Monthly Archives: October 2013

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My Autumn Love,

I’m on the verge of writing a grant for a school district. $4.5 million. They’re testing me. Someone in the mix came across my romantic proseworks, stumbled upon my poetics and put two and two together.

Not sure of the creative scribe behind the digital word-display, someone dug deep beneath the cyber-anonymity–my name somehow surfaced.

They discovered my record for funding. They want to know about the Art of the Ask by Rg2. They want to decode it, “assembly line” it something akin to what Henry Ford did for manufacturing.

Love, they want to know my trade secret(s). I said nothing to effect . . . just listened; released nothing from the vault within. Between heartbreak and romance, it’s proprietary. Besides, I left grant writing alone some time ago, having ventured on a creative road not taken. Not even paved.

But now I’m asked, compelled, to revisit my past–for the good of young minds in need of educational funding . . . to impact the future.

How could I say no?

“But $4.5M?” I finally spoke, even-keeled, staring off in the distance of the conference room. “Why so little? Why not $45 million?”

The panel, seemingly in unison, reared back in their seats, eyes widened, disbelief in each of their countenances.

I sat there, waiting for someone to agree with my audacity, my gaze still fixated on an imaginary door affixed to the upper wall behind them, as if baiting me to open it and walk through, leading them all to that funding promise land.

I didn’t know what the hell I was saying. Then again, there was no one else, alive, in the world who could have sat in my seat and said with confidence what I’d just uttered. I knew it. I knew it like my father knew my mother would fall in love with him and love no other man subsequent.

A grant is a love letter. No more. But men, people, nowadays, don’t write love letters. Not because they don’t want to. They simply don’t know how.

I was born to.

My father produced my copyrights. DNA issued and ensured. My mother owns them. I’ll never sell. But I will share–with deserving young minds in need of technology, books, and an academic blueprint for the future.

I’m gonna snag the $45M, as God is my witness, and I’m gonna do something beyond that, what most other grant writers can’t: Cultivate and engender “repeat” funding thereafter.

With you in mind. Yes, you in my stream of thought and creativity. Each man needs a motivating force to elevate his inherent romance gifts.

And you’re mine, woman.

By the way, My mother doesn’t own “all” of them. Open the envelope while I pour us a chablis. Yes, the certificate bears your name. You’re the third-largest shareholder of Rg2 RomanceWorks, Inc.

Why?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

Ever Yours,
Rg2

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The Art of Romance.

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

“Still in You, Autumn”

If ever there was a time to let go of your inhibitions
It’s here and now, and I’m the man,
You know damn well you’ve been in the wrong bed
So, dammit, what’s your exit plan?

There’s nothing of this universe worse
than a woman who’s not in love,
An unfulfilling relationship in autumn?
A greater sadness I can’t think of

There’re financial matters to consider, you say,
It’s not as black and white as it appears?
You’ve got papers on one another, I understand
But my romantic deadline nears

I’m neither callous, careless, or heartless
I’ve been heartbroken so many times,
The woman I loved married another
He offered stability, I offered rhymes

Can’t live on potential, can’t love on promise
Something’s got to be in writing,
I refused to sign because I wasn’t ready
But there’s this candle I’m lighting

Symbolic of the fire that still roars
A flame that burns even to this day,
No doubt I simmer within you, is it true?
You don’t know what the hell to say . . .

Shhhh, keep it silent while the chill sets in
The autumn season speaks for you,
I await, still, just over the horizon
I know exactly what to do

You need to trust–it’s all or bust
Fool you once, shame on me,
You never responded to my letters
I had no choice, I set you free

It was an autumn rain, I remember
I wanted you to jump in my arms,
We’d revel in the mutual wetness
You fell in love with my charms

But never, ever, quite got to know
the man now unleashed to the universe,
A residue from fallen leaves in autumn
My initials signed at the end of verse

Written for you, still smitten with you
We all have regrets we’d rather undo,
Father Time has healed my wounds
but you’ve got a bill that’s come due

Two sets of autumn gloves I bought; If they don’t fit, I’ll acquit
you . . . of holding hostage my heart,
Dammit, go away, or come and stay
I’m not one for romance a la carte

I’m a take-it-all or leave-it-be
No apologies I make for the past,
It’s a brand new autumn that beckons
I was the first and, dammit, I’m the last

Don’t dare let another woman hold me
when you know it should be you,
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, my autumn Love,
Do you know what to do?

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Pamper the woman . . . like it’s the last autumn. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

image: © Jane Heller

Misty Cove, Calif.–7:16 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday:
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“It’s Sweatersock Night”

Autumn’s first rain in California’s southern hemisphere
I pulled out a time-worn sweater,
It no longer fits and partly moth-nibbled
But I thought of something better

You loved its seasonal color, its rhythmic pattern
the ageless warmth against your skin,
I cut the sleeves away, so crazy I am
But slip them on and let me begin

Remember the timeless promise we made . . .
to be creatively frugal and pocket the savings?
To find a new life for things once cherished
and give new meaning to our cravings

Yeah, I’m with that beautiful thinking, woman,
I love the way your distinct mind works,
Can’t explain it but, I swear, you’re my skin
this romance within me lurks

I’ve a secret I simply cannot withhold
been waiting for this moment to divulge,
the hundred dollar bill we hid in the shabby jeans . . .
Well, are you ready to indulge?

That’s right, an old C-note, a little crumpled
I hid it in the left cuff,
the pocket would’ve been much too tempting
And guess what? It’s just enough

For a weekend splurge, just you and me
fresh goods we’ll take down to the shelter,
How about the rest on a date-night spree?
Some spontaneous helter skelter

Naughty? Me? Oh, come now, Love,
You know I can keep it clean,
But, goodness, so sexy are the socks on you
and this erection is about to get mean

On second thought perhaps we should keep it in-house
as the after-rain fog settles in,
Come over here and curl up in my lap
For Pamper-Her-Friday is about to begin . . . .

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Pamper the woman . . . for autumn’s sake. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

image © mossad

“Romantic Pot Pie”

No, absolutely not, woman, I wouldn’t dare . . .
I’m thinking of no such thing,
To make love to you to usher in autumn?
How could I? Though it has a nice ring

I mean, come on now, who thinks in such terms?
Couples don’t love-make to announce a season’s arrival,
It’s not like I’m stranded on a yester-summer island
And holding you is my only means of survival

Then again, what if I did put the onus on you?
To breathe on me, like fallen leaves in a breeze,
The weather’s turning and your body’s yearning
Locked to others, your heart, I have the keys

Locksmith, wordsmith, lovesmith, pampersmith
I’m a man of multiple trades,
I don’t underestimate your many options
Go ahead, talk to him, I guarantee you he fades

You see, he doesn’t know, they simply don’t know
the depth of currents moving through you,
No one else can read the ripples of your flow
They’re sending texts; I’m making a fire in lieu

I had a recliner delivered, a la-z-boy plush
for your Friday exclusivity,
The ottoman is my converted desk, lay back
And feel this synchronicity:

Hand to toe, toes in hand
If your week’s felt like five days of jail,
I’ve got the ultimate after5 plan
My timing’s perfect–I posted intimacy bail

You see, I understand the season, Love,
Someone’s got to go just a little deeper,
I wanna share with you my reason, Love,
Others are more vocal, but I’m the sleeper

Launching it something quiet like google
when no one else saw me coming,
My private eyes on you all the while
Your autumn strings I’m gently strumming

Hot Irish mochas are coming right up
Relax, I’ll replay “Scandal” for your viewing pleasure,
Homemade roasted chicken pot pie
That’s right, your autumn fave, I had to measure

The ratio of savory romantic goodness
that goes into each and every bite,
Here, taste this–what, you want a kiss?
By all means, so very young is our night

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

***
Autumn’s the right time . . . to pamper the woman. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®