Posts Tagged ‘flames’

Full Moon Flames: Revel ConTEXTing Haiku

May 4, 2012

Full Moon Fire Burns Diseased Wood and MemoriesA full moon rises/
over my banked fire as I /
burn old diseased wood.


The full moon rises/
over my banked fire as I /
burn dear memories.

Marshmallow Head Retort: Revolutionary IMprov Poem

March 2, 2011

A friend was professionally dissed by a friend of hers, who then asked if they could “try again”. She said the phrase in retort was something stronger than “Marshmallow Head”, but I liked THAT cut … so I IMprov’d what she could have said:
If I put your marshmallow head
in the heat of my creativity
and inspiration
and activity,
you will burst into flames
until you are a melting
of blackened,
And that will just make a mess.

It Hurts: Romantic IMprov Prose

October 13, 2010

How does being creative about you feel?

It hurts.
I write, in my mind, about your hurts.
I write, in my mind, about dancing with you,
hugging you,
caressing you.
I write, in my mind, about sharing your pain.
I write, in my mind, to remove the pain caused by past lovers, men who were not worthy of your spark, grace, fire, but who were content to be gathered around the warmth of your energetic flames.
I write, in my mind, about how I know how to start a fire with just one match, or one spark, or one hopeful, glowing ember.
I write, in my mind, how I have always tended fires and kept them alive and radiant, even when others could or would not.
I write, in my mind, about how I wish I had one-tenth the chance those men had to do things you are passionate about, about how they failed you so miserably, about how they nearly doused your flames, about how I wouldn’t, but would instead ignite and restore and fan the flames.
I write, in my mind, about how you inspire me.
About how I enjoy being with you.
About how you move me unexpectedly, like a warm evening breeze on a previously still and silent lake suddenly moves a small, becalmed sailboat.
And, knowing you are not here, writing about you, sometimes, hurts.

Embers of the fire, dying: A revolutionary IMprov poem

February 26, 2009

The dying
embers of the fire
needed a little poke
to make the flames climb higher;

to avoid the smoke
that sometimes
into our eyes
and waters them
but, as we cry,
we are cleansed.
And the fire, stirred,
roars passionately again.