Posts Tagged ‘compose’

My Muse Locale: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

April 20, 2014

Shall I sit on my/
porc’lain throne and compose her/
a new haiku? No.

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Am I A Blind Poet? Or Myoptic: Revolutionary Blogging Rhyming Haiku

April 3, 2014

Eyes closed, I compose./
Should I join blind poets, or/
squint myopically?

My Words Grow From Your Silence: Romantic ImproVerse Free Verse Lament

May 11, 2013

I can’t call you,/
text you,/
or write you,/
so I compose/
dozens/
of poems/
about you./

That has to/
suffice/
when I don’t hear/
from you.

Old Typewriter New Haiku: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

June 18, 2012

Old Typewriter, New HaikuAn old, languishing/
typewriter begs for me to /
compose new haiku.

(OR)

An old and empty/
typewriter begs for me to /
compose my haiku.

What I Can Give: Romantic ConTEXTing Poem

May 6, 2011

As an intellect,/
I can discuss more./
As a romantic,/
I can flirt more./
As a creative,/
I can compose more./
As a friend,/
I can hug more./

Do you want a hug?

Misty-Eyed In An Alpine Meadow: Revolutionary Email Prose Memory

November 19, 2010

I recently recalled a life-changing event which happened when I first lived in Switzerland in the late 70s. As I wrote about it in an email and have thought about it since, it’s interesting to see how much it reflects my life and belief system.

I once was, with a group of friends, running down a steep mountain trail in the Alps above Luzern. It had started to mist slightly as the clouds rose up off the Vierwaldstaedtersee and slammed into the mountainside.
And then, while my friends ran onward, something caught my ears. In the distance I could hear cowbells (mind you, this was well before “More Cowbell” became popular!). They were the varied notes of dozens of Alpine cowbells, all ringing in uncomposed, yet somehow perfect, harmony, through the mist.
I stopped running, and thought to myself: “When will I ever again have this moment? When will nature and man-made music collide to play this for me?” Instead of running willy-nilly through the Alpine meadows — which, I noticed for the first time, were in early May bloom –, I strolled.
Sauntered.
Sometimes stopped and listened and reflected and learned.
I arrived at the village nearly two hours after my hurried, running friends.
“You missed dinner!” they exclaimed.
Instead, I feasted on cheese, slice apples, and yogurt, which seemed to fit the afternoon.
I could never bear to tell them:
“You missed a world premier performance.”