Tag Archives: free verse

Why Can’t You Be Quiet: Revolutionary (Napkin) Free Verse Poem

I don’t understand
why those who want me to
wear their words
will stand
and talk loud
over my thoughts
that I bled onto
my paper.

Don’t i matter?
Maybe I’m old.
Maybe I was born
In a time
When my daddy
And mamma taught we kids,
Once young, too,
Like you,
To be polite,
To show respect
To others,
To listen
When it’s your turn to hear.

Just as I
Turned my gaze
To you
And listened to your lips
As they caress
The open mic.

I will listen
And did listen
To you
When it was your turn,
To speak your truths.

And now that
Its my voice
That should be heard,
You can hear.
Or u may leave
And converse outside.

Or,
If you’re here,
So others may hear,
U may kindly,
Politely,
Quietly
Shut the f*** up.

A Dream Of Me, Poetry, And Noam Chomsky: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

This early morning,
I dreamed.
I swam with my son
and his friends in the Black Sea.

I then had a wonderful melted chocolate dessert
with a cute old couple
who had a Noam Chomsky poster,
teal, it was,
with a pink orange 4-inch paintbrush slash
in the lower left-hand corner,
hanging
in their old bistro Café.

The poster
and they
told me about Chomsky’s performance,
so I went up to the City Square.
Chomsky was performing,
reading,
and having his class read.
I became
— as is typical for me —
part of a class he taught,
where a woman couldn’t read
her poem,
written on wood in dark woodburnt letters.

So someone else read it,
and they asked me
to hit my head on the table
in front
of me “Clunk”,
saying “I could have had
a bigger apartment!”
“Clunk”.
It was a great
public
experience
I got to share.

I then walked back
toward the bistro Cafe’,
because my daughter had texted me.
As I was going back,
the ferry arrived
and emptied.
I tried crossing
in front of the traffic,
between the crosswalk bars,
and a policeman in blue and black uniform
yelled at me
and gave me a five-penny
fine.

He followed me
to the café,
where I gave him a nickel,
and the old couple helped
pay the fine
in local currency,
so I left my Jefferson head nickel
on their wooden counter.

I looked behind the counter,
and there,
in person,
was Noam Chomsky.
He was the old couple’s son!

He had to leave the bistro/Cafe’,
so I walked with him
for awhile,
and told him how wonderful
and kind
his parents were.

Then I asked
if we could take a selfie
together.
He had something wrong
with his eyes,
so he put on very thick,
dark-framed glasses.
I put on my black-framed glasses,
and the camera was upside down
and we couldn’t take the picture,
but finally we took it
and it was obvious that I was being
a pest
but I still got
the picture.

And then I went back
and found my children at the bistro/Café.
I don’t think we saw any of the city
at all
but we swam together
at night
and I played submarine
and tipped over
a large sailboat toy
like it been torpedoed …
and I didn’t even get
Noam Chomsky’s
autograph.

Preparation For A Spread: Romantic ImproVerse Free Verse Poetry

The course
has been set,
laid before us.

What preparations
need to be made
before partaking
in such a sumptuous spread?

Personal cleanliness is paramount.
Though we’ve been preparing
long before,
at last
a cold bath,
warm tub,
hot shower
is needed.

Each makes their choice,
as they also do
for their appropriate attire.

Then, as part of both anticipation
and preparation,
we would, together,
call upon Him
for the blessings of heaven,
each in our own way.

Lastly,
I would be pleased
to share
through the power which we share,
which Father has bestowed,
with hands on her gentle head,
words which are not mine,
but divine,
being with us
and in tune
and focused.

Thus, in all ways
right
and righteous
and tuned in,
we are then prepared
to participate
and partake
wholly
and completely
and righteously,
even if not
quietly.

Pink Art Walk Memory: Romantic ConTEXTing Free Verse Poem

We walked.Pink leaning in to see art, Provo City Art Walk
You wore my chapeau
And pink
And leaned
To see something closer
And I did, too.

And it was art.

Today I walked
Alone
Where you were pink
And wore my deck.

(I’d forgotten
you were talking
to someone else
on the phone).*

And I wondered
Why we couldn’t
Walk that way
Again.

*Added the next day when I saw the photo of her wearing my hat … and talking on the phone.

Roadmap Guides We Follow: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

Everybody tries to give us
roadmaps for our lives.
Our friends
at the bar,
our buddies
on our sports teams,
our neighbors,
family members,
schoolmates,
coworkers,
our bosses,
the garbageman,
the guy at the store.
Everyone.

They all have a good
idea
of what we should do,
shouldn’t do,
and how we should do it
or not do it,
and why.

Most of these guides
are well-meaning.
They may have some hidden agenda,
some ulterior motives,
but most of the time
they just wish
what’s best for us,
and for our happiness.

So why do we ignore
that one God who loves us
unconditionally.
He who has no ulterior motive
other
than our happiness
and well-being?

He who is big,
and because He is perfect,
and because he knows us better
than we know ourselves,
can give us
the advice and counsel
that will ultimately make us
happy
beyond measure?
Why don’t we listen
to Him?

Waiting For My Map: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Free Form Poetry

Sitting in the pew,
I am
A clean slate;
An empty chalkboard;
A white doc;
A unformed lump of clay;
A tilled garden;
A blank canvas.

I wait to hear
What He will say;
What direction I should go;
What I will change;
What He wants me to do;
How to best obey.

I’m willing to turn
my life over;
Fill my empty,
clean,
white,
unformed,
tilled,
blank
heart and soul and mind
with His directions.

Begin.

Do I Dare Expose Moi? Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Poem

Do I dare expose me?
Do I dare
open up the soft,
white,
flabby,
pocked underbelly
of my past
to those I’m trying
to get to know?
To those who want to believe
the best about me?
To those who don’t know
this part,
Jean Valjean-ish,
24601,
about me?

Will they turn
and reject me,
my stupidity,
the pain I caused?
Do I hide?

Or do I enter the courthouse
and scream out
who I am
and what I did
and what I’m trying to
repent of,
throwing myself
on the mercy
of the court,
the jury of
Facebook peers?

Do I dare?