Monthly Archives: November 2013

image: ‘The Greatest’ and the future/present Mrs. Ali
(© Steve Schapiro)

Dear __________,

I will say it.

I never thought I’d see the day. But . . .

I’ll say it.

I love you.

There. It’s out. The caged bird. The caged word. No more.

No longer tethered to the base of my inner sternum. No longer trapped in the basement of my vocal chords. No longer veiled by my deceitful eyes.

A man should never tell a woman he loves her. Ever. The moment the words are given oxygen, the woman becomes licensed–to ill. She becomes Mistress of the Universe. His.

The only woman in the world that can be told such a compelling revelation is Mrs. Muhammad Ali.

Ms. Lonnie can be, has been, told several thousand times those three brief words by The Greatest–if by his eyes alone. How do I know? I don’t.

But life has told me so. Life, the most meaningful part of life, has assured me . . . Ms. Lonnie knows, she’s been told. Look in her eyes.

I’m no Ali. I realize that. But, I swear, my emotional intelligence, my raw, god-given instincts tell me there’s Lonnie in you.

Perhaps I’m selling myself too short. Maybe I’m selling you too high.

But, I swear, there’s something in you, woman, telling me I can say it–and be the better for it. I won’t lose for revealing my heart. Every man, somewhere deep within him, is afraid to lose to his true feelings. Because, unlike any other living, breathing creature on this earth, a woman has the innate power to tragically hurt.

And to heal.

Ms. Lonnie chose healing. In fact ‘healing’ chose her in which to dwell from her very birth.

This isn’t idolatry on my part. My grandfather told me when I was still a green boy, “People are human. Watch. Learn. No pedestals. But learn.”

The Thanksgiving dinner you prepared was beyond magnificent. The labor means even more. I thank you. God, woman, I thank you so very much.

My Kaiser health plan hadn’t yet kicked in and strep throat felt like the closest to death I’d ever come. You lied that it was you and got the antibiotics prescription. I thank you. God, woman, I thank you so very much.

You came to my reading . . . only the third person in the entire ballroom. And didn’t leave until the end. Because you believed.

I thank you. So very much.

I never thought I’d say it. Never thought I’d see this day.

But hear me. I’m gonna say this with everything in me.

As my god bears witness.

I love you.

And there ain’t nothing you can do about it.

A blessed Thanksgiving. Happy Pamper-Her-Friday, my Love.

Forever,
Rg2

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***

Giving thanks. Love. Health. Romance.

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

My Distant Love,

Pack your bags. I’ve wired the funds.

I’m the loneliest, most romantic man on the western seaboard. I need you here, within reach, a touch away.

I’m putting on a one-man love letter-reading, romance-reciting soliloquy in the Herbert Brooks Theatre on the night after Thanksgiving. I want you front row center.

Nothing quite like this has been done. If Lawrence Fishburne can inhabit “Thurgood” and Val Kilmer can recreate “Mark Twain” and Mike Tyson can stage-exorcise Mike Tyson’s demons and share life lessons, then I can surely thespian “Romance by Rg2: What a Man Wants.”

Acting, balladeering, irony, humor, a few tears, and, most of all, romance will fill the night.

All my romanceworks and ‘proetry’ themes are captured in a stage rendering like no other.

I was turned down earlier this month, again, by another editor. She said she couldn’t greenlight the manuscript because she felt my themes were a little too heavy for today’s reader. “Comedy,” she wrote in the rejection letter, “is what readers want alongside romance, they don’t want to be made to think too hard.”

Par for the course.

I invited her to the private inaugural showing of the stageplay (the house sold out), which ended in a standing-o. I left it all there, on stage: the hurts, the rejections, the countless lonely nights writing to the break of dawn, the blood and tears. And laughter, too.

She called me a day after the show. I’d never received a direct call from an editor. The initial moments were eerie, a pregnant silence preceded her voice. She apologized. She then broke down. Right there on the phone.

She had the power to greenlight, she said, but her judgment failed her. But more, her hands were tied. She broke down further.

The woman broke down because she had listened to her head–the publisher’s bottom line–instead of her emotional instincts.

I consoled her. ‘Hey, it’s OK. You gave me a chance to submit my work, you took the time, that’s all I could ask.’ She apologized again. I told her, ‘God’s gonna bless the both of us in due time. Keep me in your prayers.’

People are human.

I’m swimming upstream, Love. Damn, it’s hard. But I’ve got nothing to lose. Except my soul. I’ve vowed to keep that. I’m gonna die trying.

I need you, woman. Here. Within reach. Within touch. Someone who genuinely cares about me.

Pack your bags. I’ve wired the funds.

I need you. Will you come?

Yours,
Rg2

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***

A Romance urgency . . . in Autumn.

© 2013 Romance by Rg2®

image: © imaginary christine

Autumn Angeles, Calif.–7:41 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday:

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“More for the Imagination”

My Love, I’m forging ahead, against the grain
of this hypersexualized society,
Mrs. Obama tapped me, “But . . . my daughters?”
Someone’s got to exercise propriety

You see, when I founded Pamper-Her-Friday
the vision was conceived in love’s essence,
To elevate the woman nameless, faceless
Can I share with you the lessons . . . ?

So many I learned, the bona fides I earned
countless mistakes now filed under wisdom,
Let’s walk in groove-step and talk more in depth
Around you I’ve created a romance system

Nothing automatic except my meaning emphatic
I’m inclined to go only so far,
My dignity forever respects your dignity
And you’re at liberty to raise the bar

A romance system, a safe-in-my-hands system
We operate one another by remote control,
If I can’t be there, you won’t question I care
I’m your lungs; you’re my heart; we’re a whole

Greater than the sum of separate thoughts
fearful they may never meet that one suitor,
The finisher of your sentence, your punctuation ender
There lives in you, woman, a tutor

So mesmerized is the eternal student in me
A pad and pen I’ve kept all along,
Foolish is the man who won’t study his woman
I wasn’t about to get your crucial answer wrong

What will I do to fulfill Friday’s promise?
Well, l’ve coined it autumn gradualism,
You treasure the slow hand of a very thorough man
who eyes your gifts through the prism

Of romantic undergarments applied inch to inch
you’re an artisan of the most sensual wearables,
The cross-legged symmetry so stirs the chemistry
I swear, there is nothing more stareable

Than a woman taking pride and pleasure in virtue
Leaving much to the greater imagination,
The fabric I chose and the color truly knows
You’re the essence of my autumn infatuation

By all means, cover up, I’m calling my inner lover up
to observe and take copious visual notes,
You give me inspiration for a TV pilot proposal
The working title: “Romance, He Wrote”

But you’re my lone star on this special autumn night
When you’re ready the car will be waiting,
Tonight marks the beginning of a week-long getaway
Let’s do it old-school, as if we’re dating

What’s that, really, you feel the same way?
You’ve even got a case of the butterflies?
Good, we’re just getting started, Love
You’re in for a Pamper-Her-Friday surprise . . . .

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***

Pamper the woman . . . like an Autumn Romance. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

Rancho Mirage, Calif.–7:16 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday:

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“Her Autumn Surprise”

The Coachella Valley is doing everything in its power
to keep Autumn’s appearance at bay,
The nights are still warm, I’ve unplugged the alarm
and the desert stars are eager to play

For us a nightsong, soft, mellow and long
I’ve set this Friday up for extended remix,
You’ve toiled all week in the corporate rat race
Are you ready for a pampering fix?

Tonight and the next are my gift to you
Woman, I’ve made all creative accommodations,
A suite with a view, blanketed by a dark sky blue
The Twitter IPO yielded sweet compensations

I got in and swiftly got out of the offering
Taking good care of my winnings,
And now I intend to splurge on you
Pamper-Her-Friday is just the beginning

I posted “Do Not Disturb,” my enthusiasm won’t curb
Consider me at your every beck and call,
The wine-spirits collection, simply make your selection
If you want, we can sample them all

Wi-Fi for your tablet, Sci-Fi on the tube
But I’ve opted to turn them both off,
This weekend’s low-tech, let me start with your neck
I’m sorry, Love, did I elicit a cough?

As you take in the vista of this hidden desertscape
I understand that the moment’s breathtaking,
But you’re worthy of all I have in store–and some
I sense a romantic interlude in the making

We’ll wash away the debris to start it off stress-free
I’m offering exquisite tubside service,
Let me take your robe, it’s OK, there are no cameras
We’re alone, no need to be nervous

Here’s an entertainment guide of live show times
Have a look while I uncork a Rosé,
Close your eyes for a spell, I have a surprise to unveil
A special ending to the week’s best day

Yes, tickets to fly home for the Thanksgiving holiday
Your parents will be thrilled beyond measure,
Why’d I do it? Because, Love, I care about you
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday and absolutely my pleasure.

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***

Pamper the woman . . . and forever live in her soul. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®.

image: © Erin Colleen

“Sunday Autumn Romance”

It’s an act; everyone’s keeping appearances
When the curtain closes, we’re simply backstage beings
We want to love and be loved . . .
. . . please, no disappearances

I’ve always harbored a high regard for women
Historically, it’s men who perpetuate evils,
I’m holding faith in the mothers and daughters
to counterbalance the world’s upheavals

Is that subliminal chauvinism on my part?
Should I give human flaw equal weight?
Perhaps I should remove you from the pedestal
Only if you agree to a date . . .

With me, to an Autumn symphony
featuring piano and romantic vocals,
Stay put; no, on second thought come with me
I wanna keep you in my focals

Come out your act, now, woman
Even Marilyn Monroe fluttered to a kiss on her hand,
It’s the simple, delicate Autumn overtures
that the true heart understands

Can we talk awhile, you may just break a smile
at my love-and-life philosophy,
Granted, I’m still learning as I go
But I’m giving you my all guilt-free

Come, take in Autumn’s wonder by my side
Let’s have a love conference on a reserved bench
Can I put my arm around your shoulder?
Uh oh, was that a flutter or a flinch?

You’ve been thinking of me, haven’t you?
I’m no egocentric but I can understand,
Here, let me take off your Autumn mitten
Woman, I wanna kiss your hand.

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***

Just because . . . it’s Autumn. -Rg2

© 2013 Romance by Rg2®

Autumn Rinse, Calif.–8:58 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday:

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“Point A to B”

Don’t fret, Love, I remembered: No bubble bath
Just an all-natural water softener,
Your physiology’s tender, I’m not an offender
Tonight my pamper-you goals are loftier

Oh, the social pokes and subtle mind strokes
from women across the globe are enticing,
Romania’s reading and Paris is pleading
But it’s your presence in my midst that’s sufficing

Struck was I by this one-thought thunder . . . of you
Have I evolved into a one-woman wonder . . . a clue
surfaced in the wee hours of last night’s novel writing
My protagonist, Joan, meets this dark knight, inviting

Her inner longings and casting aside trivial belongings
from a romance void of an Autumn theme,
Pursued, she, by two prospective hunk-loves
Hers a dilemma of which her peers can only dream

Yet though I wrote her character into existence
I envy her not–Love, I envy you,
Why? Because tonight is anything but fiction
Come, let me demonstrate what I’m gonna do

That report that’s due Monday in your
department head’s inbox? Well, consider it done,
Yes, footnotes, citations, bibliography–all edited
Those PowerPoint loose ends? There are none

My Autumn romance is proactive:
Point A to B should be a smooth path,
“A” is for After-work-the-pampering-ensues
“B” is the welcome-to-the-weekend Bath

Now, I want you to step inside uninhibited
and sate the anticipation of the suds,
Hydropillows line the tubfloor to the arch of your neck
I’m tempted to get out of these duds

But, no, my preparations are only in midstream
The caterer will be arriving soon,
I let the kitchen be, having saved my energy
To all your Friday wants I am attuned

Let me read to you my chapter ending
But first, how about a champagne pour,
What’s that . . . a thighrub is your request?
Absolutely; let me close the door

So the steam doesn’t escape us
We’ll capture the fullness of the candleglow,
Are you listening? Mmm, your body’s glistening
Perhaps it’s better that I go

And let you bathe in peace . . . wait, woman,
Wait, don’t pull me in the tub!
At least let me undr—
Oh well,

Rub-a-dub-dub . . . .

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***

Pamper the woman . . . and hang on. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

” . . . a Song for His Reply”

Remember my first words to you, “Intimacy is not disrobing
a woman’s body but clothing her naked fears”?
Well, might I add an addendum–to reflect
my emotional growth through the years?

There’s absolutely nothing to fear in my company
but the notion of fear alone,
I’ll stand by the door, keys in hand
If you prefer I leave, fine, but let me atone

I neglected to call midweek, I concede
An absent voice does not an absent heart make,
So appreciative was I for the birthday wish
You care . . . there’s an autumn romance at stake

Did you think of me, if only fleetingly . . .
Did I inhabit your mind after my reply?
Did you forget I’m the most observant scribe
Was I the content of your high?

I haven’t put palms on you, haven’t breathed on you
My fingers, my fragrance, to you are foreign
But autumn has come upon us with no apology
To my gentlemanly principles I’m sworn

I’m willing to venture to the studio
and simply watch how you cultivate the mic,
From visual note to mental rote I’ll imagine
What your voice to my verse might be like . . .

Sing to me a sensual bar, if only from afar
Tell me a story of a young woman come of age,
Convey that you long for me . . . in so many words
I’m your sole audience and you own my stage

The theatre, the ornate showroom, is ours
Sing, woman, interpret what dwells in your soul,
I’m not here for a Sade or Beyoncé remake
Not even my beloved Natalie Cole,

I simply want the original songstress within
An ingénue who’s full in her bloom,
As I place my tweedcoat across your shoulders
Only a lone thought will I assume

That you care for me and this autumn would agree
I’ve touched you in some meaningful way,
You’re deserving of this serendipity
I think of you on this Pamper-Her-Friday

***

Always. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®