Tag Archives: pain

America Encore July 1972-2015: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Free Verse Poem

America plays Horse With No Name, Draper Days, 2015I knew the song well,
well before I saw it,
saw the title, first,
carved deep
in an old wood school desk
in the gable room
of my historic fachwerk church
in the heart of Cream City.

Each time
through the decades,
I heard about
the desert that had turned to sea,
I thought of that pen-rutted,
scarred wood,
revelation writing,
hinged desk top.

Will that still be
my embedded memory
now that I’ve seen,
second,
decades later,
in the desert,
the no-named
equine tribute
live?

He Hopes She’s Finally Happy: Romantic Blogging Sonnet

The roses were dead once he picked them.
The chocolate, she said, made her fat.
The kitchen wasn’t remodeled like she wanted.
And now look at where she is at.

Remember each time he surprised her
with a new dress that was colored wrong?
Or the theater tickets that were on a bad night?
Or the album that had the wrong song?

Just like that coastal vacation
when she said she’d rather stay home.
Or when he reserved a place at that nice restaurant:
He hopes that she’s happy alone.

She can gaze at her jewels: The few things he got right.
Perhaps they’ll warm her as she sleeps by herself tonight.

OR

The roses were dead once I picked them.
The chocolate, you said, made you fat.
The kitchen wasn’t remodeled like you wanted.
And now look at where you are at.

Remember each time I surprised you
with a dress that was colored wrong.
Or the theater tickets that were on a bad night.
Or the album that had the wrong song.

Just like that coastal vacation
when you said you’d rather stay home.
Or when I reserved a place at that nice restaurant:
I hope that you’re happy alone.

You can gaze at your jewels: At least I got those right.
I hope they warm you as you sleep by yourself tonight.

Proof arrhythmic: white men can dance – – revolutionary improv haiku

I’m living proof that/
A white man CAN dance when he/
ain’t got no rhy… thm.

Said while passing the nurses’ station, following my failed heart ablation procedure… They say they are going to “put it on the board.”
Followed by my quip:
“I’ll be up all evening$!”

What Should I Announce? Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Poem

I stare
into the linoleum void.
Cold it is.
Cold I feel.
Not so cold
as I could soon be.

Inhospitable
hospital.

Why?
My heart,
though stronger,
still ain’t
got
no
rhy-
thumumum.

So masked men
must stop-start it
again,
wire me up,
make me tubular,
give me the ultimate
heart burn.

Cauterize
my over-sized pump
that’s too energized.
That won’t sing: Thump Thump.
Thump Thump.

I hope it works
this time.
But if it doesn’t?
Who should I tell
that I might not return?

My mother worries enough
for the world.
She makes every
small
procedure
into some giant event.
Munchhausen by proxy.

So,
if I go,
I know
she’ll tell,
but probably
only my family.

My friends?
What of them?
She won’t know.

Perhaps Facebook quiet
will spread the word.
If you haven’t heard
by Saturday,
that I’m out …
I’m probably not.
Or maybe
I permanently
am.