Knowing How To Dance And Whisper: Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse

It’s odd folks think I/
don’t know how to whisper ‘cuz/
I dance hard. That’s why.
Convertible top down dancing in Wisconsin farmland, finding rural art (Mosquito along County Trunk M, Winnebago County)
OR
People
may find it strange
that I,
one who dances hard
and sees much
and sings loud
and long
and deep
and lives life,
(Carpe Diem, Man!)
top down,
tunes up,
arms outstretched,
hands up,
with passion
and vigor
and tears
and laughter
and joy
and energy
and YES!

would

know

how

to

whisper.

That’s exactly why.
Picture of a Picture-taker -- whispering at Lake Winneconne, March, 2016 sunset

Little Red Rooster Cherry Crisp: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

Little Red Rooster Cherry Crisp - Easter 2016I am certain that,
at some point,
I will create
a little red hen-type poem
about the joy of picking pie cherries
(with permission)
from The Neighbor’s tree,
processing the cherries
by putting them,
one by one,
and giving them to my aunt
to let her make them into
a fabulous cherry pie
nearly a year after the Harvest.

But right now,
my fingers are sore
from pulling out the pits.
My back is sore
from standing at the counter
too short for me,
and my hands are too messy
from the cherry juice
that has squirted out
all over the entire kitchen.

And besides,
I don’t even know
what the pie
will taste like.

Final product: Little Red Rooster Cherry Crisp for Easter, 2016Addendum:
As it turns out,
this was even more
of a Little Red Hen poem
than I thought it would be.

I’d delayed,
too long,
bringing my Aunt
the pie cherries.

So I took them back home,
put together a fruit crisp
(previously made with apples,
or peaches,
or strawberries,
or rhubarb,
or something similar).
This time, it featured my home-harvested
pie cherries.

Served ala’ mode after
a massive Easter dinner
with family and friends,
the self-picked-and-pitted-and-prepared-and-baked-organic-pie-cherry-crisp
was something I should eat
and share
by myself.

And so I did.