Tag Archives: poems

Life Is Like The Chocolate You Eat: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

Written in the Basque coastal region of Biarritz, France, and San Sebastian, Spain

There are people who are
more practical and planned
than I am.
There are people who show up
when it’s convenient
for everyone.

I show up, sometimes,
when it’s convenient
for noone,
hoping that something wonderful
will happen.

And it usually does
for me.

My pattern is,
because something wonderful happens,
even if it’s not planned,
I keep going to the well.

I keep putting myself
into positions of wonder and amazing …
and I never get disapointed.

But it’s not
everyone’s pattern.
People are wonderful.
My time with them is wonderful
no matter what time it is.

The other day
I ate chocolate crepes
for dinner.
That was after
I’d had chocolate pastries
for lunch.

Along with hot chocolate for lunch
and dinner,
I had chocolate
during the evening.

The next day I had
another chocolate pastry.
For lunch I ate
at a tapas bar
in Spain.
I had a chocolate.
Then, that evening,
I had a chocolate pastry,
Spanish hot chocolate (VERY thick and rich!),
and some chocolate-covered orange slices
that were wonderful.
THEN later on that evening
I had ANOTHER French hot chocolate.

Today I had
two more cups of hot chocolates,
a chocolate pudding dish,
AND a chocolate WARM dessert
with ice cream.

If there was a pastry shop,
or a cafe’,
still open,
I would probably go out
and get another chocolate
something.

You are the chocolate
in my life.
I keep returning
to the feast.

Early Morning Dream State: Romantic Contexting Rhyming Poem

Sometimes I awake,
Early morning,
In a half-dream state,
And my mind starts roaming.

I imagine my hands:
they begin to trace
skin, trembling, grand;
Up from your feet;
Down from your face.

I wonder how 2
Put hands in passion’s fire;
run fingers thru a valley of longing,
And caress mountains of desire.

Do I Ask Too Much? : Romantic Email Poetic Lament

Guys ask you/
to color your hair;
/dress differently;
/change your style; /
trim your hair; /
act other than you are;/
change your body;/
alter your speech patterns;/
shave and tidy up;/
pose;/
do things that change
your personality/
and alter
who you are./

So, to show them you care./
You sacrifice yourself,/
And who you are./
What they ask
and demand of you,
You do.

I ask you to call,
write,
text;/
To let me hear
from you.

You don’t.

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.