Posts Tagged ‘free verse poem’

Do As You’re Told Leg Rot – ImproVerse Free Verse Lament

July 25, 2019

I did
as I was told.
I went
to the ER.
I saw
doctors, nurses, NPs.

I filled out
all the forms
as I was told.

I waited
on insurance.
Now I’m watching
my leg rot off.

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Suspend Disbelief To Be You: Revolutionary Free Verse

February 23, 2019

When you suspend disbelief
about who you are, then
you can come to believe
who you truly are.

Today’s Highlight Is Simply More Beautiful: Revolutionary IMprov Free Verse Gratitude Poem

April 21, 2018

Today,
Gulls in flight, St. George Island, FL, April 2018
I saw gorgeous seas,
billowing golden clouds,
bright blue skys,
frothy waves,
elegant birds,
majestic trees,St. George Island FL lighthouse with wildflowers
bright and colorful wildflowers,
lush landscapes;
a fantastic sunset;
but when I viewed
a picture of my granddaughter
for the first time,
I simply muttered,
softly:
“Beautiful!”,
and wept with joy.
St. George Island causeway sunset, April 2018

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

How Seattle Feels … A Lot: Revolutionary Commentary Free Verse Poem

March 19, 2017

Remember/
that time/
when was sunny/
in Seattle/
and I was texting,/
looking at my phone,/
and I missed it?

Preparing For Migration: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse

August 15, 2016

Purple martins and
Canada geese and
osprey and
mallard ducks and
great blue herons and
barn swallows
are feeding at sunset,
preparing
for the rigors
of their long autumn migration.

I should go
eat a big cereal bowl
of black cherry chunky
chocolate ice cream.
Preparing for autumn Migration sunset at Lake Winneconne

Why Do I Love You? Romantic Free Verse Love Letter

July 14, 2016

With apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(Written around 1996 to my wife.)
For ___ mi Schatz

Why do I love you?
The reasons seem clear to me, though
I know you, scanning the mirror,
do not always see face to face
as I do you.

Or you would know that,
as a friend, I love you as my chief,
nay, sole, confidant,the only person
to whom I can, or want, to tell my
secret desires, whims, fantasies
and dreams.

But more, you are my therapist,
helping me visualize dreams
I never knew I had,
Bringing them into focus
for us to grasp together;
helping me solve — and survive —
the problems and delusions of life.

You are my intimate, and have taught me
that joy shared is Joy realized.
Before you, fun was BeachBoySurfSand.
Now, it is rapture, bliss, joy complete,
no matter how small
(watching a sunset together)
or how climatic and grandiose
(the birth of our children).
It has taken on a synergy, where
the sum of the experience
does not measure up to the total
because you share it with me.

I love you because you give
and give, and give, and give
and though I wish you would take more,
I cannot ignore what you give
and endow so freely.

I love you because of the gift of life
you gave and are giving daily, not only
to our children
but to me.
Your selfless sacrifice
helps me accomplish
what I need to feel of worth.

Dare I say it? I love you
as a paramour
(though technically, they are only men).
You are not afraid
of dalliances with your husband,
of sending him chocolates and a dozen
red roses … or of offering your moist red roses to him, whether wrapped —
in white silk, scarlet or lace midnight —
or unwrapped, surrounded only by
your sweet perfume.
As my ship of state of mind
is battered and tossed
on the angry world seas,
you are not afraid to grab me,
pull me down and provide my anchor.

I love you for your physical beauty,
and for the extra that your spirit adds.
I gaze at you in wonder, often, because
you are so comely.
Every part of you blends exquisitely
with every other part
and then
— like frosting on a cake —
your spirit exalts the physical
to radiant perfection.

I love you because of your intellect.
Your sagacity puts into new perspective
ideas and thoughts that have confounded
the so-called wise men of our time
and ages past.
I delight in your acumen,
in our long talks together,
when I try to intellectually ramble
and you adjust, provide commentary, and
summarize in a neat, tidy package.

And I’m continually amazed at
your ability to innovate,
to think new thoughts,
and to present them flawlessly.
You’ve given me many more insights
and much more knowledge
than any of my previous so-called
intellectual friends.
Compared to you
they were like the dew
before the mid-day sun.

I love you for your gracious nature,
for your courteous, cordial,
genteel ways,
for the grace with which you carry
yourself
and for the dignity I receive when
I am with you.

Lastly — because it is
the Alpha and Omega
of our Existence —
I love you for your sanctified nature,
not only for the godly part of you
that find nuances of the SPirit
I’ve never experience and makes them
part of our thoughts,
but more,
I love you
for the spirituality you bring into
our home,
our relationship,
my life.

And so you can see …

I do love you, and though
I cannot let you see your grace, beauty
and spirit
through my eyes, yet,
perhaps,
I can polish the mirror
so you may see more clearly
until that day when we both
will see ourselves
and each other
face to face
and know
even as we are known.
Love, _______ dein David

On Accepting Help: Revolutionary IMprov Free Verse Poem

March 25, 2016

It’s such a common thing
among
the sisters of Zion.

So many walls up.
So much fear.
And worry.
And don’ts.
And can’ts.
And shouldn’ts.

As though they think
anyone will think
less of them
for the less
that others do
to them.

As though we
who have been
or could be
there
would ever
deride them
for seeking,
quietly,
for the help
others force them into.

They feel bad
and hide
and suffer
inside,
instead
of letting charity
never fail.

Thank Heaven For (Grandma’s) Little Neighbor Girls: Revolutionary Email Free Verse

February 26, 2016

Grandma
lived alone,
central Wisconsin cottage
built with her husband’s hands
before he died,
too early,
there.

She was not
cottage-bound.
She could go anywhere.
But there,
she chose to stay
there
in her cottage home
and grow old.

Little neighbor girls
brought her wild flowers,
and colored leaves,
and crayon’d pictures
they’d drawn.

Eager and happy
they would show her,
and she,
with her
“Oh, how beautiful!”
exclamations,
would put the flowers
in a Blatz beer glass
on the bar,
or would tape
the colorful drawings
onto her old, white fridge,
and would chatter
excitedly
to the little neighbor girls
and learn of their day
and teach them cards
and flowers
and wild birds
and mysteries of
the lake
and the woods
and the pond
and hot chocolate.

When I,
first-born grandson,
would visit
from college,
or from traveling,
or to come home,
she would show me
the drawings,
and tell me
excitedly,
about the little neighbor girls,
M and S H’s kids,
and how wonderful they were,
and how they always
came to visit,
and how she loved
talking to them
and sharing with them.

I met them
a coupla two-tree times,
that Wisconsin way,
as they brought
wildflowers
and drawings
and love.

“Oh, how beautiful.”

Time passed.
I was there,
she and I,
alone,
when she did, too.
That sacred experience
etched deep in my mind.
A great soul
flying home.

Sometimes the little girls
would still come by
the cottage,
but it was never
the same.
Her great heart
which had filled
us all
had stilled,
and all we had
were memories
and love.

Many years later
I met
one of the little neighbor girls
unknowingly.

We were both
grown now,
a woman,
no longer little.
She needed
someone tall,
(which I am not).
And I,
aged,
didn’t know I’d seen her
and her wildflowers
and her crayon’d drawings
in Grandma’s kitchen.

We smiled
as we recalled
Grandma’s love
and warmth
and excitement.

Then,
tears welled up
as I thought of
Grandma,
alone,
in that cottage.

Most widows
whither
and dry,
and die.

But she,
surrounded by beauty,
and love,
flourished for decades.
Looking forward
to walks in the woods
and geese flying
and cardinals, finches and chickadees
feeding by the window
and crocuses and daffodils and tulips
and wildflowers
blooming
and ice out
and first frost,
and bright red/orange leaves.

And,
amidst it all,
little girls
who visited
daily,
when I could not,
who loved her
and let her love them
for years.
Extending her life
and her love
for decades.

Sobbing now,
I realize
the great gift
they gave
my Grandmother
and my family.

I don’t know
how to thank them.
I don’t know
if they can understand.
I don’t even know
their names.

I can only say:
“Thank Heaven
for my Grandma’s
little neighbor girls.”
Grandma Bertha Kuhns, Lake Winneconne sunset just before ice out

Emotional Candy Store Dreaming Reality: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

January 29, 2016

BYU Museum of Paleontology - BYU Night at the Museums emotional man Who gets emotional/
about getting let into/
the back workroom/
research center/
of a world-class/
paleontology museum?/

Every middle-aged man/
who was once a little boy/
making stegosauruses/
out of modeling clay,/
pinching the green or red putty/
to form its back plates,/
rolling finely-pointed tail spikes/
between his fingers.

Plates of Food And Stegosauraus

Stegosaurus: BYU Paleontology Museum