Vulnerable Open: Romantic ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

She stood,
arms outstretched,
lungs deep breathing,
gasping for air,
to pull back into her
the truths revealed,
that he’d somehow
yanked from her,
opening her up
and examining every
hidden
part,
without her tacit permission. /

And yet she welcomed it,
yearned for the understanding that/
incredible insight gave,
begged to know/
even as she was known,
and understood,
and covered,
and buttoned up,
like a trenchcoat
she’d once wore,
and only she knew
what was underneath,
or wasn’t.

And she wondered/
who/
and how/
and if/
she’d ever let/
someone /
again/
unbutton it/
and her.

And she knew/
that some day,/
some time,/
the London Fog/
would lift, /
and sun /
would shine/
again,
back-back-back-back,
deep in
the center field/
of her heart,
and she’d again/
get to run home.

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.

It Could Be Worse: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem Lament

Death
of my
battery.

When your mother
keeps the car trunk light
on
for 2 days,
that’s what happens.

And what Chrysler engineer
had the idiot idea
to put the battery
in the driver’s-side
wheel well,
behind a splash guard,
with no easily-accessible
screws?

Stupidhead.

I was furious.
45 minutes
and 2 screws out,
6 to go,
I was worse.

I walked home.
I was cold.
I was angry.

Then I met the guy
who was a few blocks away
from getting on the freeway.

He stopped at a stop sign,
and his axle on his old van
broke,
and his front wheel
fell off.

And he was grateful.

“It could have been
so much worse.
I was blessed.”

He was right.
And now I’m grateful
and blessed.