Monthly Archives: November 2016

Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 337: ‘Do You Remember Me, Joan?’ A Love Verse: ‘A Romance in Autumn’ Creatives by Rg2 (49)



“Do You Remember Me, Joan?”

Do you remember me, Joan?
By your side I sat near the one-way glass,
A moment before the ubiquitous smartphone
I couldn’t request your number—I let it pass

The integrity of pedagogy was to be upheld
And the fact I happened to be a few years under,
A young, tempting myth better left undispelled
I confess, there were nights my mind would wonder

A man never touches a woman who wants touch:
The mystery of that near-miss ne’er goes away,
To consume yourself with books and business and such
Has hardly diminished that provocative interplay

That I dared challenge your disorders expertise
The tongue-lashing you whipped with ferocious force,
The pensive silence with which I sat still in the chair
Yeah, it hurt but I refused to be thrown off course

I wanted to retaliate but strategically kept my lid
The grade was my mission . . . and be on my way,
A woman aiming for a fight it behooves him to rid
What was there to gain at the end of the day?

I spotted you that win but no better you felt
You see, the human soul knows when it’s gone wrong,
I was out of line in my defiance—yet so too were you
The uneasiness of that exchange had lingered long

An arrow hurler, me; a dagger thrower, you
Was there something going on beneath our surface?
Was I a punching bag of residue from the previous loser
Over time did you realize no drama was worth us?

It was Autumn, Joan, the beginning of that season
We denied ourselves a coffee with hints of Irish creams,
You were hurting, carrying a Michelle O. kind of hurt
Balancing that burden with the weight of your dreams

I withstood it then because I understood it all along
The misfortune of it all was we never got to talk,
Would you’ve cared to listen to a new perspective?
Sure, I was less seasoned but there’s a life walk

To be shared by each of us when given the chance
You had me intrigued, woman, damn near mesmerized,
My place in the universe still forming in the coals
Silently wishing I could become a diamond in your eyes

I learned so much of the subject matter—credit you
In the process I learned a great deal about self,
I drove away with autumn leaves on my windshield
Blown awry by the wind but the accumulated wealth

Stayed put in my head and this steady heart of mine
I’d sometimes wonder what became of you,
I’m sure I was simply a forgotten specter in time
But social media has a way of sparking thoughts anew

Part of me wants to re-meet you, to warmly greet you
To re-introduce this years-later version of the man,
Provide a more personal insight beyond the reading
And as is my nature I’d like to kiss your hand

Gift you a copy of my novel: “Would You Mind Company…?”
Perhaps you’d care to be featured in a Pamperee Profile,
After all, you played a part in the making of the man
It’s a new Autumn, Joan, won’t you come enjoy me awhile

The art of music, a vintage wine and a fine dine
We can re-define that once-uneasy interplay,
Absolutely no hard feelings linger in this writer
We deserve a special autumn Pamper-Her-Friday



Pamper the woman . . . to make up for lost time. -Rg2

© 2016 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®


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Posted by on November 18, 2016 in Pamper-Her-Friday


Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 336: ‘Please Pamper Her For All The Fridays to Come . . .’


image © Pete Souza


“Don’t worry, babygirl, I promise to be an even better leader after January. I’ll do all I can . . . Michelle and I will do everything in our power to make sure you don’t lose hope in your future.”

She holds on to him as if searching for security; he can feel a slight tremble in her wiry arms and a palpable, peculiarly rapid thump in her heartbeat.

“I love you, Mr. President,” her soft words somehow find air.

Reluctantly he releases her, the very reason he chose to run, from his father-like embrace.

Misty become both a man’s and a little girl’s eyes.

On Pamper-Her-Friday.



God, pamper the vulnerable . . . and help us all. -Rg2

© 2016 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®


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Posted by on November 11, 2016 in Pamper-Her-Friday


Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 335: ‘Kiss Her Like an Autumn Stranger’ A Love Letter: ‘A Romance in Autumn’ Creatives by Rg2 (48) Vol. V



“Kiss Her Like an Autumn Stranger”

Dear Christine,

When’s the last time you wrote a love letter to a man you found yourself curious about? Well, I doubt the letter will write itself.

Allow me.

I realize the self-driving vehicle has debuted. And the self-lacing shoe is just over the horizon. Artificial Intelligence is fast evolving, sure enough, but no one, no software, no machine knows better the affairs of your heart than its owner.

This mystery I present to you in the form of an invisible man in existence somewhere in the Americas—why would it be any other way? You weren’t looking for a romance writer. Far from. And I’m certainly not looking for a romantic pen pal. Far from.

So then, why is it that we’ve discovered the other’s existence? In autumn no less? I’m willing to wager you’ve a bounty of eager suitors, each offering his uniquely personal, well-intentioned woo.

I’m not going there.

You don’t need another feather in your cap of embarrassing riches.
Besides, I’m saving my woos for a rainy day. Preferably a rainy autumn day. Why? Well, my grandfather once told me a woman requites a received love letter most enthusiastically in the fall season.

In her favored coffee house she may sit alone, a pen and pad not far away, and the words just tingle and tickle the nerve endings of her ideas-brimming brain. Or by a wood-burning fire in the privacy of her dwelling, a cup of joe at arm’s length, she may find herself mind-scribbling thoughts of him.

I’m not saying you’ll go there. I’m not asking you to go there, Christine.

No, do not write a love letter to an invisible man. I suggest you not compose a thoughtful note to a stranger.

Suffice it that we’ve somehow, for some enigmatic reason, touched the other’s creative orbit.

I mean, it’s not as if Laura wrote to Almanzo. Then again, do we really know she didn’t?

And Gilda didn’t “write” to Gene that arrestingly beautiful line: “. . . kiss me like a stranger.” Wilder was never the same after hearing it on her lips and gazing it in her eyes. Poor guy.

Or fortunate man, that Gene.

Besides, women don’t write love letters anymore. So why don’t I let this one go. I won’t send it. Why don’t you be you . . . and I’ll be me. I’ll just be me. The mystery. The curiosity that’s probably best that you not explore.

Because were I to see you, within hand’s reach, were you to enter the confines of my breathing space, I swear I’m just liable to, I’d fight the impulse with everything within me, I’d try with all my romantic might not to . . .

. . . kiss you like an autumn stranger.

I’ll write it instead.




Pamper the woman . . . and forever live in her Autumn. –Rg2

© 2016 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®


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Posted by on November 4, 2016 in Pamper-Her-Friday

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