I don’t care who knows/
what I did wrong. I can then/
speak of repentance.
Category Archives: Revolutionary Poetry and Writing
Because I Can Sing: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku
After 50 years,/
I sang every song from The/
Sound of Music. Ja!
OR
After 50 years,/
I sing each Sound of Music/
song because I can!
Two Year Hiatus: Revolutionary Blogging Haiku
Old man. Small jumper./
Serve. Pancake. Bump. Knee pad. Dig./
Good sweat. Volleyball.
My Finding Forrester: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku
What if my “Finding/
Forrester” only takes a /
look in the mirror?
Speedy Mormon Dilemma: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku
Mormon dilemma:/
I’ll break the speed limit to/
get to church on time.
Late Shuttle Bus, Cold Carolina: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku Lament
I don’t need to chill./
After waiting so long, that’s/
the last thing I need!
State House Stars, Bars And Scars: Revolutionary ImproVerse Rhyming Poem
The stars/
showing Sherman’s scars/
before this/
meant nothing to me./
Long live the Republic!/
Long live the Confederacy!/
(But now it does/
because/
I’ve touched history.*)
*[added later]
———–
The back story behind this poem:
Toward the end of the Civil War, General William T. Sherman and his Union army captured the South Carolina State Capital in Columbia, SC on February 17, 1865, leaving city-wide destruction. Shells from Sherman’s cannons, which were of light caliber, damaged the building only slightly, and brass markers were subsequently placed on the west and southwest walls of the building to show where the shots had landed. Ten were fired in all. Six “struck the western front,” with little damage. This photo is of the lowest (and most accessible) brass star marker (and the damage), near the western door.
In late February, 2015, I turned the star and ran my fingers along the damaged wall.
Afternoon In A Surprise Museum: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse
As the southern
evening bells
rang,
I banged
the skin drum
and sang:
“Yah, yah hey yah hah!”
Then rubbed I
the dugout canoe,
and dreamed,
and cared not
who heard my chanted prayer,
nor that I got splinters
in my hand.
I thought of she
and he,
and that they
might be better.
But observational joy
is never a contest.