Improv is an unscripted comedy form.
Starting with an idea for a sketch,
actors interact with each other,
making up things as they go.
As one person responds to another,
“No, but…” squashes spontaneity,
while “Yes, and…” builds the banter,
propelling witty action forward.
Quick and clever dialogue
promises even more to come.
Then, after finding an apt ending,
a brand-new sketch can begin.
Our lives are also unscripted.
Improvising our existence,
we react to evolving situations
with “Yes, and” for guidance.
Whenever feasible and appropriate,
say “Yes, and” to others and to life,
for enhancing enjoyment
while building community.
And even in our final moments,
we can still say “Yes, and” to death
since there is much more to come
when the new sketch begins.
(First published in Spirit Whispers: Eclectic Writings on Spirituality on Substack, 17 May 2025.)
(Image by Monica Silvestre on Pexels.com.)
Rave at the gate, With chant and shout!
Make God mind how large the turnout
When his hand, so grand and devout,
squashes us like candles snuffed out.
Bid him not drop any more like flies.
Why must we not be more than loud,
In crying our souls ‘til hearts are drought?
All my dead with soul and without
Rave at the gate!
Demand rest of our souls unbowed
Unafraid from God and all proud
Today, the dead must speak for crowds
In memorials veiled in dark clouds.
Revolt for life; and all about
—Rave at the gate!
Feeling sluggish, shelled.
Lithely lingering in the dust and grime.
Palette grey and dull, devoid of crisp bright hues,
Brushes all furry, frayed, blunt, incapable of fine detail.
Apathy and complacency palls to gloom and doom in my room.
Inactivity and being non-committal, chokes the creative urge, to be stillborn.
But then, words and poetry flood into the brain during sleepless nights.
There's no stopping it.
Its spell, dispels the squashes, and quells the squishes to splats.
The gnomes of olden times
carefully hung the sun
and moon up in the skies.
Growing gardens by their
light provided garlic,
and sweet pumpkin delights.
Hoards of squashes and gourds
for making many tools;
Gnomes are truly no fools.
Little ones planted seeds
and watered plants with care,
polishing leaves with zeal.
Foods baked with fluffy eggs
have textures that are best
a flavor-burst delight!
Elementals won’t rest
until they’ve grown the best;
herbaceous edibles.
Be grateful to wee folk
caring for your garden;
watch them not as they work.
For secrets must be kept
in Mother Nature’s vault;
the Gnomes will never tell.
I
Quetzalcoatl was great, maybe not so good
The generous mother was "Maiz Deo"
Ancient Mexicans built their chinampas
The Lake in Tenochtitlan had tall bunkbeds
With squashes and beans, to feed thousands
But when Maiz Deo gave them corn, they soared
Population, fame, wealth, but also wars
(Not as bad as modern wars, but it got bad)
Three Sisters got together always, to bless:
Corn, Bean, Squash intertwined their bodies
To dance and sing and grow the harvests
II
Our Mexican mothers, Maya and Aztec, Olmec and Tolmec
Then gave us the taste of heaven: tortillas
The Corn was mashed, and made into flour
They find stones - both flat and round - to grind the grains
And today I hear the familiar jingles of TACO BELL
And the ka-ching, ka-ching of dollars and cents
As we take leave of common sense and over-do it all
Never thanking the Mother we all share: Nature,
who has always given and given. She can't give anymore
I woke up from a nightmare into another nightmare
As the lights swooned and the clouds became clear
I thought morning came
But it was the beginning of another nightmare
The sun shines, the wind blows, birds are singing, farmers are farming,
I thought morning came
But it was all another nightmare
Should I not have woken up?
Should I have stayed in the first nightmare?
Do nightmares become better?
Or it gets worse?
The brightness gives the assurance that a bright new day is here
But the nightmare continues
It squashes the hope I have.
But I need to sleep,
I need to continue sleeping
No matter how long the night is
No matter how many times I fall into other nightmares
I need to continue sleeping
Because
One day, I will wake up
I will wake up into a bright morning
I will wake up into a new day
I will wake up
And it would not be another nightmare
I would have really met the morning.
Pressed into cavity, wardrobe holds captive
Constrained where space is a premium
Love lodged squashes logic, lungs ravaged
Quicksand scenarios draw a dreamer in
Denigrated to respondee in his spare time
Hung on railing to wear at convenience
Smiling nicely to speeches of a shared life
Passed opportunity pops my congenial
Friendliness strung with fun doesn't endear
Resists my charm like chalice poisoned
Realms kept seperate lest wretch interfere
Rationed portions bring a brief rejoicing
Abruptly leaves, impetus sprung immediate
Swum mosquitoes among murk spread
Sting truth beneath a furtive fable feeding it
Sore heart can't receipt his ebbing debt
Cement devoid of tears ceases to imprison
Desert sand manuevre accomplishes
Shatter of shackles farewell shadow limits
Dazzled escapee has copious oxygen
2nd January
Sacrifice won't suffice
Turtle crosses
Not bosses road
Squashes too soon
Before moon's shine
Some goon killed him
In light dim died
Quickly fried, she
Cat dived on plate
whoever lives in only a world
takes a swig from buised boredom's gourd
taunted time squashes churning chance
leers lanky lusts, tuning trance
I live in sundry worlds yet on a spot!
sometimes imaginations shelter shot
eerie empire in spiritualism as well passion
then meagre music leases mondo mansion
that when boredom plunges porous shelter
salient soles bear me to empire thither
wanky worse, mansion lures lodge
that snarling snow, rustic rain make me no pawn
build many worlds in a whooshing world
that when one sucks, other provides gourd.
'20:05:26:18:20
Note: Of damp decision.
I
one seed, so wise
to hide generations of pumpkins
forest of leaves
II
wisdom in tendrils, leaves
spread out - small garden -
blind tendrils grasp non-leaves
lusty leaves wave
rusty rhythm plays
airy accordion pukes
callous concerto's tune
mystic music melt
smothering saucy crest
dark diminuendo dribbles
hoisting hankering wrinkles
seeped'n sassy treble
like tactic tiers
severed syllables smeared
on papyrus's peers
same spell squashes
emotion love lodges.
'20:02:25:14:20
MIDNIGHT’S BLUE DRESS
Midnight’s blue dress -
modem of her physique,
molded immodestly,
married to monumental
destiny of desires,
elongated as if clinging
to an Amazon warrior.
Blue dress props up
her spectacular breasts,
high and mighty, tinged
with reckless success.
Mortification of the madonna.
Fabrication fraught
with embellishments,
bells and whistles of gold
stitched like chains
into the hem she must wear
in eternity’s flamboyant furnace.
Ferociously blue, lips tremble
and pout, pretending to bleed.
The triple X dress sways
in ebb and flow of the mastery sea,
blowing holes in seasoned captains
who dread the siren’s revenge.
Presidents and dictators fall
at her knees, sliding their beggaries
over velvety weave, thoughtless
to her treachery - they make believe.
Midnight’s blue dress invitation
squashes them all, as
she looks on from the cliff
where eagles ogle their prey.
Ejaculators* best blindfolded as dusk calls.
12/28/2019
Blue Dress Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin
*other than the obvious meaning - to utter suddenly and vehemently
I prepare myself for a deep relaxing bath
but that dratted spider was out to have a laugh
As I pour scented bubble bath into the water
Spidey climbs the wall - he’d also bought his daughter*!
He raises a spindly leg as if to wave hello
that pesky crawling spider really needs to go
It's a living a nightmare, it isn’t a dream
So I emit a very loud ear piercing scream
My heroic hubby dashes to my aid
as my distress was clearly displayed
Whilst I stand their screaming like a stupid bimbo
hubby tosses the weeny spider out the bathroom window
Alas the daddy spider he has other plans
and wriggles his way out of hubby’s hands
Hubby drops the creepy critter onto the floor
spidey plans his escape, he's heading for the door
Hubby pounces on him at breakneck speed
and squashes him flat ... he’s dead indeed*
*A great deal of poetic licence – thankfully there was only one spider and he was tossed out of the Window* I think the warm weather is bringing these pesky spider’s out from hiding:-(
Follow up poem to www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_confessed_to_a_cold_blooded_murder_1029155
6/9/18
Today
Is a new day, a new way
to plot a different graph
from yesterday - stand tall as a giraffe
Yesterday died but tomorrow is to be born
Piles from it, learn from them, but keep them unworn
Receiving new wings
Rehearsing new swings
Keep yourself fly, stay on the highs
The lows squashes, remain arise
like vapour form clouds, rain on mistakes
from yesterday - cause erosion to the aches
Then new seeds to the ground,
Then new needs would be found.
Indeed Columbus knew
Our planet isn’t flat
When in 1492
He found the missing half!
And beheld the land’s corn
And potatoes — unearthed
And green beans galore
That vegetated forth.
Wherein squashes of size
And tomatoes emerged
While the peppers surprise
Gave cuisine a surge.
At the same time, debuted,
Avocados, divine,
Sweet-potato root
And the pineapple find.
Moreover — vanilla,
And the strawberry gem
Plus chocolate, the thriller
— From the Americas, stem.
Plus peanuts in pods
Pecans and cashews . . .
Thus, let us thank G-d
For great recent foods!
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