Sharing Experiences Can Wait: Romantic ImproVerse Haiku

There is much I would/
like to share with her, but I/
don’t need to. Not yet.

The Silence Of The Past: Romantic Blogging Poem

Your past experience

Has always been

There is no rush.

There is little anticipation.

It is always just convenient.

It doesn’t mean anything.

You claim it is different

With us,

But when there is only silence

It sounds like

What you’ve told me about.

It feels the same

To me.

So I wonder

If the distance

And the blasé’

And the non-connection

Is really what you want,

Just like you always have.

And I wonder

If I should ask,

Or would that be pushy.

And I wonder

If I should just wait,

In silence,

And how long

it will be

Until I finally

Figure it out.

Until I finally

believe

and trust

with my heart,

my heart.

Misty-Eyed In An Alpine Meadow: Revolutionary Email Prose Memory

I recently recalled a life-changing event which happened when I first lived in Switzerland in the late 70s. As I wrote about it in an email and have thought about it since, it’s interesting to see how much it reflects my life and belief system.

I once was, with a group of friends, running down a steep mountain trail in the Alps above Luzern. It had started to mist slightly as the clouds rose up off the Vierwaldstaedtersee and slammed into the mountainside.
And then, while my friends ran onward, something caught my ears. In the distance I could hear cowbells (mind you, this was well before “More Cowbell” became popular!). They were the varied notes of dozens of Alpine cowbells, all ringing in uncomposed, yet somehow perfect, harmony, through the mist.
I stopped running, and thought to myself: “When will I ever again have this moment? When will nature and man-made music collide to play this for me?” Instead of running willy-nilly through the Alpine meadows — which, I noticed for the first time, were in early May bloom –, I strolled.
Sauntered.
Sometimes stopped and listened and reflected and learned.
I arrived at the village nearly two hours after my hurried, running friends.
“You missed dinner!” they exclaimed.
Instead, I feasted on cheese, slice apples, and yogurt, which seemed to fit the afternoon.
I could never bear to tell them:
“You missed a world premier performance.”