It’s time for a word revolution!

Note: I’ve tried to get the blog explaination (next article) up to this position, but can’t figure out how. If you want to know how my blog is structured and what it’s about, make certain you read the NEXT posting as well. THIS posting is more of a “Why/how I was inspired!” piece!
Inspired by President Obama’s Inauguration Speech, I recognized it was my time (after half a century) to start writing. Tell me what you think. (I’m feeling very uninspired tonight!)(PS: Please make certain you read the next entry, below, to understand HOW my blog is set up… this is mostly about the “Why”).

But now it is morning — and I feel more inspired. In brief, two things happened during the Inauguration that inspired me. One was very simple: As the Poet read her work after President Obama’s speech, I listened, and thought to myself: “My work is just as good.”

More importantly, though, is what happened to me as the inauguration took place. I was thinking about all my African-American, Native American, Hispanic, Gay Rights friends, soldiers who’d “fought the fight”, who must have been estactic with the events of January 20th, 2009.

And I felt very ashamed. These were people who’d LIVED with segregation, who’d been the “first to”, who’d stood shoulder to shoulder with the oppressed, who’d been oppressed themselves. And me? What had I done? Certainly nothing revolutionary like they had done.

Then I thought of my life, and the very different path it took, in one way, on the outside, a path of ease and comfort, but in another way, a path very different than I had anticipated, an uncomfortable path personally, a path of coaching soccer and baseball, of youth groups, of planting gardens, of doing service projects. And I realized that, in a small, personal way, I’d also been a revolutionary and that, because of President Obama’s remarks, and the examples of thousands before, I was able to come out about it, to shout from the rooftops that there are things I feel passionately about, things that matter, and although in the history of this nation, and in the minds of many, those things don’t matter as much as what my friends went through — they matter to me.

This blog contains my revolutionary statements.

At the same time, I experienced a personal “coming out” of the romantic writer. That writer had always been there, hiding, ashamed, not willing to believe that he was “any good”, assuming that people reading his romanticism, his rhyme schemes and free verse and prose, would giggle and say “Romance is stupid” or “You sound like Dr. Seuss / writing about the love of a Moose!” or “I don’t get it.”

Thanks to several friends — old AND new — and thanks to the belief that today IS a new day, I’ve decided to start writing, and posting my writings, along with my experiences as both a Romantic Poet and a Revolutionary Writer. Maybe it’s not right that I self-proclaim that I’m either — or both — of those things. But who is to say that I am, or I’m not?

CyranoWriter: Overview of a Revolutionary Romantic Writer’s Blog

Thanks to several friends — old AND new — and thanks to the belief that today (Inauguration Day, 2009) IS a new day, I’ve decided to start writing, and posting my writings, along with my experiences as both a Romantic Poet and a Revolutionary Writer. Maybe it’s not right that I self-proclaim that I’m either — or both — of those things.
But who is to say that I am, or I’m not?

Within my blog I will attempt to have two main thought process categories.

Revolutionary: Poems, stories, thoughts that are “Revolutionary” in nature. That is, they will be thoughts about anything topical and worthy of discussion, including self-discovery, OUTSIDE of my romantic writings.
Romantic: Poems, stories, thoughts that are “Romantic” in nature. That is, they will tend to focus on writing toward a woman or women, discussing romantic relationships. They will probably be divided into:
*”IMbic Poems 4an IMprov Age” (typically poems created “on the fly” while Instant Messaging (IMing) friends),
*”ConTEXTual Poems” (typically poems created on the fly, but within the confines of sending cellphone text messages), and
*Other poems and writings, either created within emails directed to someone, or as random thoughts. (Note: Some of these may deal with mature themes. I won’t publish them as posts, but will create a working page of “Mature Poetry” that I’ll add to on occassion.)
It’s my hope to eventually publish these into a book (or several). I only hope that the formatting of the pages on WordPress allows me to put them into the various categories!
Dave Kuhns 20 January, 2009

My professional writing, marketing, communications, training and curriculum development site is here: http://www.cyranowriter.com and eventually my romance letters and poetry business as well! And
http://www.geocities.com/dgkuhns
dgkuhns_writer@msn.com
Biznik.com has my professional writer/editor and curriculum developer profile:

Why the Desire for Sparks from a Fire? A Romantic Poem

As I stoked a dying fire,
A warmth set to soon expire,
I added more fuel: dried wood.
Gave coals space to breathe, good.

And as I watched pine
Smoldering there,
Wood slowly warming,
Yearning for air,

It gave me pause;
Made me wonder why
Women look for passions’ cause
And ask for “sparks to fly”.

Sparks flying mean only
The flame’s been disturbed, goaded,
Kicked, poked, prodded, turned,
Or that super-heated sap exploded.

Instead shouldn’t they look for
The smoky, slowly-warming feat
That finally gasps air, and with a roar
Throws off constant, strong, radiant heat?

No sparks there
Kicked, thrust, thrown at random
Into the night air
With sudden, reckless abandon!

But rather glowing, red,
Steady, comforting heat.
Passions’ flame which, carefully fed,
Gives warmth that will repeat.

Does Grandma have to hear? No!/ Letting go/ of an Oma/ in a Coma: A revolutionary conTEXTing poem

The context of this? A friend’s grandmother was lingering, dying but not willing to leave. I wrote my friend the following conTEXTing poem. When she wrote back “I thought she had to hear; she’s in a coma!” I responded with the story of MY grandmother’s death, where I was the only one with her. I whispered “Grandma, I love you. It’s okay to go now.’” And she passed away. I texted my friend as she watched over her grandmother: “It’s soul communication. Not loud. Love.”

Did you whisper/

softly to her:/

“Grandma, it’s okay to go/

We can take care/

of ourselves/

you know”./

But sometimes they dont/

know it’s ok,/

so they won’t/

go away.

Birthday Rejection: A Revolutionary ConTEXTing Lament

My Daughter turned
her back 2 me/
hours b4 i turned/
53./
Why am i so hated?
Why isn’t the disgust/
and mistrust/
long ago abated?/
How long/
until my wrong/
is gone?

He loves me: A Revolutionary ConTEXTing Poem

The context is important to this poem. In a Christian church I belong to, all worthy men 12 years old and above can hold the Priesthood. One of their duties is to pass the Sacrament, (similar to Communion) to the congregation.
To “take the Sacrament”, a person has to be worthy, and want to.
I am not in that place yet in my life.
Sometimes I wonder if God remembers me. Although I know in my heart and mind that He and Jesus love me, sometimes … I don’t “feel it”.
One of the young men in the congregation has Downs Syndrome. He has had several brain surgeries and back operations, but has never complained. He always smiles and, as many people with Downs Syndrome do, seems to just radiate love.
On this particular Sunday, this young man passed me the Sacrament tray, which I passed down the row without taking any of the bread or water offered. As the tray was handed back to me, and I gave it to him, I glanced up. This is what happened:

He glances at me/
and smiles,/
a young man-child./
And tho I can’t partake/
what is offered there,/
I c in his face/
HIS care./
And in boyish eyes I c/
God’s love 4 me.

Facing the 2nd Half: A Revolutionary ConTEXTing Plea to a Daughter

He wandered/
thru a half life:/
Children, parents, friends, wife./
Staring at the 2nd half,/
full of hope and doubt,/
he asked his daughter/
2 illustrate his way out.

Well Run Dry: The Romantic ConTEXTing Poet Loses His Muse

I stare/
at a blank screen;/
it’s as if/
I lost my muse./
I sigh, dare/
2 finally grasp truth/
of Otis’ cry:/
You don’t miss your water/
’til your well runs dry.

A Lonely Hiaku: Romantic Email Without Numbers

She gave no numbers./
Why should she wonder
about/
Friday solitude?

Closing the curtain on a beautiful sunset: email poetic lament

How to end this?
I’m not certain.
It’s like viewing a sunset’s bliss,
then drawing the curtain.

Perhaps it ends with a heartfelt statement,
almost trite
(but not quite)
in its simplicity:
Do you think it was meant
for you to write me?

A Guru Lay-Ment For Today: Romantic IMprov Sonnet

Memories of other, older lovers,
Or dreams of them,
Could only be written
Because of what you uncovered.

Not meaning to tear you apart,
Nor make you doubt;
But you exposed my heart
And let cloistered, forgotten feelings out.

And I, not knowing how to control
Feelings locked up so long ago,
Set my soul, heart and mind
To discover and see what I could find.

It is only now I’m beginning to see
That what I longed for stood in front of me.

Early Morning Rain: Romantic ConTEXTing Haiku

It’s raining, again./
Explain your flirt style, and when/
you do, use small words.