Tag Archives: dream

Too Late Understanding Howl: Romantic ImproVerse Free Verse Poetic Lament

Tonight I howled at the moon,
where I had once gathered firewood
for us,
for s’mores,
but now there will be
no more.

Howling and
screaming and
yelling
until
I couldn’t see
through my tears.

Then I pulled off
the road and howled
some more as I watched
my dreams
and visions
and hopes
and the waxing moon
disappear behind a giant cottonwood tree,
until the Union Pacific’s
long,
low moaning whistle
drowned out my own howling
at the moon
and the dreams
that had disappeared.

And when I was done,
when my howling had ended,
I drove long and slow
down that old swamp path,
eye and eye nearly swollen shut,
caked with dust
that had dried up
in these desert fields,
dried up and blown away,
not like a dream deferred,
but like a vision
and a hope
sacrificed on an altar
of obedience
I wasn’t quite ready
nor prepared
to kneel at.

Lisa’s (The High School Cheerleader) Lesson: Romantic Free Verse Blogging Poem

She was
I recall,
one of the prettiest cheerleaders
of all.

Blonde, gold hair,
flashing blue eyes,
near perfect skin
pearly smile,
cheerleader’s body.

I,
nerd,
could only gaze
from afar,
and hold my breath,
and wish,
and dream
as she
and her friends
glided by,
laughing.

But sometimes,
she’d smile at me.
and make my heart
burst
and my stomach
flip.
Fodder
for nighttime fantasies.

As prom approached,
I dreamed.
In the mid-70s,
not cool
to actually GO,
but in private,
I could still imagine.

She was always there,
floating,
cloaked in gauze
and satin.
I’d ask her.
She’d say “Yes! Of course!”
totally shocking me,
disregarding social norms,
the cheerleader
and the nerd,
revenge thereof,
(before anyone thought of the film.)

We’d go,
and my social status
and my life
would change.

Then I’d wake up.

She,
of course,
was elected prom queen.
I gave myself
some eco-excuse:
“Prom
is not
socially responsible.”
Lie.

The dance,
tuxes and formals,
came
and I went
fishing,
wishing,
she’d been MY catch.
Prom Queen.

Months later,
I learned the awful,
heart-wrenching
truth
of Senior Prom.
She’d  had no
date.

Her father drove her
to the ballroom.
She entered to applause,
was crowned,
danced for a couple of tunes
with the butter-fly bow-tied
Prom King,
made her rounds,
shook hands,
walked out to where Daddy
was waiting,
drove home,
probably cried herself
to sleep.

I wondered
and have wondered
many times since:
What if I
would have asked?

Would she have laughed?
Would she have said “Yes!”?
Would that have changed
my life?
The snot-nosed nerd
who took the Prom Queen?
Would that have changed
her life?

I wonder.

A few years ago
I wanted to ask
a middle-aged
prom queen-type.
I balked.
I was afraid.
Then,
I remembered
a beautiful, smiling, cheerleader
with no prom date
except her daddy,
crying.

I swallowed,
hard,
and asked.
She laughed
and said “No!”
She was busy
that night.
But later?
“Certainly.”

And we did
and did,
and did.

Since then,
I’ve always asked.
There is no social status
I am not worthy of.
There is no beauty
I cannot dance with.
There is nobody
who is out of my league.

Thank you,
Lisa L.,
for the lesson.
If I ever see you
again,
I will ask,
as I should have
then.

Because every pretty girl
deserves to go to a ball,
and even a poor nerd
deserves happiness.