Jaw-Dropping Red Dress: Romantic IMprov Haiku

I tried to type a/
gracious red dress compliment./
My jaw hit the keys.

Hurt Instead Of Help: Romantic Blogging Free Verse Lament

Don’t you hate it when
you try to help,
but hurt instead?
And leave her
standing on the curb,
or staring at her phone,
or leaning, hands limp, on the keyboard,
or slouched in her chair,
or sitting in her car,
or slumped against the doorway,
crying,
suffering,
heart breaking,
and wondering:
“What the hell
just happened?”

Advertisement

Recognizing Depression: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

I know I’m depressed./
My keyboard’s blank and so is/
my dictionary.

Emotions Outrace Fingertips: Romantic Haiku

Fingertips race o’er
my keyboard, and still I can’t
catch my emotions.

My Canvas, Your Muse: Romantic Email Limerick

My first email to someone was, I thought, poetic. It’s followed by a response to her return email, and a improv limmerick

(sent Sept. 16, 2010, 11:47 am.)
How 2 Xplain reading your entire profile
It made my fingers tremble?
It fired my imagination?
It dropped me to my knees in gratitude?
It caused my jaw to first drop, then hurt because I was smiling so broadly?
It made me wonder if our first date could be a picnic on the beach, followed by dancing under (not with) the stars, in the sand?
It made me ask myself: “What do I have to do to be introduced to this fascinating goodness?!?”
——————–
My writing, like my personality, is deep, heart-felt, often humorous if the mood strikes (which it often does), but also sincere and, sometimes, intense.
Art is like that. Creativity is like that. Sincere. Heart-felt. Intense.
Some artists create with metal and stone, using drills, heat and tools to shape and mold their wares.
Some use canvas and brush to create visions of beauty.

My canvas is your computer screen.
A keyboard is my pallet to give words meaning.
And you have been my Muse today,
for which gift I can only say:
Thank you, for thoughts gentle and serene.

—-
[Postlude: We met, in person, at an apple cider pressing party near her home. We spoke briefly, awkwardly, as I helped with the cider press, the sterilization, the work of making apple cider, and she mingled with the other guests.
I haven’t seen her since.]

Keyboard as a Pillow: Romantic ConTEXTing Haiku

Did you fall asleep/
on your keyboard? Alphabet/
traces missing me?

Romancing Our Keyboards: A Revolutionary Email Sonnet Lament

Yet another weekend ev’n is past;/
The week soon starts again, too fast,/
Yet we sit, still, at our keyboard,/
and wonder why we are alone, tired, bored./
Or are we truly resolute and complete?/
Do we view/
our solitude/
as victory, not defeat?/
We may nurse our whine/
with wine;/
assuage our aged fear
with beer./
But if we, with our own company, are endeared,/
then why sit we, fingers dancing, quasi-romancing, here?

The Poet Alone: A revolutionary sonnet

The silence deafens
and suprises me;
the lack of women’s letters
I’d hoped to see.

Perhaps SuperBusyWomen
don’t, after all, have the time
to leave their hurried, rushed lives
and listen to my rhyme.

Perhaps she who I put on the shelf
was right!
But still, my keyboard and I forge
into the empty night.

Where I discover poetry is writ not for she,
nor them, nor thee, but — alone — for me.