Poetry Challenge: Googling for lost loves

[annaswirls]

Okay, admit it, you have done it. Googled someone who has disappeared from your life....found out what they are up to, if they are still living, etc. etc. etc.

The challenge:

Think of someone, an old friend, lost relative, favorite teacher from elementary school, college, etc. Use your search engine of choice, dig up some interesting information on them (unless they are a hermit in a cave, there is something on them out there) and write a poem about it.

If there is interest, we can turn it into a voting thing. To me, that always makes it a bit more fun, and is a good way to encourage people to actually um... read the poems.

Okay.

Ready. Set. Go get em!



come on....




go.













eh hem

 

[annaswirls]

Upon Googling H.E. Eckermann

when you are not using your computer,
SETI is using it to search for extraterrestial life,
pity you are not using it to search for me

 

[annaswirls]

R.P.

If you did not have the same name
as the guy who signed the declaration
of independence it would be a lot
easier to stalk you

 

[Tzara]

Of the Number 3

This is a poem about three girls—
girls, not women—as I was boy
when I knew them.

Long ago, as you might guess.
They were my introduction to sex
and love. Sex comes first, only because
love was not yet operational.
Why I was boy, why dumb.

And so on.

1: C.M.

I could not find her
on the Net, not that
I have not looked
and looked. I've looked,
because she was my first,
and best?

C. was my thirst
and obsession, I thought
my wife. I proposed, and she
accepted. We did not marry,
though, and I
went through the worst
time of my then short life
and tried to kill myself.

Still, when some picture
mirrors her at twenty, I will swoon.
This is genetic, for,
my God! I hope
I can't still be such buffoon.

2: M.B.

Rebound,
from number one. A girl
thin and damaged,
polio, yet
beauty queen. Uh huh.

She was virgin till we met.
Not after.

Again, not on the Internet
I found her. The front page
of my parent's paper,
Christmas. Former Miss B—
husband overseas
in danger.

His picture looks old,
as does my own, I suppose.

At least now I know her married name.

She has children.
She has children.

3: G.S.

You were easiest to find. I remember
so well your married name. That time
I called and you said, "I'm getting married."

I was too late in coming round
to your intelligence. And now

I look at that posed photograph—
the desk, your dress, your reading glasses,
the pictures of your sons, husband,
the colored scarf about your neck,
and I am sick.

You look well, really well,
and happy
and I am happy for you.

I, though, wonder about your sons.
Do they resemble me at all?
Or would they, if

I had not been so young?

 

[annaswirls]

T, these are an inspiration, thank you, I am going back out there, find more...


why aren't the days a little bit longer?

Of the Number 3

This is a poem about three girls—
girls, not women—as I was boy
when I knew them.

Long ago, as you might guess.
They were my introduction to sex
and love. Sex comes first, only because
love was not yet operational.
Why I was boy, why dumb.

And so on.

1: C.M.

I could not find her
on the Net, not that
I have not looked
and looked. I've looked,
because she was my first,
and best?

C. was my thirst
and obsession, I thought
my wife. I proposed, and she
accepted. We did not marry,
though, and I
went through the worst
time of my then short life
and tried to kill myself.

Still, when some picture
mirrors her at twenty, I will swoon.
This is genetic, for,
my God! I hope
I can't still be such buffoon.

2: M.B.

Rebound,
from number one. A girl
thin and damaged,
polio, yet
beauty queen. Uh huh.

She was virgin till we met.
Not after.

Again, not on the Internet
I found her. The front page
of my parent's paper,
Christmas. Former Miss B—
husband overseas
in danger.

His picture looks old,
as does my own, I suppose.

At least now I know her married name.

She has children.
She has children.

3: G.S.

You were easiest to find. I remember
so well your married name. That time
I called and you said, "I'm getting married."

I was too late in coming round
to your intelligence. And now

I look at that posed photograph—
the desk, your dress, your reading glasses,
the pictures of your sons, husband,
the colored scarf about your neck,
and I am sick.

You look well, really well,
and happy
and I am happy for you.

I, though, wonder about your sons.
Do they resemble me at all?
Or would they, if

I had not been so young?

 

[sandspike]

Cool

I like this idea. Oh yeah, the old boy will google....a few of the old girl friends are still living.

 

[vampiredust]

Of the Number 3

This is a poem about three girls—
girls, not women—as I was boy
when I knew them.

Long ago, as you might guess.
They were my introduction to sex
and love. Sex comes first, only because
love was not yet operational.
Why I was boy, why dumb.

And so on.

1: C.M.

I could not find her
on the Net, not that
I have not looked
and looked. I've looked,
because she was my first,
and best?

C. was my thirst
and obsession, I thought
my wife. I proposed, and she
accepted. We did not marry,
though, and I
went through the worst
time of my then short life
and tried to kill myself.

Still, when some picture
mirrors her at twenty, I will swoon.
This is genetic, for,
my God! I hope
I can't still be such buffoon.

2: M.B.

Rebound,
from number one. A girl
thin and damaged,
polio, yet
beauty queen. Uh huh.

She was virgin till we met.
Not after.

Again, not on the Internet
I found her. The front page
of my parent's paper,
Christmas. Former Miss B—
husband overseas
in danger.

His picture looks old,
as does my own, I suppose.

At least now I know her married name.

She has children.
She has children.

3: G.S.

You were easiest to find. I remember
so well your married name. That time
I called and you said, "I'm getting married."

I was too late in coming round
to your intelligence. And now

I look at that posed photograph—
the desk, your dress, your reading glasses,
the pictures of your sons, husband,
the colored scarf about your neck,
and I am sick.

You look well, really well,
and happy
and I am happy for you.

I, though, wonder about your sons.
Do they resemble me at all?
Or would they, if

I had not been so young?

I enjoyed these, Tzara

 

[wildsweetone]

00

I won't google
for lost loves. I know where
they are and what they're doing,
with whom
and why.

We keep in touch.

 

[Maria2394]

I've googled for old elementay school friends, never had any lost loves. sorry

 

[annaswirls]

ah but that is perfectly acceptable and along the guidelines. I should have given the challenge a different title. Anyone you have lost contact with and hopefully, in some way, loved.

I've googled for old elementay school friends, never had any lost loves. sorry

 

[annaswirls]

00

I won't google
for lost loves. I know where
they are and what they're doing,
with whom
and why.

We keep in touch.

omg I love this

 

[annaswirls]

I like this idea. Oh yeah, the old boy will google....a few of the old girl friends are still living.

cant wait to see

 

[wildsweetone]

omg I love this

Yeah me too. lol Layers, intonations, baggage.



Maria... make one up. I want to read what you write. Please.

 

[Liar]

Hey Diane, guess what?
I just called to say
I Googled you today.

Just because
someone said I should,

to find out where and what
you're at and why,
these days.

Of course, I know all that, but hey,
who am I to not indugle
a whim like that?

And imagine my surprise.

You're 62 years old, thrice divorced,
living in Tallahassee with fiance #4,
kid #2 and 3, and cat #31.

What?
That's not you?
It says your name, right there.
Damn Google, I'll never
trust it again.

 

[sandspike]

Google and Get Lucky

knew her in high school
dated in college
til I joined the fleet

googled five years ago
she lives at the beach,
husband is in telephones
but she's out of reach

thirty-seventh reunion
say two years ago,
she is still a beauty
but baby,,,,,,,
he's the beaut

she called him over
had him stand at attention,
half inch taller
twenty pounds rounder,
looking at myself in a
fun house mirror

upon her command
he grabbed my hand,
slapped me on the back....
'I've waited over thirty years
to meet the man
she talks about.'

I smiled knowing I had won,
beauty's only skin deep
but henpecked is to the bone

 

[Tzara]

knew her in high school
dated in college
til I joined the fleet

googled five years ago
she lives at the beach,
husband is in telephones
but she's out of reach

thirty-seventh reunion
say two years ago,
she is still a beauty
but baby,,,,,,,
he's the beaut

she called him over
had him stand at attention,
half inch taller
twenty pounds rounder,
looking at myself in a
fun house mirror

upon her command
he grabbed my hand,
slapped me on the back....
'I've waited over thirty years
to meet the man
she talks about.'

I smiled knowing I had won,
beauty's only skin deep
but henpecked is to the bone

Ah, Mr. Spike! Funny and true. I liked this.

Am I really twenty pounds heavier than you? Really?

 

[Maria2394]

Googling Captain H.

------------------------------

 

[Maria2394]

----------------------------

 

[sandspike]

One good woman

Ah...to find one good woman and keep her here and happy. Maybe they got away but you'll always have the fond memory of that first down stroke. You don't need a computer to google that up.

Of the Number 3

This is a poem about three girls—
girls, not women—as I was boy
when I knew them.

Long ago, as you might guess.
They were my introduction to sex
and love. Sex comes first, only because
love was not yet operational.
Why I was boy, why dumb.

And so on.

1: C.M.

I could not find her
on the Net, not that
I have not looked
and looked. I've looked,
because she was my first,
and best?

C. was my thirst
and obsession, I thought
my wife. I proposed, and she
accepted. We did not marry,
though, and I
went through the worst
time of my then short life
and tried to kill myself.

Still, when some picture
mirrors her at twenty, I will swoon.
This is genetic, for,
my God! I hope
I can't still be such buffoon.

2: M.B.

Rebound,
from number one. A girl
thin and damaged,
polio, yet
beauty queen. Uh huh.

She was virgin till we met.
Not after.

Again, not on the Internet
I found her. The front page
of my parent's paper,
Christmas. Former Miss B—
husband overseas
in danger.

His picture looks old,
as does my own, I suppose.

At least now I know her married name.

She has children.
She has children.

3: G.S.

You were easiest to find. I remember
so well your married name. That time
I called and you said, "I'm getting married."

I was too late in coming round
to your intelligence. And now

I look at that posed photograph—
the desk, your dress, your reading glasses,
the pictures of your sons, husband,
the colored scarf about your neck,
and I am sick.

You look well, really well,
and happy
and I am happy for you.

I, though, wonder about your sons.
Do they resemble me at all?
Or would they, if

I had not been so young?

 

[unapologetic]

Margery

How strange to see
You’re still in DC.
(Did I really think you’d move?)

It seems you’re also a triathelete,
Now ain’t that neat?
(You always did have something to prove.)

I can’t believe I’m still bitter
Over how you left me for her.
(I guess it really was love.)