Posts Tagged ‘crying’

My Son, His Dog, Our Sorrow: Revolutionary ImproVerse Laments

July 3, 2019

My oldest son had to have his feisty little rescue dog, Veruca, put down today. He said “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.” As a Dad (who also loved and appreciated her), I’ve had a surprising amount of sorrow. (Even now, it’s hard to post through all my tears). These poems reflect my feelings.
My son's rescue dog, Veruca -- RIP
Why No Dogs
My son,
now a dad,
has to put down
his good old dog today.

Now I understand
why I,
as a dad,
never wanted to have dogs
when my kids were growing up.

Saying goodbye
is just
too damn hard.
=========

Dog Gone Hidden Crying

If I go take a/
shower no one can see the/
sad tears I’m crying.
=========

I’m Proud of You, Son

We all can avoid/
doing what we should./
It takes a real man/
to do the hard things.

Or, in haiku form:
We can all avoid/
doing what we should. Only/
real men do hard things.
=========

Not What I’d Wish For Any Dog
His dog was put down./
All said: “Rest” In Peace, but that’s/
not what I’d wish. “RUN!

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Missing My Sacred Space: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse

September 19, 2017

It was my temple
when I had none.
Now, new adventures await me
far away.
Today,
for one more time
in perhaps a long time,
I walked quietly
through art’s temple.

I will miss
this place of solitude,
inspiration,
meditation
and tranquility.

I will miss the Russian faces
I have come to know and love
and the quilts
which exude warmth
even when hanging out
on the walls.

How do I say farewell to
the sculptures of strong men and women
forever holding
and dancing
and working
and playing
and protecting
and posing
poses?

I will miss eating
the ripe espaliered apples
nobody else but the birds
care about;
smelling the roses
and lavender;
splashing cool water on my face
during hot summer afternoons.

I will miss being awestruck
and stunned
and amazed
every time I walk through
its handcrafted doors
and slide across its Utah Lake clayed floors
and listen to the
clink drip drip drip drip drip drip clink
of its kinetic sculptures.

My heart and soul and mind,
(not my back and bottom),
will miss the not-that-comfortable chairs
and wood benches
and metal patio furniture
that gave me gothic arch views
out onto the street
or into that quiet garden space,
where I often sat
in different shades of light,
in all seasons,
to compose,
to write,
to be inspired,
to lift my soul.

I won’t miss
the few steps I heard daily
as too few people visit
this amazing place
and drink in this
the inspiration
of fabulous space.

I will miss the smiling people,
the artists,
the musicians,
the curators,
the directors,
the installers,
the docents,
the interns,
the administrative folks,
the cleaning staff,
who make it all possible.

I will miss thinking
and creating
and writing
and dancing
and soaring
there,
and crying with gratitude,
by myself,
(and sometimes with others),
at the beauty surrounding me.

I can go
to other temples now
and get new and different inspiration.
There are far-away places
to explore and discover,
but,
in this out-of-the-way Utah Art City,
its surprising edifice of beauty,
which embraced me
and held me close to God
when I was otherwise cast out,
this stuccoed white citadel,
will always be
Sacred Space
to me.
Pan views of Springville Museum of Art

My Gardened, Watered: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

June 4, 2017

Decades after I turned
my first garden dirt
with a shovel,
clearing away sterile lawn
for food and scent and joy,
I didn’t know my last time,
the time at the helm
of a rototiller,
would be so emotional.

Someone else,
hopefully another family,
will now grow and prosper
in this garden,
in my once yard,
in this house,
where Smashing Pumpkins
and volunteer tomatoes
and lemon balm
and popcorn popping apricot trees
and temple roses
and forget-me-nots
and kornblumen
and black walnuts
and the Kirkland rhubarb hat fan club
once grew
and flourished
and prospered,
but where there are now
only rotted logs
and cut stumps
and smooth dirt
and the old mossed rock,
and memories.

And I will water my garden,
one last time,
with my tears.
Temple rose and apple tree before my garden was tilled
Forget-me-nots and korn blumen before my garden was tilled

Too Late Understanding Howl: Romantic ImproVerse Free Verse Poetic Lament

September 21, 2015

Tonight I howled at the moon,
where I had once gathered firewood
for us,
for s’mores,
but now there will be
no more.

Howling and
screaming and
yelling
until
I couldn’t see
through my tears.

Then I pulled off
the road and howled
some more as I watched
my dreams
and visions
and hopes
and the waxing moon
disappear behind a giant cottonwood tree,
until the Union Pacific’s
long,
low moaning whistle
drowned out my own howling
at the moon
and the dreams
that had disappeared.

And when I was done,
when my howling had ended,
I drove long and slow
down that old swamp path,
eye and eye nearly swollen shut,
caked with dust
that had dried up
in these desert fields,
dried up and blown away,
not like a dream deferred,
but like a vision
and a hope
sacrificed on an altar
of obedience
I wasn’t quite ready
nor prepared
to kneel at.

Shopping Man Crying: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

June 19, 2015

What kind of man cries/
when clothes shopping? A man who’s/
been away too long.

Cry An Example: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

February 8, 2015

Do not ever hate/
crying with emotion*, or/
you’ll shut off my tears.

OR
*emotional crying, ‘cuz/

Helping His Mommy At Christmas Time: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Lament

December 2, 2014

Somewhere tonight,
a son stayed home,
helping his mommy.

The elderly lady moved
through her house,
finding recycled gifts
which she gleefully packaged
to give to her friends.

Her son followed behind,
lifting boxes of lights
and ornaments
and bows
and presents
to help her.

He had friends
laughing
and singing
and looking at
the bright lights of the city.
His eyes sometimes brimmed
with tears
as he thought
of them
and the fun
he could have had.

They asked him
to go.
They offered him
a ride.
He had, at first,
said yes.
But then,
sadly,
he turned
them
down.

He wanted to go.
He wanted to be
with good folk,
like himself.

He wanted to look at
the nativities
and twinkling trees,
and hear the laughter of children
and adults
and the quiet whisper
of people
reflecting
on the gift of the Savior.

He wanted to get to know
more people,
and feel their friendship
and the joy of the season
and give them friendship
and comfort
and joy,
as he knew
he could.
As he knew
he had.

Instead, he did
what he was asked.
He didn’t ever want
to hurt anybody.
He didn’t want anyone
to feel rejected.

He wept
at the thought
that he bruised tender hearts.

Still,
he knew
and knows
he followed his heart.
Still,
given the choice,
this boy
will
always
try to help
his mommy.

Especially
at Christmas.

Tears. No Words: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

October 11, 2014

Two weeks ago he/
walked 18. Today they must/
let him go. No words.
Panorama Glanstan Golf Course - Payson, UT - Fall colors

Hurt Instead Of Help: Romantic Blogging Free Verse Lament

July 19, 2014

Don’t you hate it when
you try to help,
but hurt instead?
And leave her
standing on the curb,
or staring at her phone,
or leaning, hands limp, on the keyboard,
or slouched in her chair,
or sitting in her car,
or slumped against the doorway,
crying,
suffering,
heart breaking,
and wondering:
“What the hell
just happened?”

Why Was She Crying: Romantic ImproVerse Haiku

January 22, 2014

When she bowed her head/
to cry like others had, I/
thought I had hurt her.