Tag Archives: free verse

If There Are Times, Then What? Romantic ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

Are there times
when you have to do
the important things in your life?
Or are there times
when you have to ignore
people you’d rather not?
Are there times
when you have to make
tough choices
and those choices might not be
what other people want you to do?
Are there times
when you have to let go
and suffer the consequences?
Or are there times
when you have to just do
what you feel like God
is telling you to do,
regardless of what anyone else
wants you to do
or even needs you to do?

When you hit those times,
do you just have to take a deep breath,
perhaps shed a few tears,
and hope that,
if you are hurting someone you care about,
maybe someday they’ll understand?
And they’ll come to learn
that what is best for you
and what God directs you to do,
will ultimately also be
what’s best for them.

Eating Out Alone: Romantic Free Verse ImproVerse Poem Lament

I love to eat out,
but this was a different
type of meal,
a spiritual Feast, really,
and I longed to share it
with somebody I cared about,
someone who enjoyed the same cuisine
(or so i thought.)

I reached out to her
time
and time
again
but there was never
any response;
never
any indication
that she
was having
the same feelings.

At last,
as I waited for dessert,
(knowing she was not
going to partake,)
I realized
that she and I
were not looking
at the same menu.
I thought
that she might not even
be hungry.
Or that maybe
she might be eating out
elsewhere.

I learned,
again,
and was reminded,
again,
that the gut-wrenching feeling,
the butterflies,
in my stomach,
that familiar feeling
that had come around
for over a decade
was not caused by her,
nor by my hunger,
but was a result,
as it had been
so often in the past,
of my silliness,
my over-indulgent intensity.

So I asked for the check
and left.

Sliding Glass Door Requiem: Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Lament

Oh, goldfinch!
Bright yellow cheer-bringer,
Flash of color
even in winter’s darkest days.

Too late I moved toward
The sliding glass door
Where you would have seen my shadow
And veered away.

Instead:
Thunk.
“Oh no nonono!”
I cry
and reach for you,
fallen,
as your glowing tail feathers
fan out wide
in a blaze of color,
then close as tight
as your dainty feet,
curled.
Dead goldfinch in the palm of my hand, Lake Winneconne, May, 2016
You are still warm
as I hold you,
tiny,
in the palm of my hand.

Tears well up
as I wait,
hoping.

But your eyes stay open,
fixed and dilated,
and even as I hold you,
admiring your bright gold feathers
and the tiny streaks of red on your breast
that I’ve never noticed before,
you grow cold in my hand.

I place you
tenderly,
at the base of the daffodils
which mimic your radiant glory,
but which,
like you,
are starting to fade away.

Reflections On At Last Seeing Starlight: Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Poem

To some
it may seem strange,
having heard poets
and troubadours
wax nostalgic
about seeing starlight
reflected
in still
lake waters,
to have never seen
those lights,
those starry nights.

To have never known
what they spoke of,
to have never experienced
the beauty
of doubled diamonds,
some suspended above,
twins shimmering below,
clear and focused,
shining and waving.

Then,
one clear,
crisp
Wisconsin spring evening,
post eye surgery,
walking on a dock
which extended out
past trees
and lights,
and anything,
just he,
after a half a century,
alone,
suspended between
hundreds of glowing orbs,
times two,
at last seeing,
understanding,
recognizing
what others had sung about
and enthused over
and painted
and immortalized.

At last,
he saw.

Some might think it
strange,
and sad,
almost tragic.
“What he missed!”
they may exclaim.
But to him,
at last viewing,
finally comprehending
and feeling
and floating,
expanding his soul
and blending his
diamond tears
with the lake,
and with witnesses
before him,
and his gasp,
breath of adoration
and joy,
with creators like him,
the wait seemed
a small moment,
but so large
in its connective
worth.

They Always Return To A Clean Home: Revolutionary Email Free Verse Poem

putting up a martin house in Lake Winneconne, April 2016I listened to a Prophet’s voice
on the Sabbath,
then stood on a ladder/
in a frigid Wisconsin lake
to put up a clean bird house,
as directed by my father.

For us both,
holy, cleansing events
have happened
in that same water,
and purple martins
fly in
from Brazil
on the south wind.

Purple martin house at sunset, Lake Winneconne, WisconsinAddendum: Just In Time — April 4, 19:23 p.m.
My dad gave me a/
joyful high-five today:The/
martins’ scout found home.

Little Red Rooster Cherry Crisp: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

Little Red Rooster Cherry Crisp - Easter 2016I am certain that,
at some point,
I will create
a little red hen-type poem
about the joy of picking pie cherries
(with permission)
from The Neighbor’s tree,
processing the cherries
by putting them,
one by one,
and giving them to my aunt
to let her make them into
a fabulous cherry pie
nearly a year after the Harvest.

But right now,
my fingers are sore
from pulling out the pits.
My back is sore
from standing at the counter
too short for me,
and my hands are too messy
from the cherry juice
that has squirted out
all over the entire kitchen.

And besides,
I don’t even know
what the pie
will taste like.

Final product: Little Red Rooster Cherry Crisp for Easter, 2016Addendum:
As it turns out,
this was even more
of a Little Red Hen poem
than I thought it would be.

I’d delayed,
too long,
bringing my Aunt
the pie cherries.

So I took them back home,
put together a fruit crisp
(previously made with apples,
or peaches,
or strawberries,
or rhubarb,
or something similar).
This time, it featured my home-harvested
pie cherries.

Served ala’ mode after
a massive Easter dinner
with family and friends,
the self-picked-and-pitted-and-prepared-and-baked-organic-pie-cherry-crisp
was something I should eat
and share
by myself.

And so I did.