Archive for the ‘Revolutionary Poetry and Writing’ Category

How Many? How Much? Then What? Revolutionary Blogging Rhyming Haiku

November 2, 2018

How many mistakes/
must I make? How much must I/
wait? Or should I go?

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Voices Of Whispered Past Redux: Romantic Blogging Free Verse Lament

November 2, 2018

It was too late
to think,
I think,
nor to read
what I should not.

But I thought,
and I did,
and now I can’t stop
thinking
the thought.

They play
like an ear worm,
the terrible tune
you hate to hear,
but once it blares
you can’t get rid of it.

I’m
not
hot.

Not in that way.
The things I “fix”
don’t stay
repaired.

And there are so many
now, in this new place,
that I can hardly imagine
trying
to catch up.

I don’t even write
or work at what I like
any more.
I’m a bore.

So I sit and binge watch
and pretend
it’s teaching me
about government
and choices
and I’m spending time
with her.

But our gazes
go forward
into a large
rectangular
black hole,
where we watch others
play out on the screen
and even panting
and depanting
and a black bra
only brings groans
of boredom
and remorse.

Then,
when we’ve watched
and thrown away
three hours
(or more),
we kneel
and thank Him
for us,
and ask
what we should do.

I don’t think that’s it.

And although I now feel glad
that I’m writing,
divulging,
creating,
it still feels
like I should go
cover the garden
against tonight’s frost,
fold up the electric cord,
and try to tidy up
the front porch
at least a little,
so maybe,
when tomorrow’s beams shine brightly,
I’ll feel like doing something
that will move the needle
at my house,
my home,
my refuge.

And I’ll remind myself
it’s not a contest
with the past.

If only
I could now,
at last,
believe that.

Upon Thinking On A Deep Funk: Revolutionary Email Free Verse Lament

November 2, 2018

Her creativity,
this evening’s music muse,
wafts like a late autumn breeze
out her door,
down the hallway,
to my ears.
Peace.

My oldest creation,
son,
and his creation,
my granddaughter,
gaze,
smiling,
from my screensaver.
Joy.

Yet I,
creative meistro
sitting on a hickory’d hill,
fall’s colored leaves
glowing in the sunset;
bright moon and stars
gleaming in the dark
rural’d night,
haven’t written
for daze.
Weeks.
Blank.

Work,
government linguistics,
leaky doors,
amityville horror phermone’d bugs,
busted lights,
stalled furnaces,
all beyond the grasp
of my repair.
Guilt.

Gardens unharvested;
tall fall grasses
in the front yard
unburned,
failed wildflower experiments
where there once was so much
promise.
Melancholy.

All around me,
there is paper
and hundreds of shades
of different hues,
muse,
notes,
thousands of words
i could use.
Yet none come.
Funk.

What to do.
What to do?
Do.
Perhaps
creativity
will drop
like dew
when I do.
And I’ll rinse my face
and cleanse my soul
and refresh my heart
and free my mind.

It’s worth a try.

All Creation Is Great: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

November 1, 2018

She says she wasn’t/
creating anything good,/
but creation’s great.

No Free Rent Sans Eviction: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

October 27, 2018

Don’t give folks free rent/
in your mind. At some point you’ll/
have to evict them.

My Fungi Birthday: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

October 23, 2018

With my most recent/
birthday, I’m now turning more/
into a fungi.

Creatives Like Creations: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

October 22, 2018

As a creative,/
I appreciate getting/
created presents.

We’re More Alike Than We Are Different: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

October 12, 2018

As we split ourselves/
in diff’rent groups, we forget/
how alike we are.

Social Media Fast: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

October 9, 2018

Something so simple/
Can oft be hard to obey …/
but yet I believe.

Big To Me: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

October 8, 2018

Yes. I was foolish./
What I did wasn’t huge, but/
it’s still big to me.