Tag Archives: gift

Thanks To My Daughter’s Friend: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

I wept so hard I could almost not dictate this.

I walk gratefully,
reverently,
into her house,
where my daughter’s guardian angel
stands watch.

Skin falls off
boiling plums
and young old bones
and her parents tell me
that they would give everything
to have their daughter back.
But since they can’t
they will give me what they can,
what their angel daughter
told them to give,
to make sure her friend,
my daughter,
doesn’t leave.

I stand on an island,
speechless.

It is only much later
that I can weep
tears of gratitude,
for I have already wept
tears of sorrow
for their loss.

Perhaps,
because of their daughter’s love,
voice,
inspiration,
and angelic soul,
they won’t have to weep
for mine.

A Gift Of Smiles: Revolutionary IMprov Limerick

No matter how sucky your day is/
there’s always the potential for this:/
that I will pop by and do/
some weird thing to shake your blues/
or at least give you laughter’s sweet bliss.

[Happy Birthday to the big E/
with her own limerick poetry!]

In Her Brother’s Memory: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

A friend’s brother, who was a guitar and banjo maestro, recently passed away. He befriended the homeless, bringing them home for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
This holiday season, I saw a homeless man standing on the corner, in the rain, with a guitar case next to him. I thought of my friend’s brother, rolled down the window, gave the minstrel some money, and said “There should always be music!” Then I wrote this.

She won’t even know/
I gave money to homeless/
guys with wet guitars.

Unnoticed Creative Gifts: Revolutionary Blogging Poetic Lament

Days.
Weeks.
Months spent,
thinking,
dreaming,
planning
what to do for children
so they know I care.
So they feel
my love,
my devotion,
my unwavering commitment
to them.
To their happiness.
Personal things found,
bought,
created,
made with love,
like when the 1st grader
in my past
made a shiny gold
flower vase
out of sparkles
and paper
and glue paste.
I was so proud,
and she loved it
so much.
And things I do now
for my children:
Events,
furniture,
trips,
car repairs,
debt forgiveness,
as well as dinners,
poetry,
art,
flowers.
I think of them
as much as I did then,
or maybe more.
They are my flesh and blood,
sprung from my loins,
grown of my sinews.
I would give my life for them.
I have given my life for them.

And yet,
somehow,
they don’t know.
They don’t recognize
how much
I think about them;
how often
I feel for them;
how pained
and empty
and alone
I feel without them.

But my creative reaching,
my monetary stretching,
my time sacrificed giving
means,
evidently,
nothing.

And I don’t know
how to change
what they can’t
feel.

They say
they think
I don’t care.
I don’t show love.
I don’t give them
what they need.
That may be true.
They may think that.
But there has never been
a father who has tried harder,
or thought more
about
showing his children
he cared.
Because with every fiber
of my soul,
I do.