Precious Words: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Rhyming Haiku

They’re precious to me,/
so I use words sparingly/
or creatively.

Who Am I: Romantic IMprov Rhyming Poem

Confused /
by femme attitudes,/
I soon knew/
I must face the task/
and ask/
a desired woman/
a difficult question.

Thinking twice,/
I sought advice/
from a female friend./
She looked at me, and then/
She queried, soft and slow: /
“Why ask me? You are Cyrano.”

And I recalled there’s always room/
for another white plume.

She likes being an/
oracle. Is that eas’er/
than being a muse?
Or
She likes being his/
oracle. It’s less scary/
than being his muse.

When the mood is right,/
and his brain works in time,/
he takes delight/
thinking in verse and rhyme.

He gets inspiration/
from many a source./
There’s no frustration/
as creativity runs its course.

His brain thinks aloud/
in a myriad of forms./
what others see through a shroud,/
he views as the norm.

As he views life and thinks upon it,/
he can write haiku, free verse or sonnet.

I heard the sad news today:/
You’ve gone to play with your friends./
I hope you find the blues way:/
The love town where music never ends.

In your honor I’m gonna eat/
A mess of grits and stuff./
You left us behind on Beale Street/
‘cuz our blues ain’t yet good enough.

I’m sure that Etta’s waiting./
Jellyroll and Stevie Ray, too./
I’ll bet Lucille’s anticipating:/
All tuned up just for you.

May God in His grace, knowing who you are,/
See your smiling face, and make your harp strings a guitar.

RIP
BB,
and be
Happy
playin’ with your friends
again.

I read where she’d sit/
if she’d come to it but she/
won’t. I feel like shit.

A man must be her/
fan, if only to have dreams/
to still believe in.

If he gave her cash/
each place she went, would she still/
be ambivalent?

If he was handsome/
like George Clooney, would she still/
be much too busy?