know me, Sam – I like that you want to, so yes its okay. I’m glad you thought to ask me, you now intrigue me even more. You look much younger and I can see you’re in good shape. Your job sounds important – I’m not as clever as you obviously are – I do admin for a charity and the most I get to travel is in to London every day. I’m free and single and will be out with the girls next weekend to celebrate my birthday.
Erin, if I was clever I wouldn’t do some of the things I do. With me it’s more my instincts and experience that count. I’m a hands on kind of man, and need to be where things happen. I think you’re being kind but thank you all the same. A colleague took that photo a few months ago. She says it’s the real me, whatever that means? You know, I sense it’s you who is the clever one. I’ve worked with charities in the field and totally relied on the expertise of their admin folk to get someone as disorganised as me where I need to be… and back! So, ‘birthday girl’ next weekend, mid-twenties I’m thinking?
Sam, you’re over-estimating me. No one ever calls me clever. I think it’s the way I like to dress – most people look at me as if I’m just a dumb blond and an easy lay. Maybe they’re right – I’m on here, aren’t I? And for sure, the thought of you being hands on is playing on my mind. The thing is, I’d like to be seen as normal too if that makes sense. You make me feel good about myself and I can’t remember the last time a man did that. I’ll be twenty-nine next Friday – about as young as you feel.
Erin, there is no way you’re dumb. The way you write shows me that. Yes, we’ve met on a site like this. So what? You have your needs and I have mine but they don’t define us. I’ll not presume to say what yours might be, or mine, or that we’ll ever share them…but yes, the things that play on your mind play on my mind too.
Sam, the things you say to me, it’s almost as if you know me. For the first time I feel at ease with a man online. I feel I can talk to you and you’ll not judge me. I like your understated manner. You’re a bit mysterious, aren’t you? I probably shouldn’t ask but, if you can, I’d like to know more about what you do… and hmm, what’s playing on your mind then?
Surely I’m not the first man to want to get to know you? Has there not been a man you felt you really wanted, who you opened up to, who made a difference to you? I’m nothing special, just an ordinary man. There isn’t anything too mysterious about me – I just can’t say too much about what I do on here. I liked your mischievous ‘hmm’, and you know full well what’s playing on my mind. I wonder how you imagine a scientist to be. Did you know our senses are highly tuned? We have a touch, a feel for things so sensitive that with experience we can almost feel the earth move. Some go far and wide to perfect this skill. Maybe one day all I’ll need is to be with you?
You’re winding me up now, aren’t you? I’ve actually met the odd scientist through my work, odd being the operative word in my experience. I could have stood stark naked in front of one in particular and I’m sure he wouldn’t have noticed. I’m into being experimental and not had any complaints about my touch. And yes, Sam, you are the first man I’ve spoken to seriously on here. I’m so glad I found you, darling man.
She wanted him
his messages, replies
she told him
she knew why
He wanted her
her messages, replies
didn’t tell her
don’t know why
If you’re anything like me, you write lines and poetry from within, the bedrock of subconscious giving rise to words – yet not always knowing what it is you’ve said?
‘Shorts – a take on poetry’ has it’s first review – anonymous from Germany – I’ve a good idea who wrote it – thank you – I couldn’t have asked for more…
5.0 out of 5 stars A way of being, the fundamentals of who we are
Reviewed in Germany on May 12, 2020
Eric’s poems are short love stories, the stories of our lives, if you will, where we meet half-way, collide, let go, never get to meet. This is a book about another me, another you, things we know or think we know.
Full of puns and (un)expected humor, this poetry collection is as light as a feather, yet as deep as the wishing well itself, and if you’d like to know when you’ll hear the splash, you’ll have to drop a coin into it first.
An absolute delight to read!
Their Days – Believing Sight Unseen revised, reformatted, pared back – returned to narrative/message format – I’m in two minds, theirs and mine with this…
Hello, Erin, l can’t believe you got in touch. I’ve not done anything like this before so I’ll be me and write the way I feel. Is that alright with you?
I like the way you write – it’s refreshing to chat to a guy who seems interested in me. Most men on here are only interested in one thing!
There must be plenty of men who’ve been awed by your looks, your sensuality, your charms. I can’t imagine you ever having to try too hard, or being alone. That you’re here, I can’t think why. You’ll have your reasons, and I’ll not pry.
I find that a lot of guys who would like to be with me are far too immature. I’ve always been attracted to the more intelligent male and I like older guys too as I feel I’m treated much better by them, though there are always exceptions to the rules. What about you?
For me intelligence and looks only go so far, it’s who and how you are that really matters. You have something, you intrigue me, and if you don’t mind me saying, it sounds as if you’ve been let down a time or two? Men say they cannot help but be what they are, though some do try to be as women want, but I’ll not deny it isn’t easy! Sorry, I’m probably talking too much?
No, not at all. I don’t think you talk too much. I like reading what you have to say. It’s all so real and insightful, I feel as if I’m connecting with you and I’m enjoying it.
I wonder how many lives your smile will light up today, how many pulses you will raise. How many will stumble for words on speaking to you, asking how you are, how your evening was, wishing they had been with you. I’m smiling now, thinking all these things too.
You have made me smile that’s for sure – I wish I could be that infectious!
You’ll think this a strange for me to say, but I feel your presence. Where my thoughts go you go too – us walking bare foot in the grass, our feet anointed by the sea as we stroll along a beach, hands held beneath a sky of blue… I know, I know, too much, too soon… to think of you like this.
You know how to give me butterflies, don’t you? I enjoy your thoughts – I have the same sorts of things running through my mind too, though I don’t have the words to capture them as you do.
For us to have begun to share our thoughts and feelings means a lot to me. I can’t explain why we feel like this, can you? I’m just glad we do. Perhaps it is fate, its touch, a chance for us to… well, let’s see?
I have a good feeling about us too but, lovely as this is, let’s not go and get all carried away too soon. Can we just enjoy this moment and take things a little more slowly please?
Erin, you’re something more than beautiful to me. You permeate my mind, you occupy my dreams. There’s no speed control, no neutral – it’s the way it is. I sense I could tell you everything of me and you tell me next to nothing in return, yet you’d draw me in, day-by-day, ever closer to you. Please tell me, how did I get to feel like this? I don’t know a thing about you.
Sam, I’ve never known a man who could express his feelings as you do – this is a first for me. I certainly got more than I bargained for when I messaged you! Oh, and by the way, I don’t see how you can sense I’ll not tell you anything about me – you haven’t asked me anything. What’s a girl to do?
As if, the fake
of his beginning
he’d never heard
as if, ever spoken
not of I, of love, of you
‘Shorts – a take on poetry’ has been published today and thanks to so many of you, and to my surprise, the e-book features in poetry new release best sellers lists on the Amazon UK and US sites. What can I say, my poems exist because of you, your encouragement, your support, your friendship – believing in a man you’ve read online, a man less than a handful of you have met – my book exists because of River Dixon, author, and founder of Potter’s Grove Press – one of you, one of us – blogging reaches out, can touch, can lead to extraordinary things – thank you River, thank you all – this Englishman is smiling, the sun is shining, time for my morning cup of tea
Their beginning redrafted, the writing tightened – Sam and Erin, and Amy – their May to September, their story… two of them from three.
It started on a Sunday, early May in England.
Sam sits, eyes shaded, hands clasped behind his head. Sweat beads on his chest, bared to blend with weathered arms and neck. Beads merge, abs define their line down to his faded combats.
A vibration, his left hand goes to his pocket. He grips his mobile, oddly, between thumb and unoccupied ring-finger. A message, base instinct, he needs to go inside to read. Effortlessly he rises; her eyes half open, her senses tune to the rhythm of his flip-flop walk to and beyond the kitchen door.
Sam opens the message to read a single line:
I’m here, you’re here, what are we waiting for?
He takes in a thumbnail photo, a young woman, coyly posed, stunningly attractive. “Why would a woman who looks like that message me? Why is she on a site like this at all? She could get any man she wants,” he lip syncs as if to a song. He looks at her in disbelief, her natural smile and easy style radiating almost innocence.
Sam fires off a reply:
Sites like this are not my thing, yet somehow you’ve captivated me, by chance, by fate I wouldn’t know. What I do know is I have to say hello, I’m Sam and spell-bound by your smile.
Exhilarated, he feels he’s been indoors for ages, yet the oven clock shows just three minutes.
Back in his garden, she’s where he left her, her eyes closed, her breathing deep. He kneels, and as their shadows merge he strokes her upturned palm. Her heart-line traced, she jolts, grips his fingers, earths them on her exposed thigh. Her wild eyes within a blink, re-adjust to her familiar composure. His fingers lift, his prints fade; her daydream moistness lingers.
Sam sits back on his heels. “Sorry, Amy, a message I had to deal with.” That smile, that face of his, magnetic, pulling at her core, his touch confusing her as always. “That’s okay, Sam, I should be going anyway.”
Without words, they stand, Sam walks Amy to her car. They kiss cheeks, their lips untouched as ever.
She says, “Good to see you.”
He says, “I’ll call you.”
Amy drives away, not looking back, before her eyes betray her.
Sam looks up the road, till all sight and sound of her has gone, one hand holds air, the other in his pocket; he shakes his head. So many things unsaid.
The evening sun goes down; there’s a slight chill, he slips a polo shirt on. Woman–bought, a well-worn shade of pink, as is his sun-touched skin beneath. He sits, restless, in the chair that held her. His fingers caress its wooden arms; he feels a prick… a splinter. Standing, he squeezes the shard free. A single drop of blood falls, smears, as his still muted phone gyrates across the glass-topped table. A second line from her:
Oh my goodness, do you mean that? I’m Erin by the way.
Their days, their lines, begin.
Dream in isolation
what was isn’t now
as if it ever is…
He’ll say those words
yet only in his head
her heart hears
both begin their healing