Archive for May, 2017

Not Passive Aggressive, Are They? Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

May 13, 2017

My poems aren’t meant to/
be passive aggressive, but/
to some they may be.

Looking Backwards Crashing: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

May 13, 2017

If you keep looking/
backwards, you will run into /
light poles and stop signs.

Making Choices And Being Responsible: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

May 12, 2017

Many folks want me/
to go dance tonight, but I’ve/
too much to do. Choice.

Welcome To The Temple Hooray! Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

May 12, 2017

I love going to/
the temple and have workers/
excited I’m there.

The Promises Are Real: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku of Gratitude

May 10, 2017

I asked Him to help/
me help her. He lightened my/
burdens, made me strong.At the end of a long move, Seattle to Boise to Salt Lake City, God sustained me

Baseball Brings Back Childhood Joy: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

May 6, 2017

Innocent mem’ries/
of childhood diamonds flood thoughts./
Joy’s eye gleam returns.

Idol Praise Is Not Idle Worship: Romantic IMprov Haiku

May 2, 2017

Idol worship of/
muse’s pure beauty should not/
be thought idle praise.

A Fair Rhubarb Warning: Revolutionary IMprov Rhyming Haiku

May 1, 2017

Stalk red rhubarb’s stalk/
if you dare, but eat not her/
poison’d green leaves fair.

Cold May Day: Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Lament Poem

May 1, 2017

May Day
always
was,
in every way,
bright and cheerful and
colored with blossoms
from our yard.

Roses.
Lilacs.
Dogwoods.
Camellias
Kornblumen.
Straw Flowers.
Daisies.
Periwinkle.
Rosemary.
Lavender.
Camomille.
Sage.
Mint.
Grape Hyacinths.
Sometimes even late tulips
and plum blossoms.

Full bouquets,
ding-dong-ditched
on doorsteps
for the neighborhood,
for children’s teachers
— piano, dance, acting, spiritual
and intellectual —
and scholastic staff.

Surprises
for them
and us.
Messages
of love
and remembrance
and appreciation.

But children grow up
and teachers grow old
and people move away
and on,
and invitations
for the next generation
are forgotten,
and friendships
are dissolved
or wither
and die
from lack of care
or abuse.

This year,
our last here,
blossoms are few.
There is a cold,
constant rain,
and even if there were flowers,
there would be few to
grant bouquets to.

Sorrow permeates
this day,
our last May Day
here in this
botanical wonderland,
where everything grows
and blooms
and thrives
except cacti
and prickly pear.
Ironic that,
as our time here
dies,
Spring is so slow
to arrive.

I would take a photo
of the late dogwood blossoms
and the just-emerging,
faintly-scented lilacs,
but my battery
just died.