If I move the phone/
away from my head-hands-heart,/
I can sleep better
Tag Archives: Poetry
Close By And Ignored: Romantic ConTEXTing Haiku
Like box canyon views,
nothing seems so distant as
close by and ignored.
Glowing Growing Flowing Words: Revolutionary Rhyming IMprov Haiku
Your muse repeats my/
flowing. Words set you glowing./
Yours get me growing.
Power Of Words: Revolutionary IMprov Poetry
Words can
be
powerful.
Damaging.
Magical.
Wonderful.
Those words
are not
“our word,”
but instead,
our words:
Those that we say
and write
right.
Those words
are also heard
in our heads.
Always ready.
Already steadily
knowing.
Though verbose,
I am not
a master of words.
They are my tools,
at times.
But other times
they scream so loudly
in my head
that they unravel,
unnerve,
weaken,
and destroy me.
To become a master
of words,
I must become the master
of my word-thoughts.
For This, My Legs Are Unshaven: Romantic Email Poem
First, read my profile.
(It will take you awhile!)
There, you’ll find everything your profile
says you yearn for
and more.
My legs are unshaven.
For this,
for you,
for us
I’ll make no such fuss.
My invite is simple:
Explore, first, a large herb
garden with me,
and then, if you yet have nerve,
take one by land,
two by sea.
Canoe with me
through unsullied country.
You claim “I like slow dancing together in the kitchen …”.
If true,
then I’ll send you
the link to my poetry blog
posting about slow kitchen sock dancing.
And then maybe
we’ll dance ‘neath a tree
or, for fun,
in a snow-filled canyon.
Freudian Pickles: Romantic IMprov Haiku
I am out of town./
She eats pickles for breakfast./
It’s so Freudian.
Muse Fans Fires: Romantic Rhyming IMprov Haiku
Again, you inspire!/
Your muse fans creative fires!/
I miss you the more.
Relaxing The World’s Taxing: Romantic Rhyming IMprov Haiku
When the world’s taxing,/
I need relaxing. I find/
you are my fine wine.
“It Is What It Is” Shouldn’t Be: Revolutionary Haiku
“It is what it is”/
is bailing out of your life./
“It” should be better.
Desert’s Dessert: Romantic IMprov Haiku
She doesn’t get it.
A single raindrop is dried,
parched desert’s dessert.