Is it exciting/
to get excited about/
being excited?
Tag Archives: rhythm
Introspection: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Free Verse Poem
Weird,
that moment when
U realize
U haven’t looked yourself
in the eyes 4 4ever,
and U wonder:
“Where U been?”
Sharing Fish Stories: Revolutionary Email Free Verse Sonnet
Unknowingly she, poet, captured
a moment I remembered,
of walking with salmon,
of connecting with eternal.
Feet icicle freezing,
yet warmed and massaged
by those same opal fins
she described.
My daughter and I,
captivated by glinting rainbows
beneath the river’s rivulets,
had cautiously waded in.
In firebrands’ shadows,
autumn leaves
dying orange and red,
we’d joined death and creation.
If I respond with my own fish story,
do I diffuse or enlarge her spawned memory?
Signal Strength: Revolutionary Blogging Poem
Seeking strength,
I went to my Temple.
Upstairs,
the signal
was never strong.
But today,
when I needed it most,
it was five bars,
loud and clear.
I sat,
by myself,
in my corridor,
(having met Santa twice already),
and connected
more than I have in awhile.
Soon,
after being surrounded
by art
(Russian Impressionism),
tuba,
Utah Lake mud tile,
and children,
I will go find milk
and a cookie.
This is worship.
This is connection.
This is receiving
the signal
at the Temple.
Not What I Would Do, But What I Did: Romantic Email Poetry
They were only
words:
Words
meant to create
emotions,
share feelings,
verbally prompt us
to enjoy each other.
Instead,
remembering the words,
knowing how they impacted you,
makes me feel
like I’ve trampled
on flowers,
squished ladybugs
under my heel,
turned a magnifying glass’s beam
on an ant hill,
thrown frogs in the road,
torn the wings
off of butterflies.
That is not
who I am.
That is not
what I would do.
And yet,
With my mouth,
my lips,
my tongue,
I did.
There Is No Room For Heavenly Peace: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poetic Lament
Cleaning house
in service
for those who can’t
or won’t,
I play an old tape.
Hell yeah!
It’s Mahalia
Jackson,
Sleep in Heavenly Peace.
I can’t contain
the torrent of tears
as I clean
even more earnestly
because that’s all I can do now.
Now that I’ve left.
Now that I’ve ripped
lives apart.
This used to be
my city,
my town,
my house,
my family,
my life.
This music brought joy
down the stairs.
I have tapes.
I have videos.
This used to be everything
I lived for.
But now,
I’m cleaning the living room,
and
there is no room.
Words Hurt, Time Heals: Romantic IMprov Iambic Poem
She had been crushed/
by words dropped on her
with power,
by one who used/
and abused/
them well.
I could tell/
her that my verbs/
and nouns/
and words/
were tender/
and soft /
like butterfly kisses,/
but only time/
could heal her/
and make her well/
once more flow.
Don’t Be Embarrassed–> Dance Near Me! Revolutionary IMprov Iambic Verse
A friend started a poem called “Brigham’s Menace” by saying:
“As we danced
And you glanced
If anyone was offended,
None was Intended…”
To which I responded (in a hospital-post-op-drug-induced haze):
Don’t Be Embarrassed! Dance Near Me! (aka “Since when do you care what others think?”)
If disapproving looks are all you see,/
maybe next time you should dance near me.
As we get on our funky groove/
and show these other guys how to move,/
our partners will also dance worry free./
And all those others out there? /
The ones with the disapproving stare?/
We’ll just put throw our hands in the air,/
put our hands in the air/
put our hands in the air/
Air air air,
like we just don’t care!/
Because we don’t.
6 a.m. Heart Ablation: Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse
My heart
is hyper-active.
Didn’t you know that?
At about 6 a.m. tomorrow
Dr. Wang
will run a catheter near
there,
up,
into my heart.
He will scar me
from the inside
so the dance
that my heart has done
for decades
will stop,
and I’ll finally
have
rhyyyyyy
thummmm.
(Beat.
Beat.)
Doo whop
Beat).
Can you imagine me
with more energy
and life
than I have
already?
That’s what “they”
say.
The only question I have is this:
Is this the best way
to let people know?
Just A Stack Of Clothes: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku
It’s just a clothes stack./
Some new. Some loved. Enough for/
a hero? I’ll hope.