“Gunalchéesh”, Thank You, To Vineyards (And Orchards) For The Fruit: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

After the Harvest/
I turn and thank the vineyard*./
It seems right to do.

OR
*orchard.

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And Now, Apple, What? Romantic Email Free Verse Poem

Now, I’ve returned.
Now, we’ve again met.
It was nice seeing
her again.
Now what?

My enthusiasm is not
rampant.
My desire is not
intense,
unlike the past.

But I’m not ambiguous, either.

I’m calm,
waiting,
like sap within
an old apple tree’s roots
after a long winter.

It waits to be warmed
by spring sun’s rays.
To rise up
and flow out
and push the buds
into blossoms
that explode
inscentandcolorandbeauty
and eventually
bear sweet fruit.

Outside, pink-red
like her lips and skin.
Inside, light gold
like her hair,
moist like the sap
that is starting, now, to move.

With stem to twist
and ask,
at harvest,
“Now what?”

Pick, and taste,
and savor the sweetness
and nourishment
.
Or ignore
until the fruit
grows past
what it could have been
and falls,
unnoticed,
to the ground,
where it bruises,
and turns brown
and sour
and rots.

Another Good Mistake: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

Guacamole and/
apple empanada is/
a pleasant surprise.

Backstory: Dining at The Esquire on the Riverwalk in San Antonio, I ordered the braised short-ribs empanada. When I cut into it, (covered with spicy guacamole and sour cream), it was quite tasty… but didn’t look like pork. A little digging verified the truth: It was apple and cinnamon! The server wanted to take it back, but… I enjoyed the sweet and savory combo so much that I insisted on finishing it. When she said “I won’t charge you for that”, I said “And I won’t charge you for being your taste tester!”
It was a great mistake!

Beware of God: A JAP lent me a book

“Shalom aleichem!”
“What am I supposed to do with that?” she asked.
The poor Brooklyn JAP.
She didn’t know.
So I should keep it a sod,
a geheimnis?
Of course I told her!

She smiled,
Gave me her apple,
Then started kvetching
About all her Yentas texting
her. They shouldn’t?
Of course they should!

When she kvetches about
the 3 options fisher,
the 40 overweight goy
who disowns not only her but
all her Facebook friends,
and how she can’t find a standup guy.
What, they should be silent?

“Change your standards!”
“Trust the universe!”
“You should be so picky!”
Her Crossing Delancey Yentas opine.
She cups her hand,
air strokes twice,
looks at the ceiling and sighs:
“What, You can’t help me out?”

I laugh, recognizing the stroke sign
from high school Mensch friends.
I work on her apple and watermelon,
Nod understandingly. Tell her:
“Write to Yenta: ‘God Himself rang the doorbell.
I even answered it.
Saw a nothing.’
See what Yenta says.”

She wonders if I should bold
the copy. It works.
The namesake of the first king
of Israel doesn’t pick up stones.
I return the apple;
sling a few gentle
words about tea,
and leave.

She runs down the hall.
Like Fiddler on the Roof.
But this time the JAP
Reaches out to GoyBoy;
lent me a book
by Shalom (Peace) Auslander (foreigner):
“Beware of God.”

Like that should mean something?