Posts Tagged ‘ImproVerse Free Verse’

Utah Radio Gong Show: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poetry Lament

January 8, 2015

Will someone,
PLEASE!
beg Utah radio DJs
to STOP!
their silly prattling
over the final
epic
“GONG!”
at the end of
Queen’s
Bohemian Rhapsody“?

Let the gong
song
FINISH!

Because
it does
really
matter
to me.
(Any way the wind blows).

Click here to hear/see the Gong.

Supah Wisconsin Style (Donchaknow!): Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse

January 6, 2015

While I’m getting ready/

to fly out,
a sophisticated,

jet-setting

Mercedes-driving couple

sees my cheesehead,

my John Kuhn autographed Packers jersey,

my Wisconsin wool and leather letterman’s jacket,

and my Packers shopping bag

(filled with cheese

and summer sausage.)

They smile,

and then exclaim: “We like your style!”

Ja, hey!

I’m in Wisconsin,

aina?!?

Packers Cheesehead Wisconsin Style

Trying To Listen, Trying To Be: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse

December 2, 2014

It has been a very
long
time
since I have tried
to listen
to the Spirit
in everything
I do.

I’ve spent the last
lost
several years
lost,
just doing
my own thing,
not
having the Spirit
with me at
all.

That is a difficult habit
to get out of,
making your own decisions
and just doing
whatever
you want.
I don’t hear him
very well
yet.
I don’t even ask him
as much as
I should.

I am learning.
I’m very sorry
that you get caught
in the crossfire
of my ignorance.

And my mother and I
sing “I’m trying to be
like Jesus,”
and I cry because
so often
I fail
and
so often
I hurt others.
I don’t want to.

It Could Be Worse: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem Lament

November 25, 2014

Death
of my
battery.

When your mother
keeps the car trunk light
on
for 2 days,
that’s what happens.

And what Chrysler engineer
had the idiot idea
to put the battery
in the driver’s-side
wheel well,
behind a splash guard,
with no easily-accessible
screws?

Stupidhead.

I was furious.
45 minutes
and 2 screws out,
6 to go,
I was worse.

I walked home.
I was cold.
I was angry.

Then I met the guy
who was a few blocks away
from getting on the freeway.

He stopped at a stop sign,
and his axle on his old van
broke,
and his front wheel
fell off.

And he was grateful.

“It could have been
so much worse.
I was blessed.”

He was right.
And now I’m grateful
and blessed.

I’m Glad I Still Rock: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse

November 7, 2014

In the midst
of a Victorian ballroom
and punk
only a 50-something
and a 5-something
could rock it.
Why?
Or, maybe,
Y knot?

Decorating The (Very Long Name) Auditorium: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse

December 27, 2013

Sisterhood of the Woodland Plaid AuditoriumWhen you get the chance/
to decorate/
the Sisterhood of the Woodland Plaid/
Auditorium,/
take it.

Recognition: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse

July 21, 2013

If you are doing/
what you should be doing,/
you will recognize the Savior/
because you will be like Him.

What Mothers Don’t Know: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

May 12, 2013

A friend inadvertently spoke/created a poem for her grandkids. (You can read it here.) That typical “not knowing”, on Mother’s Day, inspired this piece. Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers who, like her, don’t know.

Like a typical mother,
She’d influenced lives
(she didn’t know);
She’d spread joy
(she didn’t know);
She’d written poetic words of wisdom
(she didn’t know);
She’d taught self-esteem and
charity-pure love and
happiness
(she didn’t know).

She’d nourished,
and comforted,
and guided,
and protected,
and grown,
and fostered,
and healed,
and helped,
and blessed
(she didn’t know).

Like mothers everywhere
and in every time,
she didn’t know
what she’d done,
and what she was doing,
still.

And people would look
at what she did,
and exclaim:
“How could she not know?!?”
The answer is simple:
Mothers don’t need to know.
They just do.

And she still won’t know
unless
you tell her.

How We Served Memories: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

February 24, 2013

Of course she remembers
me never serving.
Of course she recalls
I left quickly from every activity,
from every meeting,
from every event.
Of course she recollects
I said “Let’s just go home.”

And of course my children remember
completely the opposite.
They recall that we stayed,
and cleaned up,
and helped put things away,
and talked to everyone,
and were frequently
among the last to leave.

Because when she,
hurt,
in pain,
complaining,
was with us,
my sole desire,
knowing of her pain
and her discomfort,
was to get her home
as quickly as possible;
to get her relaxed
and rested;
to serve her
the best way I knew how.

But when she wasn’t with us,
then my desire was to stay
with my children and
my friends and neighbors,
and serve,
and teach my children to serve.

So both my children’s memories
and her recollections
of how we served,
or didn’t,
are correct.

I do not have to justify
my actions
as I raised my children.
I feel vindicated,
justified,
and absolved.

I did the best
I knew how.
I know it.
My children know it.
And I know He knows it,
because He just told me.

Suspending Disbelief, Because Maybe We All Hurt: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Response Poetry

February 22, 2013

A friend forwarded this video poem to me: http://youtu.be/ltun92DfnPY
and said it brought back painful childhood memories.
This is my response, not so much to the poem, as to her pain:

——-
She,
a cheerleader beauty,
now loved mother/Nana,
saw a poem about
a Fatboy ,
an ugly girl,
a popper,
and she claimed
it brought back pains
and bad
and sad
childhood memories.

As I listened,
I doubted,
and wondered,
and thought “Nobody ever called her
pizza face
or melon head
or pork chop
or chicken legs
or dogface”.

And she never had anyone
she loved
and trusted tell her:
“I love you as my child,
but
i hate you as a person.”
Or
“How can God love you?
You are so evil.”

But then I realized:
How would I know?
Can I deny her pain?
No.
Can I feel
her heart?
Or read
her soul
that may,
to this day,
ache?
No.

With her memories,
she
made me
realize this truth:
I don’t know the burden
or the ache
or the lonely
that’s hidden
inside of any
one.

But if it sucks as bad
as mine did,
and sometimes
still does;
if it rips them apart
and bares them open
as much as mine did
and, too often,
still does,
let me promise
here and now
with all my being
and heart
and soul,
with tears flowing,
and empathy growing,
that I will NEVER assume
that someone was
or is
without pain
in their lives,
and I will NEVER be
the reason
to add
to that ache.

Instead,
please, God,
help me
to be the eraser,
to remove some of that internal,
eternal
ache
and bring some joy
into their lives.

Because I don’t know.
I really don’t know.
I just don’t know.