Happy Birthday Choice: Revolutionary IMprov Limerick

I should write to you/
a Happy Birthday haiku./
But an annual limerick/
is certainly just as slick,/
And so much easier to do!

Here We Go Again — Another Misguided Love Poem Object: Revolutionary Iambic Poem Lament

I had heard
his rhyming words
before,
espousing how glor-
ious he thought his love.
How she was sent from above.
How she was his true lover.
How he could not imagine another.

And now,
somehow,
he takes up his pen
and again
speaks of his love, sweet.
How she is so neat.

And though this one
is maybe not as fun,
she is not the bummer
as was his love of last summer.

So what am I to believe?
He scarcely took time to grieve
his previous girl
whom (he proclaimed to the world)
was sent to him.
Did she become some whim?

The even deeper question
to this public indigestion
is: Where comes the need to publicly proclaim
about a latest passionate love and flame?

I don’t even want to look
at such posts on Facebook,
because I know I’ll read there
about some new love so true and rare.

Just like we all did last year
about someone who was thought equally dear.
Why does the poet yet again
(as he did back so earnestly then)
feel the need to shout
publicly out
someone he’s now crazy about?

(And it’s not just him.
Many others, seemingly on a whim,
positively state
they’ve found their true mate.)

(And we knowingly smile
and wait awhile
until the new romance starts to fade
like morning dew in a sun-drenched glade).

Why don’t such lovers, instead,
(knowing how emotions so oft are mislead)
watch, wait and see
if the new “we”
(this romantic she plus he)
can make that commitment
which is truly heaven-sent
for eternity?

We can, (and should) I suppose,
publicly disclose
when we are fond of one,
how we, together, have fun.

But to loudly and publicly proclaim
“She’s the ONE!” seems a bit inane.
If this is indeed a love so rare
why not be quiet and keep it hidden there?

At least until it grows and blossoms forth.
At least until love has truly run its course
and we’re ready to shout “S/he and me
will now be us for eternity?”

I, for one, have my doubts
that such proclaimed “true love” will last out,
(just based on experience;
knowing how other ones went.)

Of course, when we hear such a new boast,
we could, I guess, prepare a generic post (or toast):
“OH! You both make such a cute pair!
You and [insert the new love’s name here____].”

That is not at all to say
that the poet should be silent. No way!
We may, in messages between us
expound our full love beyond what ever was.

Such private notes of sweetest passion
put us in Browning’s and Tennyson’s fashion.
Some lovers may in the future find
hope in our quiet proclaimed love divine.

But to place such words out for all to see
Feels like love (and such thoughts) come cheaply.
That it doesn’t really matter who:
We just need someone to publicly woo.

Call me a jaded cynic.
Perhaps it’s true.
But I’ll not mimic
exposing my love to view.

At least ’til I know, and am sure
She’s the one who I’ve searched for.
Then, it would seem quite right
To write a sonnet for our wedding invite.

Inert Black And White Striped Shirts: Revolutionary Rhyming Napkin Haiku

Boy and girl, inert,/
at the bar. Both are wearing/
black and white striped shirts.

A Reason To Leave: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Rhyming Poem

Fun intimacy/
Won’t be/
Eternally/
Said she.

No thanks,
Said I,
Her guy.
That stank.

He’d Waited For The Interurban: Revolutionary Blogging Rhyming Poem

A guy drove by/
and said “Oh my!”/
“I’ve always admired/
this urban art,/
but never conspired/
nor taken part!”/

“Now I have,”
(said he),
“And it’s rad/
to finally see/
such working creativity!”

And I heard him say/
as he drove away:
“Merry Christmas!
It was fast,
but you made my day
and a memory that will last!”

Sexuality Reality Free: Revolutionary Rhyming ImproVerse Poem

When the reality/
that I don’t* worry/
about my sexuality/
finally/
hit me,/
I became free.
OR

*shouldn’t

Harmonic Memories Of A Sunset Float: Revolutionary Blogging Sonnet

Gazing at her golden hair
and softly glowing skin/
made me wish I was again there.
A Midwest lake: I’m diving in.

I float in the sunset,
and lay there, half submerged;
half warmed by sun, half cooled with wet;
harmonizing breathing and chirping birds.

An hummed experience of oohhmmm that was new.
A sung peace that tuned my innermost core.
The harmonic returns again as I view
her golden-toned decoutage’ once more.

She somehow can carry within her calm face
the memories and tones of another peaceful place.

East Coast Flowers: Revolutionary Blogging Limerick

I thought of her Grandma/
when these East Coast flowers I saw,/
But it just went through my head: /
She might enjoy them instead! /
(A gift from Connecticut to Utah!)

I saw on her event link that she likes flowers!

A Cheesy Romantic Iambic Poem Lament

Because she remembered me/
I bought her some cheesy/
gifts, where the brick is made thick,/
and cheddar is much better./
But if she doesn’t want to see me,/
she won’t get any.

Grandma Loves: Revolutionary Iambic Poetry

A friend was telling me about her grandchildren, and how she describes, to them, her love for them as individuals. As she spoke what she said to each grandchild, I could hear the iambic rhythms … so I put together a poem for her. This is what she said:

I love you to the moon and back./
I love you brighter than the sun./
I love you more than there are stars in the sky./
I love you to Infinity and beyond.