Growing Pains: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

I’m not who I was/
I just wish someone would tell/
my parents that truth.

No Matter How Old: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

If you don’t feel safe/
in your nativity then/
you must cut the cord.

Thanks To My Daughter’s Friend: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

I wept so hard I could almost not dictate this.

I walk gratefully,
reverently,
into her house,
where my daughter’s guardian angel
stands watch.

Skin falls off
boiling plums
and young old bones
and her parents tell me
that they would give everything
to have their daughter back.
But since they can’t
they will give me what they can,
what their angel daughter
told them to give,
to make sure her friend,
my daughter,
doesn’t leave.

I stand on an island,
speechless.

It is only much later
that I can weep
tears of gratitude,
for I have already wept
tears of sorrow
for their loss.

Perhaps,
because of their daughter’s love,
voice,
inspiration,
and angelic soul,
they won’t have to weep
for mine.

Why Backups Are Needed: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Poetry

When parents split,
Children must make choices.
I did.
No matter where I went,
I had a backup.
If one parent didn’t work out,
I could leave,
Go elsewhere,
Be with someone else.

Dating was the same way.
I’d develop relationships,
Love,
Passion,
But always kept another
In my back pocket,
As a backup.

Marriage should have changed that.
It did
For awhile.
But when I felt unloved,
When there was stress
Or anger
Or loneliness,
I looked for
A backup
Or two,
Or three.

But, unlike with my parents,
I lost everything.

Now I stand alone,
Again,
Seeking love,
Affirmation,
Passion,
Companionship.

But the old fears,
Habits,
Mistakes
Creep in.
I seek backups,
So when she bails,
Denies,
Hurts me,
Shuts down,
Another will be there,
Coming off the bench,
Substituting,
Filling needs
That were never there.

For true love
Needs no backup,
No substitute,
No replacement.

True love just needs
Trust,
Belief
And acceptance.

Knowing that,
Learning that,
Understanding that,
Accepting that
Is my first step.

Where’s The Fun In Youth Sports: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

His parents grilled their/

young sports star on his skills. What /

happened to his  fun?

Who Cares For Caregivers: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Poetry

She,/
SuperWoman,/
cares 4 sick/
parents,/
children,/
grandkids:

Caresses,
holds,
rocks,
feeds,
cleans them.

While she nurtures
every1 else,
who cares 4 her?

I do.

Writing for the Thousandth Time: Revolutionary Improv Blogging Poem

As I stare again at the blank blog screen
and post for the thousandth time,
I wonder what I should make it mean?
What sort of message deep and sublime
should flow?
Where should I go?
(Or should I even rhyme?)

In two years I’ve written
romantic poetry;
complaints about people.
Thoughts revolutionary.

I’ve taken a thought
and tried to cram it
like hot metal wrought
into a form iambic.

Or sometimes it’d do
to raise words like winter’s first
crocus: write haiku.

Or a slant
rant.
No rhyme.
Angered words
rage,
spewed forth
on a slam’s
stage.

Dark.
Beat.
Black.

Words captured snowflakes.
Rain.
Sunbeams.
Osprey.
Curry.
Blondes.
Children, parents, family.

Social situations that seem so complex as to defy all logic yet somehow sometimes I’m able to laser-clearly see and cut through all the crap and dross and rhetoric and just
explain.

All these have been written about.
All these forms were used.
And I am, this early Friday morning,
tired.
Not thinking as sharply
as I have.
As I could.

But I want to finish.
Want to post.
Want to pass that milestone,
and maybe boast
a little.

Those who have read
know I write, often,
of love.
Usually unrequited.
Sometimes fulfilled.
Often wah wah wah
as when I started this journey
five years ago.

(She
who inspired me
won’t even know.
She never thought I’d go
this far.)

I thought I might
write
again
of that love,
and thank all the muses.
But I won’t.
They’ve received their thanks
(when they’ve recognized it was for them
the words flowed).

Love
is
what I’ll,
at last,
write of.

Love and gratitude.
Though some may not approve,
to me,
He exists:
My Father.

He lit the fire.
He gave me belief.
Courage.
Conviction.
Strength.
Inspiration.

He opened my eyes
to see,
again,
a world fantastic
beyond measure;
a world I’d always seen,
but never chronicled.

But then
He gave me pen,
and said “Dream.
And write your dreams.”

And I have.

And my heart has pumped blood onto the page.
And my mind has seen visions I never imagined.
And my soul has been twisted and shaped and opened and moved and grown in ways painful and strange and wonderous and wonderful and fulfilling.

And I am grateful.

I’ve posted one thousand poems.
Now I am going to go shower.

Facing the 2nd Half: A Revolutionary ConTEXTing Plea to a Daughter

He wandered/
thru a half life:/
Children, parents, friends, wife./
Staring at the 2nd half,/
full of hope and doubt,/
he asked his daughter/
2 illustrate his way out.