Yes, You Did, But You’re Not: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

Don’t be hurt when folks/
cut down your bad past. Tell your/
forgiveness blessing

Though She Thinks I Am, I Don’t: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku Lament

I’ve been insulted/
before, but I don’t recall/
such deep ridicule.

I Don’t Think I Am: Romantic ImproVerse Haiku Lament

She thinks I am a/
narcissist. I think I’ll end/
our relationship.

Politics Ruin Sunsets: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

There’s nothing like a/
political debate to/
wreck a great sunset.
OR
There is nothing like /
good political debates/
to ruin sunsets.

Update: I think I like this one best!
Even a lousy/
political debate can’t/
wreck a great sunset.

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On Accepting Help: Revolutionary IMprov Free Verse Poem

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.

Insults In A Religion Class: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku Lament

The insult message/
hurt so badly I couldn’t /
hear the loving* words.
Or
healing*

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

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.

I Won’t Show Deference For Insults: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

It may not make sense,/
but I have no deference
nor love for insults.

Mary M. and the “R Word” : Revolutionary Email Poetic Lament

Her name was Mary.
She went to 6th grade with me.
I made fun of her.
I called her names,
Mostly the “r-word”.
I wrinkled up my nose,
Mimicked the way she nasally spoke.

I threw snowballs at her
When she walked to school,
And when she walked home.
Her friends would surround her
And try to protect her
From the cold slush that
Would smack her face
And make her scream
“Leave me ALONE!”.

But her friends could not
Surround and protect her
From the stinging insults
I and my friends
Hurled at her:
Retard.
Moron.
Mental.

That was nearly
A half century ago.
I see public service announcements
Telling me what I already know:
The R word is hurtful
And wrong,
And my memory
Of Mary
Cuts me
deservedly.

Now I am
In the same mountain valley
As I was then,
A place where people
Are supposed to be nice.

Someone in an office
Says a co-worker is a “retard”,
Then asks “Is that okay
To call him that?”

I want to stand
And scream:
“NO!
DEAR GOD!
NO!
NOT THAT!
It’s NOT OK!”

Her name was Mary.
I called her names,
Made fun of her,
And made her cry.

I’ve thought about Mary,
off and on,
for decades.
The memory of her
makes me now cry.
I want to tell her
I was ignorant
and stupid.
I want to ask
For her forgiveness,
But I don’t know how.

So I remember,
And weep,
And write:
“Mary.
I am sorry.”

Open Letter To A Rude Counsellor: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku Lament

How DOES one find or/
develop self esteem when/
insults are flying?