Tag Archives: Poetic Lament

Painful Garage Discoveries: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Lament

They fell out
of an old cardboard box,
in a pile, onto the floor.
It was like that scene
from Garfield’s Christmas.

I, too, found a stack
of old love letters,
written from she who now,
as I move her out of her life,
must be obeyed;
she who I betrayed.

I’d forgotten,
(or maybe I never knew,)
how much she loved
me.

Her words tell me.
Surprise me.

Now,
nearly four decades later,
I can only stand
in the messed up
and cluttered garage
the cold, damp space
that still holds,
for a little while longer,
the life
which we shared.

There,
amid piles
of old,
handwritten papers,
scarcely daring to read
those words she wrote
decades ago,
I weep bitter tears of
sorrow,
guilt,
pain,
and deep remorse.

She’ll never know
how sorry I am.
How could she?
Until this moment,
I didn’t even know.
I found some old love letters on the garage floor

I’ll Remember A Hovering Swallow: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

I got to walk with/
swallows today, but my phone/
camera didn’t work.
There were about 1-2 minutes when a couple of swallows were hovering in my “wind shadow”. I thought I was taking some amazing film of them, close up, so incredible it made me cry. As I went to download the video, I discovered … I hadn’t taken it after all. Sadness. BUT I have the memory, AND this YouTube video gives you some idea of what was happening! https://youtu.be/ulrpRRKz72I

Sliding Glass Door Requiem: Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Lament

Oh, goldfinch!
Bright yellow cheer-bringer,
Flash of color
even in winter’s darkest days.

Too late I moved toward
The sliding glass door
Where you would have seen my shadow
And veered away.

Instead:
Thunk.
“Oh no nonono!”
I cry
and reach for you,
fallen,
as your glowing tail feathers
fan out wide
in a blaze of color,
then close as tight
as your dainty feet,
curled.
Dead goldfinch in the palm of my hand, Lake Winneconne, May, 2016
You are still warm
as I hold you,
tiny,
in the palm of my hand.

Tears well up
as I wait,
hoping.

But your eyes stay open,
fixed and dilated,
and even as I hold you,
admiring your bright gold feathers
and the tiny streaks of red on your breast
that I’ve never noticed before,
you grow cold in my hand.

I place you
tenderly,
at the base of the daffodils
which mimic your radiant glory,
but which,
like you,
are starting to fade away.