Posts Tagged ‘hurting’

Ancient Of Days Result: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

May 20, 2018

Torn tendons. Torqued back./
Bruised wrist. Blisters. Bad eyes. Scouts,/
yard work, or marriage?

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Liking All That Nature Stuff: Revolutionary Blogging Rhyming Haiku Lament

May 10, 2018

She heaved a deep sigh/
and said her guy liked that “stuff”./
He’s sad ‘midst treasures.
A backyard of daisies, poppies and other wildflowers, NW Georgia, May 2018

Finally Learning Life’s Lessons: Revolutionary Blogging Sonnet

April 26, 2018

My early life seemed always
to play the same old song.
I lived a decades-long phase
where I was told “You’re wrong.”

Everything I did or said
was corrected or changed.
It at last went to my head.
I felt foolish and deranged.

In my effort to change my life
I took another way.
I dumped corrective strife.
It seemed foolish to stay.

Now I see the truth of my strange and weird way:
I’m at last honest. Now I must be certain of what I say.

SHHHH! Speaking Truth Quietly: Revolutionary Blogging Haiku

March 18, 2018

There are truths which need/
to be said, for your sake, but/
kept private for hers.

Where She Goes Away: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku Lament

March 17, 2018

She’s deep in her phone/
at sunset. Pink Floyd plays: “How/
I wish you were here.”

Such A Loss: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku Lament

November 19, 2017

Her hands made art, wrote/
words. Now they’ve taken who she/
*was, not all she’ll be.

OR
*was and all she’d be.

Dancing With Myself Dislike: Romantic Blogging Haiku Lament

July 21, 2017

Going to concerts/
solo reminds me how much/
I hate loneliness.

Her Love’s Still On Facebook: Romantic Blogging Haiku

July 3, 2017

He smiles at me from/
her embrace on Facebook. I/
think: “She’s not ready.”

Barefoot Desert Dancing Beach Boy: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

June 19, 2017

MDancing barefoot in the desert on SoDa Row to a Beach Boys tribute band June 2017y feet are cracked. Pain./
It’s what you get from dancing/
Barefoot in deserts.

Childless Father’s Day Redux: Revolutionary ImproVerse Rhyming Poetic Lament

June 18, 2017

Mere minutes away,
but they’ve got no money.
Don’t our children know
that their dads would mow
their lawn, take out the garbage,
or clean their garage,
to be with their children on Father’s Day?

Anything beats sitting at home
all alone,
staring at the phone,
waiting for their call.
Trying not to bawl
or feel dumb
When the message doesn’t come.
Feeling sad,
I wonder: “How bad
was I as a dad?”