A spa night hasn’t been visited upon you
In what, like, countless summers ago?
A waterfall down the Nile of your back
Tonight will feature my Pamper-Her-Friday flow
The opening salvo? A little toe-to-toe affection
Fingerwalking to three-quarters of the inner thigh,
Uh oh, you flinched . . . a spot-G might that be?
If so I’ll repeat—it’s better the second try
You like that? Mind if I gently bite that…?
Take a sip of this blessed-with-zest whiskey sour,
I went easy on the bitters to do away with the jitters
Your body will succumb to this romantic hour
It cometh to you by virtue of skin need:
Your mocha skin in need of my handtouch,
I feel muscle knots lurking beneath the surface
Overstressed and life’s a mess? I figured as much
What’s it all about? What’s it all for, my lady?
After all, a woman’s health is her wealth, no?
You needn’t patronize that downtown spa
When I can make home a spa, you didn’t know?
I won’t say a word, my hands speak with volume
Ease forward as I tickle-scratch your lower back,
As I massage the lumbar region per your wish
I’ll pamper each protrusion of the vertebrae track
You like it there? Mind if I gently bite you there…?
My duty is to exact optimum pleasure all about,
Where previously none existed head to heel
My pampering expertise? I’m leaving no doubt
Hand me the shampoo, I do cosmetology too
A deep lather and rinse, both pubic and mane,
You want it longer, so you’re a pleasure-monger?
Close your eyes and tilt your head under this gentle rain
How does that feel? I intend to amp the thrill
Your spa night by candlelight has only just begun,
The quilted table is patiently awaiting your arrival
In the boudoir we’ll continue our Pamper-Her-Friday fun.
___________
***
Pamper the woman . . . before summer says goodbye. -Rg2
It’s the end of another grueling week
Are you ready for your Pamper-Her-Friday fix?
What, you’ve never been pampered by a man who cares?
I’m on my way pronto, woman, on Route 66
Can we enter into a restrictive covenant:
If you’ll give solely to me your entire weekend,
Transport you will I from your present environs
To Santorini, where the azure skies ascend
We’ll escape the social madness engulfing the States
Let’s escape into the safety of one another,
Evening cuisine and nightbevs await you and me
I intend to get close but promise not to smother
Your free-wheeling nature, the winds are yours
The mountainscapes have both our names engraved,
I wanna touch your hand across our private table
Tell me the silk road to your heart is yet unpaved
Men have tried to make inroads, to no avail
I can’t say I’m shoulders above the rest,
I simply want to write my way to your mind’s door
How is it, woman, that you’ve become my only quest?
Your shoulders haven’t felt therapeutic fingers
The likes of which attached to my nuanced hands,
Babygirl, it’s not touch, but the quality of touch
Of you tonight I make absolutely no demands
Except you entrust your anatomy to this scribe
To relinquish your limbs from your sole possession,
You’ve held onto your vulnerability like a fear
What this feels between us is no intercession
We share something mystical, even extraterrestrial
Earthly beings among us couldn’t begin to understand,
Every third beat of your heart synchs to my own
Are you capable of deeply loving a distinctive man?
More than a weekend? I shan’t ask beyond
To do so is a selfishness I couldn’t justify,
From Friday to Sunday I crave each second of you
And come midnight, then, don’t expect a goodbye
From this romantic; who’s pampering you tonight?
I’m the only man capable of sweeping you away,
I only ask that you honor our sacred covenant
Let me pamper you on this Pamper-Her-Friday . . . .
___________
***
Pamper the woman . . . before summer ends. -Rg2
A man of instinct am I, for better or worse
Might you be a woman sensitive to climate change?
There’s something earthly precious in your eyes
On the other side of social media, you, but in range
Of Pamper-Her-Friday’s affectionate tentacles
What is it that you’re in want of this summer’s night?
You so exquisitely plan events for your clientele
But in the middle of darkness, who holds your light?
Lola, I feel something like social justice in you
A compassionate world citizen with special insight,
The preservation of nature and purity of human heart
Guide your intents…they can ease a man’s plight
Do you ever think of me, Lola, on a random Friday?
Ever have I been the content of your curious wonder?
So much of you operates on naked creativity
I believe we can match vulnerabilities over yonder
To simply elevate the human spirit and better life
I truly sense we have that in common, no?
I’ve never been to West Africa or graduated Howard
Though I remember walking the artery of Chicago
You might have been there those many years ago
But you wouldn’t have known me from an Adam,
Somewhat of a lost soul was I but conscious still
Pamper-Her-Friday was a concept I couldn’t fathom
There’s something in you that lives in me, woman
You’re much deeper than the materialism of Rome,
Phuck the BMW and the penthouse though nice both
A sanctuary we all seek, truth told, a spiritual home
We’re all hurting, Lola, the poorest of us are hurting
The Neo-Nazis are hurting, the alt-rights and alt-wrongs,
If decaying from within is our collective destiny
I wanna serenade your sweet soul with a few songs:
Amazing Grace . . . how sweet is the sound . . . save us
Heavenly Father, are we worthy of your resurrection?
It’s true we’ve done so much harm to one another
But to Lola, Father, I want to offer my affection
Summer’s approaching its end, the days grow shorter
I swear, Lola, I need to see you before it goes away,
Whether mid-desert, a river’s bank, or a shore’s edge
I simply want you to experience a Pamper-Her-Friday
…with me.
I’m yours tonight.
-Rg2
_____________
***
Pamper the woman . . . before summer ends. -Rg2
Shortly before Herbert Brooks died, he’d read a love letter I had authored just shy of graduating high school. I was all of 17. Upon finishing his read, he paused. Turning his gaze to me after that moment of tense silence, my grandfather said, “You’ve got what it takes to become the greatest romance writer this country’s ever produced.”
I didn’t believe him, Deniece.
I ran away—mentally.
Someone who cares about you may sometimes embellish the possibilities, you know? They’ll sometimes set the bar so inconceivably high for a loved one that it could be interpreted as a farce. I mean, why would the sage say something so outlandish to a 17-year-old who had no clue what he wanted for his own life?
My grandfather never got to see Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2 come to be. In my aloneness, nights no end of writing and creating in the candlelit dark, I sometimes shed tears. For my forefather. He cared about me. The old man loved me. Something within him ran within me, as I look back into his eyes in that pivotal moment.
I cry as I write this.
Few people know about Pamper-Her-Friday, Deniece. A handful maybe. I have a few social connects. My number of followers on Twitter is laughable. Facebook gives me a little play . . . and I’m grateful. A palmful of LinkedIn corporate types have acknowledged my presence but probably think I’m half-crazy. Instagram? Well, I’d be lucky if more than 10 people have noticed my creativity.
Still, I write. Still, I create.
I still hear my grandfather’s voice, Deniece. I swear I do. I don’t want to let him down.
About 80% of new businesses fail. Eight out of 10 new business ventures eventually go under. Wow, that’s a rather depressing thought, you know?
I’ve failed so many times in my life. I’ve been fired from three corporate jobs . . . they said my work was “too flowery” or “someone in management just doesn’t like you.” Even though I was making sizable revenue for each employer. The sadnesses were many, Deniece. Tears sometimes glossed my eyes, in silence.
Through it all, my grandfather’s voice remained. In and out. Come and gone. And come again in the very pit of my stubborn ear.
I checked the analytics on my site yesterday. You know, the precise information on who’s reading my work, in which country, how they found me, and various other metrics. Can you believe it that people in Canada, Norway, China, Australia, India, Pakistan, South American countries and more are actually reading? Something’s happening, slowly, quietly, but surely.
I’m not running away anymore from Mr. Brooks’ proclamation. Maybe it’s not so outlandish after all, eh? Perhaps the old sage saw what I wasn’t capable of seeing as a teen, you know? Or simply chose not to see.
I take nothing for granted. Not a morsel of blessing do I take for granted.
That picnic we shared at the park in Clairmont? I’ve never taken that moment for granted. Summer picnics are rare anymore. They’re probably corny to some.
Not to me.
Sharing ice cream in the midst of a random summer’s sunset? I swear, that does it for me. The small serendipities, the little pleasantries that are actually magnified simply by being together—because together is where we want to be.
Listening to Mali sing “Still” on our cheap Android phones, I swear, does it for me. Because when it’s all said and done, it’s those moments in this volatile life that take your breath away that make togetherness so utterly special. Feel?
My grandfather was spot on, Deniece. He was right all along. He knew I was gonna run away from his vision for me. The sage knew.
And he knew I would come back, eventually. I could escape only so far until the spirit within makes a stand and says to the mind, “Dammit, man, you know what you should be doing, why you’re on this earth. Now get to it!”
Pamper-Her-Friday was inevitable. I’m gonna see it through.
My grandfather loved me. God, I miss him.
I believe you love me, too. Somewhere in the chambers of your heart is a space reserved for Rg2.
Still.
God, I miss you, Deniece.
I miss pampering you in those small, simple yet powerful ways.
I miss our summer’s romance.
Still.
Forever in you,
Rg2
_____________
***
Pamper the woman . . . and forever live in her soul. -Rg2
My intuition it may well have been
Or perhaps something of a quirky sixth sense:
When Hillary lost, women would up their game
The competitive fire grows ever more intense
Name the arena: Politics, Business or Sport
The loser is less and less the female sex,
Who’s more motivated than you, Oprah?
I’m digging the cerebral muscles you flex
To handpick the strategic Mindy Grossman
Whose Home Shopping Network legend is beast,
If I got in thick the shares of Weight Watchers
The two of you would reward an investors’ feast
Oprah, you were genius to get in at 6
Upon my due diligence, I trailed you at 19,
You weren’t just tabling funds but your name
Your brand more priceless than all paper green
The critics are numerous, the doubters many
But powerful is the woman who refuses to lose,
I see you in the commercials, the rise of OWN
Your countless hours reading while others snooze
Markets have taken notice both here and abroad
Could skills transfer from a ratings-busting talk show?
Might a mocha woman really set a new paradigm?
That boss who denied your pay raise should know
This capitalism labyrinth you deftly navigate
Filled with sharks lurking in the treacherous seas,
You’ve proved what it takes to outwit the hunter
The Titaness who brings predators to their knees
Who cares if the ol’ boys club remains intact
New fortunes are waiting to be built each day,
Even if Gayle was among the few to believe
I commend you for blazing and lighting a way
You’ve been pivotal to Weight Watchers’ reboot
I’m calling it a business school-worthy comeback,
And I anticipate with vigor your next chess move
Won’t hesitate to pull some chips from the stack
Oh, I read that Tyler’s leaving OWN for Viacom
Likely he’ll have to sign a non-compete clause,
No worries, if it’s fresh creative content you’ll seek
I’ve just the concept to elicit viewer “oohs and ahhs”:
And speaking of comebacks, I’m sending a sparkling Rosé (summer in a bottle) for you both to enjoy, an appreciation of your excellent work thus far and a good-luck wish for the road ahead.
Love you, Oprah and Mindy.
Pamperingly,
Rg2
_________
***
Pamper the Businesswoman . . . and forever live in her soul. -Rg2
You want to know the thing about a woman
that never ceases to amaze this writer?
Your extraordinary powers of concentration
To turn a mid-Friday picnic into an all-nighter
Wait, my bad, that’s more akin to “misfocus”
A susceptibility to midsummer distraction,
Between us, you’re much the better multitasker
But I intend to elicit a more emotive reaction
It’s time to remove the weeklong suit of armor
Worn so valiantly each day on that demanding job,
You’ve been daydreaming ever since Monday, no?
Listen, woman, I want you to put away the key fob
Last thing you need is to get behind the wheel
I’m relieving you of the dreaded Friday commute,
Neither Uber nor Lyft I’ll entrust with your passage
I’m your navigator and we’re taking another route
A new take on the picnic: I call it the Pampernic
Should I trademark it? If so, I’ll make you the owner,
So much better than Blue Apron or HelloFresh
My intellectual property lawyer?—let me phone her
Yeah, The Pampernic by Rg2® has a nice ring
Thing is, no other consumers could replicate ours,
The wine, hydroponic veggies, and fresh sea samples
Wouldn’t be complete without summertime flowers
Nature’s reminder of your fragrance I’ve missed
Have you thought of me in the days gone by?
Even if you restrict us to one day per week
I’ll take it ‘cause you’re my Pamper-Her-Friday high
My request is that you untie your hair, let it flow
Let the evening shawl drift from your shoulder,
As I fill our glasses with this Robertson red
Would you remove the dome of the candleholder?
A nightlight enhances the ocean waves in sight
If you’d like I can carve into cutlets your filet,
So tender to taste…and so tender is this night
I’d like to sit just a little closer if I may
We’ll take our time as we dine and unwind
But there’s this small matter I’d rather not delay,
Would you open this and try it on for size
A little something in honor of Pamper-Her-Friday….
___________
***
Pamper the woman . . . and forever live in her soul. -Rg2
So you’re hurting, so many women are hurting…
Now that the political winds have blown awry,
That the men have all turned inward and deserting
Have we lost the will and the reasons to try?
These rumblings of each of us going our own way
Seeking alpha at his heart of achieving tranquility,
While her yoga mat doubles as a temple to pray
Suspense begs: If I give to you, will you give to me?
While sunsets go unnoticed, even neglected
Summertime simply wants to be a peacemaker,
How long must an easy rolling tide be rejected
The glowing orb illuminates nightsky, is there a taker?
Are you hurting as much as your appearance belies?
Your spirit, perhaps unbeknownst, betrays a distrust,
The awakened man you haven’t yet met can surmise
You don’t want to be pampered but, oh, a little stardust…
From thin air sprinkled into your jaded field of vision
It settles on the sand before your sandled feet,
A reminder to let not your mind give in to derision
Will you consider nightdrinks on the pier by pillowseat?
Let’s discuss this slowly widening gulf surfacing
Between our mutual need for midsummer touch,
You’ve been on the verge of saying, “To hell with it”
But might that negative sentiment be a bit much
You see, men are not exactly monolithic
In thought, motive, and action lies variation,
While many may billow in the current gale force
Loss of faith in me requires justification
The discovery of which you will find elusive
Not because I’m removed from a similar pain,
We all can become depressed or self-abusive
The possibility of a summer’s romance keeps me sane
Romance is not a feeling but an ability
You haven’t totally abandoned it, it won’t let go,
Mistrust hidden in the cloak of emotional fragility
An unrushed introduction to one another’s apropos
A man not yet ready to “go my own way”
Unless you’re open to accompanying me there,
Let’s embark on a summer of mutual wound healing
We can start this Pamper-Her-Friday if you care….
Loretta Greer (aka Lo Low Jazz) & Pacific Breeze Set to Romance Your Summer at Lincoln House
“A Summer’s Romance with Pacific Breeze and Lo Low Jazz”
What are you doing Saturday, July 22, the day after Pamper-Her-Friday? Well, considering we’re enduring one of the hottest summers on record, how would you like to ease into the cool, breezy, pulse-calming sounds of Southern California’s own Pacific Breeze neo-jazz band featuring the silky sweet vocals of Loretta Greer, aka Lo Low Jazz?
Making their debut at Covina, Calif.’s newly remodeled Lincoln House, Pacific Breeze will redefine easy listening as they accentuate the dim-light, angel-on-the-mic ambience of one of Covina’s most distinctive wind-down destinations. Lo Low Jazz interprets the ear-soothing lyrics of artists Sade Adu, Kem, Luther Vandross, Frankie Beverly and Maze, among other timeless R&B, neo-soul, and smooth jazz icons with an alluring aura all her own.
Whether a date night, a friends-and-kin summer gathering, or simply a summer stag occasion for one, Lincoln House is the place to be on July 22, 2017, as the sun sets beyond the Pacific Ocean. You won’t want to miss this summer evening affair.
Can Pacific Breeze and Lo Low Jazz pamper you the day after Pamper-Her-Friday? See you there.
________
***
Angel on the Mic: Lo Low Jazz blows softly like a Pacific Breeze in summer. -Rg2
You owe it to yourself…a personal Pamper-Her-Friday
More than a corporate “Summer Fridays” movement,
Being able to cut out a little early for the weekend?
Cute, but you deserve a more substantive inducement
For if you leave midday, what then is your agenda?
Meet co-workers for drinks? A jump on domestic chores?
Are you surreptitiously plotting your next career move?
The glass ceiling’s not the problem; rather, the glass doors
Admit it, you hate being tethered to corporate headquarters
The pay isn’t bad but doesn’t nearly reflect your worth,
You can’t speak the truth and colleagues are envious
Even being in upper management is devoid of mirth
Freedom…of time, of place, of personal involvement
Is the most precious and valuable component of living,
We all have to earn it, though many haven’t learned it
Getting up daily to the same routine seems a misgiving
Such is the nature of capitalism, dear businesswoman
The system never ceases in its merciless demands,
Though it is the greatest unleasher of human potential
Relentless in the heights of human capital it commands
You’ve entrepreneurial dreams to set your own schedule
But those hours are even more extended than before,
The phone call at 2 a.m. alerting about orders unfilled
By gosh, someone has even hacked your online store
Good grief, you sigh, will the challenges ever cease?
My, how a summer’s romance would do absolute wonders,
A getaway from it all will recharge your mental batteries
A break from the grind a businesswoman no longer ponders
Come, allow me, will you, to escort you to utopia
A quiet, clean-air, riverfront view of shaded grass,
Feeding you nature’s bounty while rubbing your feet
And as the sun sets begins the serenade of smooth jazz
Isn’t it just what your inner romantic craves?
Why must capitalism win day in and day out?
If you let me have my way, I promise to behave
I’ll simply massage your sore shoulders—or thereabout
Come with me, your employer is built to outlast you
You deserve a summer rendezvous on capitalism’s dime,
Summer Friday is only the precursor to Pamper-Her-Friday
Businesswoman, this moment is ours, now is our time…
… for a summer’s romance.
Come away with me . . . .
-Rg2
__________
***
Pamper the woman . . . she needs a break from the grind. -Rg2
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Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 