Oh, why, my God, did you not hear her plea?
Did she create a failed bargain like Faust?
What had she accomplished, nearing thirty?
Is it enough to love but a spouse?

“Go to college. Excel! Start a career.
At first defer marriage and family.
Be self-sufficient through your fruitful years.
And when men fail you, you will have Plan B.”

Yet she forgone all that and married me,
put on hold pursuit of her vocation,
twice uprooted from friends and family,
now two babies lost in gestation.

When, after all, her life’s dreams did elude…
She never retreated to solitude.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

Coming Next: What to Say (24/36) on June 12

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Welcome! This is the twenty-third of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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“Must geography create adversity?

Can I wrap on a persona, carefree?

Doesn’t each city have a university?

So enroll and pursue my Ed degree!”

Plus, she also endured a hormone shot,

Taking an intervention to conceive.

We were praying all wouldn’t be for naught…

As our third decades drew nigh, did receive…

Joyous news! In fact, a double blessing!

She was glowing, beaming, freed from her cross.

Finally, our lives were coalescing!

…Then…one evening…devastation…loss.

To this day, though less frequent to bereave…

We long…our unborn twins…named Adam, Eve.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the twenty-second of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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My early career started to flourish.

In one factory I shut down some kit.

A crew repiped the flow in a dervish.

Production soared! Not what you’d intuit.

Next rust bucket and nothing was clearer,

“Make a profit or license is repealed.”

Found old drawing when held to a mirror

Unlocked recipe that increased its yield.

But did I then really appreciate

success was not all from my back breaking?

Because her running our home was innate,

the special sauce of our money making.

While not starting out a complete zero,

my loving wife forged bread-winning hero.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Has life landed you into a party

when you arrive in Mardi Gras city?

You better be a being that’s hardy;

below the surface life can be gritty.

She supported my work relocation,

for her, not a minimal adjustment.

Pausing, restarting her own vocation,

to God she offered total entrustment.

She shared a glimpse of her soul, “I plant roots.

Wherever I am I plant my roots deep.

I do not adjust well to life’s reboots.

It is from my people that my heart reaps.”

I asked, and she replied somewhat frailly,

“Here six months. I no longer cry daily.”

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the twentieth of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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She could have said, “I’m not moving away.

Ain’t no way. I’m not that type of biddy!

Why on my dreams should I issue a stay

for your new job in another city?”

God bless her, she didn’t say that of course.

And although she was sad, she did not grouse,

or get mad, nor even threaten divorce.

Rather she heartened up and packed the house.

My how she loves antique-y furniture.

What she collected over those three years!

Still I could sense a sorrowful demure …

Incompleteness … emptiness … suppressed tears.

From the ev’ning I took her to the prom

all she ever dreamed was to be a mom.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the nineteenth of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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What upended that decision by her?

Offhanded my associate conferred,

“Congrats on moving on, your new transfer!”

What? Relocation? Was the first I’d heard!

“Boss! A rumor I cannot let fester,

‘less marital and financial fission.

Tomorrow for her grad school semester

my wife will be paying full tuition!”

A summons a bit later, Kafkaesque,

“Sorry for wait. Please come down and see me.”

Opening a folder splayed on his desk

were papers for move to a new city.

With her positive action to enroll

over life she thought she’d taken control.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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In all other ways our life was quite good.

Got away for an island vacation.

Her beach meditation? “Control what I could.

Why wait? Why not that other vocation?

Why stay stuck, accept work as a bee-drone,

hear adult-children venting frustration?

I’ll quit HR at the savings and loan,

pursue my Masters in Education!”

Molding young children infused her being,

one way or another she’d enjoy it.

One’s agency is a powerful thing,

she empowered herself to employ it.

Still, in her quiet times, deep down inside,

I could tell an intense pain did reside.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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What destiny triggers anguish so great,

a legacy that haunts one to the tomb?

It left her heart hollowed, weeping at fate

so yearning for pregnancy in her womb.

“Oh your poor wife! For her that must have stung.

We all have girlfriends who also struggle.

Ready to be a mom, no longer young.

They long for a child that they can cuddle.”

Have life strategy. Sequence in order.

The elixir to having young life aced!

What said that philosopher-marauder?

“All have a plan until punched in the face.”

But I can’t end here, as all was not woe.

For my wife’s journey has a bit to go.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the sixteenth of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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Longing to raise children, a girl, a boy,

she offered a vocation of caring.

Hearing others’ happy news she’d force joy

yet cry wondering why she was barren.

As a vibrant woman in her twenties

you would think she was a fertile Myrtle.

She felt lone anguish without progenies,

her deprived, not blessed, to be maternal.

Put under for a procedure by scope,

a specialist examined internal.

She clung on with prayers and eternal hope

after all was found medically normal.

“Aren’t one’s babies just supposed to be?

Others get pregnant, and yet why not me?”

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the fifteenth of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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Modern eyes might think that she gave up all,

marriage over career she did prefer.

Exploring life together was her call,

not a bargain with the devil for her.

She found another job, banking HR,

nested her touches on our apartment.

For transportation she bought a new car,

and joined our church choir for fulfillment.

As newlywed months became blissful years,

she could not help being a bit chagrined.

A nagging question caused occasional tears:

for us when would family life begin?

She conferred with medical attendant,

“I’m young-wed wife! Why am I not pregnant?”

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the fourteenth of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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Married. Honeymoon. Then moved cross country.

She left behind Mom to start new chapter.

I picked the apartment she would soon see.

Yet would our marriage bring her the rapture?

Starting anew, she looked for employment

Before contending with sparse furniture

and crafting fun newlywed enjoyment.

About clueless husband, she was mature.

We spent time with friends and were church-going

and once even tried to teach her tennis.

Her patience pow’red through my clumsy showing.

As her sport coach she thought me a menace.

Being Catholic she didn’t resist,

raised Presbyterian then Methodist.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Being generous I was a rough gem.

Out socially I was left in the lurch.

Then women didn’t rate me half of “ten.”

I wasn’t bad. At least I went to church.

God knows, still for some reason she loved me.

Good thing she did not give up on “we”.

I finally had clarity to see

I had to act if we ever to be.

It wasn’t a normal courtship per se.

When betrothed we saw each other but twice.

So six months later on our special day

Since engagement we had only joined thrice.

We chose. We acted. Best way to do it?

In coming years we worked our way through it.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the twelfth of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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Three years on. I’m twenty five. It is spring

and out of the blue she gave me a ring.

“Perhaps … was wondering … Can I visit you?”

Blink clarity! “Idiot! No answer you’ll rue!

If I say ‘No’ I may lose her.

But I don’t want to lose her.

But you are not dating her.

Then you will lose her.

I don’t want to lose her.

Then I better marry her.

Buy time! Not my normal, ‘No visit now.’

I have to reorder my life somehow…”

If I said “No” that would have brought sorrow.

I improvised. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the eleventh of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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A decade crisis: energy deprived!

How could our generation be ready?

Without foreign oil how would we survive?

For a young guy it was all quite heady.

Half-continent away my new career.

Returned for home visit. Not long did I stay

as a guys’ skiing trip was that week’s veer.

Yep, another dating faux pas replay.

Forgot her birthday. She typed curt letter.

Even worse, she typed out her signature!

Crap. Message received, “We are no better.”

A shot across bow. I mucked up for sure.

Yet, alas, did I change my behavior?

Being clueless male did me no favor.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the tenth of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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Are teenage years riddled with stress and fraught?

Who knows, though she shared her soul at the prom.

Fair to say, edgy that night she was not.

She wanted to be a teacher … and a mom.

With me it landed on infertile ground.

A boy in high school get it? Yeah, no way.

A tree in the wood fell a silent sound ...

Me thinking family? Some future day.

A teacher’s vocation doesn’t much pay

though she does sing perfect pitch with diction.

Low teacher’s wage was her widowed Mom’s way.

She went to study Communications.

Post college she found a job in HR

while her “boyfriend” left to get work afar.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the ninth of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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I never did have on my bingo card

to where our chat was ultimately bound.

I cracked myself open like pottery shard!

Do I bore my new friend in this airport lounge?

“I did like hearing ‘bout your teen rom-com.

I still don’t quite understand your new maths.

So sweet, even had marching band pom-pom!

Sorry, did you take different life paths?

She sounded sweet, a very special girl,

a bestie, a friend, a special sister.

Yet at least you both did give it a whirl.

But did you let her slip away, Mister?”

I spill my spleen. What a rant I did start!

Best I shut up … Should I share the next part?

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Welcome! This is the eighth of thirty-six in the series “Vonnets in an Airport Lounge.” Please join us for 14 lines every Friday for 36 weeks.

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Before college, before I escaped her,

in unsuspecting hand she slipped a clip,

pedestrian advice from newspaper.

Or did she a roadmap for life equip?

“Live well, love much! Laugh often with your blokes.

Play! And earn the affection of children,

rightful respect of intelligent folks

and approval of critics, even when

you endure the betrayal of your friends.

Love beauty! Grow others when work is done.

Leave world a bit better before life ends:

a healthy child, kind deed, flower garden.”

Was it about what I thought I needed?

How to know I have truly succeeded?

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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That young woman said with hope in her eye,

“If you truly love someone, set him free.

If he fades away did anything die?

Yet if he comes back … Was it meant to be?”

Freshmen … freedom … encumber or smother?

We didn’t “date” those early college years.

Holidays, weekends, we saw each other.

I never reflected. Did she shed tears?

Two years later I Eurailed the summer.

Posted a dozen hand-written letters.

Perhaps within: an ember, a murmur?

Again we dated! But were “we” better?

My obliviousness didn’t soften.

Still saw each other. Not much more often.

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Why do I carry false expectations?

Have I over consumed media? Gorged

sappy stories of predestination?

Should I believe in soulmates? What if forged,

fired through affirmed, conscious decisions?

Words don’t work. I’m nothing when I speak of

what I must do. Empty aspirations

wilt under heat when I just profess love.

A clanging cymbal forces a question:

How to satisfy My Love’s inner needs

when words fail short of love’s full expression?

Can my love be shown without doing deeds?

My old friend James wrote something I once read,

was, “Love, if it has not good works, is dead.”

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

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Coming Attractions: 14 lines every Friday, another in the thirty-six series Vonnets in an Airport Lounge

Backstory and Hat Tips:

seems to answer in his essay …

Fragments of an Innermost Becoming

A Brief, Unscientific Metaphysic Concerning the Nature of Romantic Love

It is perhaps no secret from my writings, but love is an obsession of mine. Searching for it. The tending of it. The loss of it. And while I largely agree with Roland Barthes’ declaration in his A Lover’s Discourse that, “To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little…

Read more

6 months ago · 14 likes · 2 comments · Words and Wilds

a question posed by who asked,

… to which I had briefly answered, “Yes, if forged.”

Hat tip to who advised:

All of which inspired me to scrunch it down to the above 14 lines.

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• Vonnets in an Airport Lounge

• How do I Substack. Let me count the ways…

• Other Vonnets such as … » Hemingway not! »

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What harm having a little LLC?

I need to chase every deduction

and have limited liability.

What downside to accounting seduction?

Well… Time, energy, this week: Vaporized!

Pay an artist? File a 10-99!

Simple? No. Hours as I agonized

through IRS systems quite asinine.

---

Not pony to pay a CPA geek?

Navigating arcane rules with no key

sucked creativity out of my week!

Taxman time? “One for you. Nineteen for me.”

How dastardly is the government’s ask?

Bone crushing burdens are these taxing tasks!

---

© 2026 I. B. Vonnet. All rights reserved.

N.B. The above tax on my time explains my recent lack of production…

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Coming Attractions: 14 lines every Friday, another in the thirty-six series Vonnets in an Airport Lounge

If you smiled while reading then check out:

• Vonnets in an Airport Lounge

• How do I Substack. Let me count the ways…

• Other Vonnets such as … » Hemingway not! »

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