Lift Where I Stand: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Iambic Poem

If I’m to lift where I stand/
How often should I reprimand/
Others for their silliness?/
The government for causing duress?/
Our kids and friends for giving us stress?

Capitalists for raising prices?
Immoral folks who are spreading vices?
Big industry for pollution?
Bankers with no economic solution?

Do we rail as some try to do good?
Could their motives be misunderstood?
We often stand and criticize,
As we look with judging eyes.

What if we focused our critical gaze
Into our own internal maze?
Wouldn’t we see so much clearer
If we looked, first and only, into the mirror?

Would we be able to do more good
If we learned to lift where we stood?
We do not stick our heads in the sand/
When we help by lifting where we stand.
For isn’t it said: There is nothing greater
than loving God by serving our neighbor?

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I Just Want To Ask: Revolutionary ImproVerse Rhyming Haiku

Why can’t I plead for /
what I feel I need without/
harsh castigation?

Where The Self-Righteous Live: Revolutionary Improv Limerick Lament

Late Monday evening I parked at a bakery that was closing. With 3 cars in a parking lot designed for 100, I avoided the handicapped zone, but — parking quickly — did not pay attention to the parking “lines”. When I came out to my car, this note was on my windshield:
Learn how to park dumb ass.
Really?
There’s lines for a reason.
Love ya.”

So I wrote this (because it does seem that criticism and self-righteous, indignant behavior happens more often here than any place else I’ve lived. See? Even I’m guilty of being judgemental!

Why does it happen in Utah,
(at least as far as I saw),
where everyone’s supposed to love,
and be inspired by God above,
they judge and critize ev’ry tiny flaw?

Criticizing Criticism: Revolutionary Improv Blogging Poetry

I hate
that some
are so critical.
Criticism is dumb.

But is my criticism
and being critical
of them
being critical,
hypocritical?

Response to Your Rhubarb Crisp Poem: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Poetry

In an evening of healing, creativity and cleansing (and me making, baking and slightly burning — it had rice flour — a rhubarb crisp) at a new friend’s mountain chalet, I wrote this poem in response to a poem she wrote about my and my burnt rhubarb crisp. Her poem, “Rhubarb Crispier”, is at http://moonlightweb.wordpress.com/2010/05/13/rhubarb-crispier/.
Here is mine (the original had “your words” instead of “her words”:

I’ve stood, 4 years,/
doubting my craft, my mind,/
my soul, My heart./
Old words:/
Criticism still heard,/
still hurts./
Her words/
still the ache./
I’ll print them.