“Write A Poem!” She Said: Revolutionary ImproVerse Rhyming Haiku

An old ironing board/
was at the freeway side. Don’t/
fight it. Just write it

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Loving The Revolution: Revolutionary Romantic IMprov Blogging Poetry

Fulfilling a promise I made on President Obama’s Inauguration Day, to write a poem or prose a daily, I’ve now more than doubled my self-imposed quota. Thanks to the muses — known and unknown — who have inspired me, and to my friends who expressed their belief in me. Inspired by Facebook’s “The Reflective Writer”, here is my 2000th poem, combining the two main themes of this blog: Romance and Revolution.

I love
my Revolution.
I embrace
change.
I woo
adapting.
I desire
adjustment.

It’s romantic,
isn’t it?
This self-propelled
repair;
this analysis
and violent rebirth;
this surgery
that let’s me
see
and be
who I am,
revolutionary.

Accepting change
means changing
the way we view
everything.

The revolution
heads down
from our brain,
up from our heart
and soul,
and out
our mouths
and fingertips.

But first,
we must love us
and the world.
We must romance
ourselves,
believing the world
needs love,
sweet love;
love is all you need.

And when we love ourselves,
and love the world,
we take that vow
of love.
We disavow
that fear
which holds us back
from revolutionary
acts.

We change
who we are,
Because we love;
Because we romanticize
life;
Because we embrace
joy;
Because a little revolution,
now and then,
is good for the soul.

And when we create revolution
in ourselves,
we extend how much
we can love.

Years ago,
revolutionaries spoke
from Capitol steps.
It was in this hope
and audacity,
that I vowed,
hopefully,
audaciously,
to start my own
revolution,
because I loved myself,
and wanted to romance
the world.

The revolution
called for one
a day.
One statement.
One thought.
One outpouring.
One lament.
One laugh.
One cry.
One moan.
One change.
One.

2,000 posts later,
this vowed daily one
has become
my expression
of romance,
love,
and revolution.

And I’m not done.
Join me.

The Reason For Red Pillows During Improv Street Poetry: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Poem

During Vashon’s First Friday Art Walk, it’s not uncommon to see street musicians and artists on the city streets, busking for money from passers-by. Vashon Island has a unique, creative character (including bumperstickers that read: “Keep Vashon Poetic” and “Keep Vashon Weird”).
During the August, 2010 First Friday Art Walk, I decided Vashon would be a great place to try “improv street performance poetry”, so, tip hat, red pillow, and signs in hand, I set up on a street corner and proceeded to spend two hours busking … doing street poetry. Usually the poems started with “Because this is Vashon/I can stand on the street/and invent funny rhymes/about the people I meet.” And then I’d go on to comment about the day, what they were doing, how they were dressed, etc.
The best responses came from families with children — they seemed to laugh the loudest when my Dr. Seussian poetry “hit home”.
And someone asked me about why I stood on a red pillow. There was no reason, really, (other than to say “Here is where the poet stands”), so I thought I’d make one up!

Red pillows/
protect feet/
when improv words flow/
from my mouth/
2 the street./
Unlike rhymes from fingertips,/
noise of lips/
can thud.

Hypocrisy of the Unforgiving Liberal: A Revolutionary Improv Audio Poem

This was an improv poem I made up and recorded while driving away from a liberal friend’s house, after she declared “I can’t get over that.”

Interestingly,/
the ones who are the most liberal,/
always seem to be/
the ones who can’t forget at all./

But they hold your feet to the fire/
for events that transpired/
years before you met./
They can’t seem to forget … /

nor forgive./
What a way to live.

What A Favorite Date Would Be: A Romantic IMprov Poem

Concerts?
Four-star desserts?
I’m much more simple.
to start.
I speak
from the heart,
hold hands
in the dark
of the drive-in movie.

I dance with her slowly;
tell her she’s groovy.
Look at her only.

And then,
if she had fun,
I ask her again
on another one,

Where we might get
Cho-o-late
and sit
and talk.

Later on
would come
the passion
and expensive fun,
after all the deep
groundwork is done!

How long does it take?
How long should one wait?
I have no clue!
Neither do you.

But when it’s due,
it will be known by we two.

Why You Should Go To Bed: A Revolutionary IMprov Sonnet

Instead of staying up
and caterwauling
and denying my busting nut
by not late-night calling,

Why don’t you instead
do what you should:
Go to bed!
Sleep is good!

So, go to your soft, king sized, where
warm exists, if only in part,
because he’s already there,
leaving dutch oven tarts.

And you can breathe deep, and drink
to my memory, and in the stink.