Open Deep Woods Invitation, Unanswered: Revolutionary IMprov Haiku

I can have all the/
deep woods I want. If no one/
comes, what good are they?

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On The Beach, In The Woods, Up A Creek: Revolutionary IMprov Haiku

Some say my life was/
confusion. They never saw/
me dream, walking here.

2 Paths Diverging: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

I came around a/
corner in the woods and saw/
two paths diverging.

At My Dad And Mom’s House: Revolutionary Blogging Prose

If you visit my dad and mom’s lakefront house on the west shore of Lake Winneconne, Wisconsin, in the summer, you’ll find:
1 large fishing/water-skiing/tubeing boat
2 canoes (3 if you want to borrow my aunt’s)

Sailing at sunset with purple martin

Frog pond and woods

1 sailboat
1 rowboat
1 skiff
2 piers
1 big lake out the front door
several swimming noodles
several life jackets
several paddle boards
3 frog ponds
1 goldfish pond
1 swing
1 hammock
2 slide/swing set (next door)
1 fire pit
2 dirt piles
1 over-grown back yard
1 nearby slow moving river
1 nearby marsh
several nearby woods
several Indian/archeological mounds nearby
Uno cards
cribbage boards
several other games
a player piano
a kitchen
a grandma who will teach you to make taffy, peanut brittle, caramel corn, carrot cake, and pies
a garden
stacks of wood with critters in them
2 butterfly nets
2 frog and fish-catching nets
2 benches overlooking the lake
sunsets
clear skies
stars at night
fireflies
tons of bugs
a grandpa who can tell you about every plant, bug, bird and animal around
2 soccer balls
2 kickballs
beachballs
binoculars
magnifying glasses
mud
world-class airshows and aircraft museums nearby
cheese factories nearby
potato salad at Piggly Wiggly
Friday night fish frys
old steel toys
hotdog and bratwurst sticks
s’more ingredients
watermelons floating in the fresh spring pond
a garden with fresh tomatoes for BLTs
fresh, organic watercress (superfood!) for smoothies and cheese/watercress sandwiches
water skis
innertubes
rubber rafts
extra swimsuits and towels
rocks to turn over
a sandbox

vintage aircraft flying overhead
buckets and shovels
aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who will play and do things with you
quiet country roads and woodland paths.

Don’t ask: “Where are the video games?”

———–
My little brother “Ping” (Gene Jr.) thought of some more:
Duck calls & decoys
A rafter to hang your deer from
4 filet knives
Wild flowers
Owls hooting at night
Fireworks seen and felt by boat
Eager fishing poles waiting to be used
Alarm clocks with alarms set well before first light
Wild grapes
Tadpoles
Turtle logs
Mud minnows at the ready
Smell of fish in the freezer
Salmon lures just about everywhere
Martin houses
Purple Martins singing & feeding their young
Starlings sworn at & falling from the sky
House that is paid for
Ice fishing equipment
Carp bows & arrows at the ready
Cast iron skillet waiting to sizzle & fill the air with the aroma of bacon, onions, & potatoes from an open fire
Allenville sweet corn dripping with butter
Mosquitos
Volleyball time
CURDS!!! I forgot to mention squeaky curds!
And Held’s summer sausage!!!
Red wing black birds
4th of July parties & parade
Fish boils on New Years
Thunder storms advancing
Hail falling
Wind blowing
Waves crashing
Mom laughing
Dad smiling
Both of them dreaming
Both of them making their dreams come true

Holding hands
Loving their children…and their children’s children… and their children’s children’s children
Both of them hugging

Both of them loving each other … always.

And Dad (Gene Sr.) said:
Did anyone mention the snow, cross country skiing and skating and igloo building but I guess this could go on forever…

(I commented that this was supposed to be a summer list … otherwise it COULD go on forever!

Cottage in the Woods: revolutionary Contexting Rhyming Haiku

In a cottage in/
the woods I’d gladly be if/
I could. Please let me

The Muse’s Life Exposes My Dream: Revolutionary Email Prose

I suggested a meeting.
It is unusual.
She might think it’s silly.
The idea came after she told me about her planned week.
The desire came after she said she couldn’t meet on Tuesday or Wednesday because she was busy.
And then she told me what she was doing.
When I suggested what we could do, she maybe thought I was just trying to be nice.
Trying to be with her.
Attempting to meet her half way.

But what she didn’t know…
What she couldn’t know …
Is that her daily existence
Has been my vision,
My dream,
For decades.

She, daily, does what I’ve wanted to do:
– Helping children read
– Teaching children to write
– Showing through example how to learn, how to comprehend, how to express feelings and thoughts and desires and actions, from generation to generation,
As storytellers, written and oral, had done for centuries.
As my storytelling parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents and other relatives and done in Wisconsin, Canada, Germany, Norway for years

Taking that observational, sharing, teaching gift and passing it on,
Was something I treasured doing
As my own children grew in their suburban – yet surprisingly diverse and ethnic – elementary schools,
Telling stories my ancestors,
And ancestors of others,
Had told for centuries,
Watching their young faces light up,
Seeing their eyes grow wide with wonder and understanding as I explained how the redwinged blackbird perched and warbling on a cattail, benefited from the muskrat house nearby, how the insects it ate flocked to that house because of the scent and the leftovers and the dung, and how the muskrat family owed a debt to the bird there, who stood as unknowing, unpaid sentinel, warning of approaching danger,
Having the teachers and parents and children exclaim “How do you KNOW that?!?”, realizing I’d learned it from my father and his parents and aunts and uncles and cousins, in the marshes of the upper Midwest.

She didn’t know that my dream, my vision, developed them, and still is now, to take young, impressionable inner-city youth out into the woods, streams, lakes, rivers, marshes — any wild places — and teach them to observe, to listen, to see, to smell, to watch and gaze at nothing at all, to hear themselves think, far away from the grittiness and noise and hustle of the city, to show them how to feel warm and cold and nature and silence and the symphony.
And then to teach those young people to write, to draw, to word or ink sketch or story tell their visions, their observations, their lessons, so that the oral traditions would continue.

She doesn’t know that, what she does every day, I yearn to do.
That when people ask me: “What would you do, if you could?”
the answer is always:
Exactly what she does.
She might think it’s odd that I want to join her in opening the children’s eyes to the world of possibility and observation.
She might think it strange that I would love to sit and read and write and tell stories not just to them, but with them.
She wouldn’t know that it’s not just a great meeting.
It’s a great life.
And it’s where I’m headed, someday.