Tag Archives: hurting

What Goes Around … : Revolutionary Poetic Lament

As youths,
we would laugh
and loudly whisper,
(when we thought
they couldn’t hear),
about physical oddities:

Mr. M’s errant
and grey
eyebrow hairs.

Mr. C’s gut
that stuck
out so much
you could balance
a martini glass
on it.

Uncle B’s bright white,
bra-less moobs that he showed,
shirtless,
in the summer sun.

Mr. B’s stick legs,
covered to mid-calf with
white socks that matched
his skin.

Mr. P’s back hairs
(we wondered if Mrs. P
brushed or combed them).

Mr. E’s chest hairs,
curling white against his
tan and leathered skin.

They are all dead.

Now I hear,
again,
youthful whispers
and laughs
from behind
my back.

Jealousy And Guilt Denied: Romantic IMprov Iambic Poem

Feeling guilt
is not a passion,
nor is it in fashion
to feel jealousy
toward or about me.
None of those feelings
come from my revealing
my nearly out-of-control
yearnings of heart and soul.
Instead, you should be
swept away by a tsunami
of tenderness
brought by words’ caress.
When one you hold dear
holds you near,
there should be no resistance
simply because of distance.
Nor uncertainty or doubt
because we’re not immediately about.
But because our souls collide,
we can decide
to relish what’s inside.

My Hidden Walls: Revolutionary Iambic IMprov Poetry

People with a narrow view
say “There are no walls around you.”
Their vision is ascew,
and simply not true.

My fences
are more subtle defenses.
Insecurity
is what hides me.

My foolish intensity
is what protects me.
The outlandish things I say
push people away.

Since my youth
that’s been my excuse.
When friendships yield treason,
I can say my words are the reason.

Then I never have to say
“They didn’t like ME anyway.”
Rejection’s never a personal afront.
It’s just my words they don’t want.

So I shield and protect myself
as people put my words, not me, on the shelf.
(and that’s an insight into me
that most people rarely see.)