Posts Tagged ‘iambic’

Don’t Remake Her: Romantic IMprov Iambic Poem

February 3, 2017

What does it take/
to remake her/
into that shape you/
want her to/
be?/

You can’t./
There’s no chance./
It’s her own power/
and destiny/
to flower/
and be/
her own she.

The harder you try/
to change/
and rearrange,/
the more she’ll run.

But be the man/
who’ll applaud loud./
Be her biggest fan;/
pull her out of the crowd./

Then maybe/
she’ll see/
what you see/
and be/
she./
Freely.

Advertisements

Cougar Et Tu Courage! Revolutionary IMprov Iambic Poem

February 2, 2017

I’d never met/
a Cougarette./
I’d had too much fear/
after watching them cheer./

Could her energetic and my blues dance/
lead to some sort of romance?/
She’d danced for the Cougs to win/
and now she lives in Santaquin!

I’d never met/
this Cougarette./
but the evening/
isn’t over yet./
(It looks like she’s leaving.)

There is no doubt:/
She’ll rise. I’ll shout.

Recalling Two Moments At Her Birthday Dance: Romantic IMprov Iambic Poem

January 17, 2015

When I gazed into her eyes/
I sighed,/
and was bereft/
and denied/
the chance/
to further dance/
and twirl/
and give the birthday girl/
her daughter’s window scraper.

To The Poet Who Rhymes All Of The Time: Revolutionary ImproVerse Iambic Free Verse Poem

January 12, 2015

Instead of trying to rhyme/
all of your poetic time,
why not increase your talent?/
Why don’t you finally relent?/
Why don’t you stop being so frantic/
and take some lines that could be iambic/
and make them not?

OR
Instead of trying to rhyme/
all of your poetic time,
why not increase your talent?/
Why don’t you finally relent?/
Why don’t you stop being so frantic/
and take some lines that could be iambic/
and make them not rhyme?
At all?
Not even a little bit!
Come on! Try it once
or twice.
It could be
really good for you.

Why the Desire for Sparks from a Fire? A Romantic Poem

November 17, 2009

As I stoked a dying fire,
A warmth set to soon expire,
I added more fuel: dried wood.
Gave coals space to breathe, good.

And as I watched pine
Smoldering there,
Wood slowly warming,
Yearning for air,

It gave me pause;
Made me wonder why
Women look for passions’ cause
And ask for “sparks to fly”.

Sparks flying mean only
The flame’s been disturbed, goaded,
Kicked, poked, prodded, turned,
Or that super-heated sap exploded.

Instead shouldn’t they look for
The smoky, slowly-warming feat
That finally gasps air, and with a roar
Throws off constant, strong, radiant heat?

No sparks there
Kicked, thrust, thrown at random
Into the night air
With sudden, reckless abandon!

But rather glowing, red,
Steady, comforting heat.
Passions’ flame which, carefully fed,
Gives warmth that will repeat.