All women confuse./
All men are confused by them./
Some more than others.

I wish I could figure out
how I feel about you
but I have no doubt
that I do feel about you.
I think that will suffice
and I’ll just be … nice.

(Oh, thou blonde vixen!
With decoutage’ rare!
How can we ignore you
and not stop and stare?!?!
But some of us
must avert our eyes,
and avoid the fuss;
not be surprised,
for to fully view you
would, like flamming rockets
our minds undo,
and burn our eyes from our sockets.)

To glimpse the regal majesty and stare
would take us into higher, rareified air.
Could we survive?
No, not in the least.
But ’twill be good to have been alive
and participated in your feast.

I am
not trying to be
who I am
not.

And I do
not regret that
I am
not
who
I am
not.

In
stead,
I revel
in the I
that
I am,

And look
to see,
revealed,
who
I am.

Peanut butter melts/
on rice chicken casserole./
Like me, unusual.

My heart swells
when I think of potential
possibilities
and tell
you of what shall
and what could be.

And I watch my words
and wonder
if they’re absurd
or if inspiration’s thunder
and bright flash
reflect what you ponder,
and where your thoughts are at.

You don’t need to get/
in her pants once you caress/
her mind and her soul.

You try to slay her/
green-eyed monster with honest/
feelings and she bites.

If I give her ‘space’,/
does it show I care, or just/
highlight indifference?

I hope you have fun
getting your nails done;
thinking through
everything you wanted to;
pondering the setting sun.

My dad (did I mention he and my Grandpa George were at the Ice Bowl?) came on-line on Facebook Instant Messaging the day before the Super Bowl (Packers vs. Steelers). This is my IMprov Haiku to him. (They just had a major blizzard):
I wish I was in /
Wisconsin to watch the Green/
and Gold in packed snow.

OR
in packed bars.