Do Not Call Stuck: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

When she needs to talk,/
but tells you: “Please do not call!”,/
you are kinda stuck.

What The Silence Asks: Romantic IMprov Limerick

From whence/
cometh the silence?
In the uncanny quiet/
that lasts the night,/
I wonder where your smile went.

She hears that I am/
disappointed. I only/
thirst for nourishment.

There’s so many poems /
to write this morning, but I/
must use the bathroom.

She stood/
on the verge/
of opening./

Facing the great chasm/
and depths of life,/
she clung to him/
who explained/
everything./

As she leaned forward/
to leap/
into the abyss,/
hoping a net would appear,/
feeling secure/
that he would not let her/
fall,/
he took a phone call./

So she, feeling spurned,/
turned/
and ran,/
again,/
back to her safe place,/
and put back on her bland face,/
and hid.

When she doesn’t look,/
I know that means she’s “busy”,/
or she doesn’t care.

Don’t expose yourself./
Open your butterfly heart:/
They’ll rip off your wings.

I remember once/
thinking I knew something harsh./
I only felt pain.

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.

I wrote a haiku/
about you. Then you wrote, so/
it must go. Thank you.