Wenn ein schlechter Tag/
Dich schlagt,/
will ich doch Dein/
ernsthaft Freund sein!/
Bitte! Lass mich ‘rein!
Archive for March, 2009
An Folgen ein schlechter Tag: a Revolutionary ConTEXTing Poem auf Deutsch
March 27, 2009Returning Again to Where You’d Lain: A Romantic IMbic IMprov Poem
March 22, 2009I want to tell you a story
of late night glory,
and dew,
and me
and you.
It was an experience
wonderful and strange!
I did it more than once:
Returning again
to where you’d lain.
I could scarcely contain
my curiousity
to see if I could tell
where the fruits of our amourosity
fell.
And, once I did,
could not contain, again,
myself, and on I sped;
would not refrain,
but exploded in memoric,
meteoric
delight!
By myself,
in my room,
where you’d lain
at night.
Your Hair on a Pillow: a Romantic IMbic IMprov Poem
March 20, 2009You ask if I am scared?
No! I’m well prepared!
I want to go to bed;
find the pillow
where you laid your head.
Smell
where your hair
round soft shoulders fell,
and drift off to where
I sleep,
sweet
memory
of you
with me.
Waiting 4 U 2 IM: A Revolutionary IMprov IMbic sonnet
March 18, 2009I stare at the screen
waiting
for you to say
anything.
For you to finish
typing.
for the light
to turn green.
Sentences, phrases, a word
that say
how you feel about
now, this second, last hour, today.
But the blinking words on the IM screen
just keep saying “typing”, “typing”, “typing”.
Do I Trust Myself? A Revolutionary IMbic IMprov Poem
March 17, 2009“Do you trust myself?”
She asked.
I laughed.
“In what regard?”
As in, you invite me
over to watch cinema:
comedy, chick flick, drama,
popcorned action, mystery?
That there would be
no butter smeared on that
velvet, gentle skin, as we sat,
and watched the movie.
The only thing low
I would dip into
and slip into
would be a bowl
of buttered
popcorn,
not porn,
or anything like it.
Kernels I would just eat
while I watch,
and butter touch
and brush off my seat.
Do I trust myself?
Whether watching a romantic chick flick,
or Elf,
I keep my emotions,
and buttered hands,
on the shelf.
The New Red Car: Epilogue-a Revolutionary Poetic tragedy
March 13, 2009“Dad! You’re F*#ing Crazy!”
“Curl up and die!”
No car is worth that.
Death.
Venom spat.
I’d rather bus or walk
than drive that car again!
I’m not giving in.
They don’t win.
I’m telling them:
take the damn car.
It doesn’t matter!
What makes me sadder
is they don’t know
they haven’t won, but lost.
And at what cost
the tragedy
of stupidity.
I don’t think they know.
Only me.
I Never Wished I Could Hear What You Write: A Romantic IMbic IMprov Sonnet
March 13, 2009You write words
I wish I could hear!
Oh! that something could place
written words in my ear.
A tender voice
that softly intoned
a groan?
a moan?
a laugh?
a chastisment?
a thought reticent?
a kiss sent?
Though your words written are always dear;
They should be something my ear could hear!