April 26, 2013
A Workingman’s Wage,
By Terry Scott Niebeling
Yes, I make a workingman’s wage-enough to keep working, enough to pay and play.
Enough to keep thinking.
Enough to keep food on the table.
Enough to keep drinking.
Enough to keep life a bit unstable.
Enough to keep a roof over head and my girl in my bed.
Enough to open and close my door.
Who needs anything more?
I work the day for a workingman’s wage; I count the days until I get paid.
This is a workingman’s way.
April 22, 2013
Did you know: Smashing the bottom of your beer bottle on the top of another beer bottle will cause the latter to bubble? Oh brother…
A simple truth, we are in trouble.
Drunk-monologue-saying: as long as they keep paying me a check I’ll still collect.
I’ll keep smiling and I’ll forget the bad treatment without regret.
Similar to paralanguage: it’s not what you write but how you write it.
Body language is 90% of what you are trying to say; my hand is out to you. Do you invite it, or do you push it away?
Forward, fight it.
Seek and you shall receive.
Think and you shall start to believe.
Things change; watch the leaves on the trees.
Relax and breathe.
Shall we rest at easy, or toss and turn in the cool night’s breeze?
Which do you prefer in attempt to sleep?
Life is simple…
Open your eyes to see.
April 18, 2013
The morning chemistry is coffee on a countertop.
The bell rings softly as we stare at canopy aloft.
The ceiling fan does not spin as dust clings to its pale blades.
Rain hits roof and window but does not venture in, as I watch amazed.
Lamplight and grey skies shone to my eyes.
And then I hear.
And then I see.
And then I think.
Some female comedians have it so easy; where their breasts are their best joke.
Some musicians have it so easy; they are successful for playing just one note.
Some people have it so easy; while others sink they float.
Some people learn; some people won’t.
And those were just a few asides and some real-life.
Rise and shine.
April 15, 2013
Visualize standing more drunk than hung-over.
Where are you Sober?
Where have you gone?
Shaking-sweaty palms, while we deal with numerous qualms.
Words couldn’t describe this wooden enclosure and the lack of sunlight exposure.
Worlds of shrouded mystery, over and over, all lacking closure.
All uninspired and motionless, hanging in the distance, thinly outlined in grey, symbolizing stay awake and stay away.
Hot flesh toaster, stomach on a rollercoaster, I must be a damn sorry sight.
Cold shakes, cold sweat, what did I do last night?
There is a pinprick need for water indeed.
Not want, need.
Not want, need.
A sip and I feel liquid flood in.
Led to shed tears, I need you near.
Thoughts of dread.
Fix my head.
Remember what she said.
Tell me again.
Tell me again.
Gone like tomorrow.
She said she’s pissed at you while you wake in her bed.
Fucked up again.
I almost always forgot.
Waking from a blacked out state with a stinging headache and gut-rot.
The upside-down reflection on the surface of the spoon feels true, except nothing in the room moves.
April 11, 2013
Anticipation led to hesitation; perception of spring led to disappointment by appointment amongst other things.
Labels led to let down, frowns on pale faces.
Snowflake to fertile ground, like seminal traces in hot fleshy places.
Bumbling to blunder the tragic funster.
Sauntering as he perused through town.
At times, head down.
Walking the evident precipitation, precipitous, no elation-bitter nation.
No one laughed.
Investigate the fleeting suspect clouds.
Tacitly, at times, implying: Go back to where you cannot be found.
Cursing them, at times, aloud, losing one’s mind, becoming unsound.
Stuck in: culture, climate, and the daily rounds.
Ultimately and absolutely let down; however, proud of the weather that fell about the ground.
I almost had a brain aneurism when I saw the heart-attack snow in bright white mounds.
April 10, 2013
Realizing while on my way back that I still love Minneapolis, fact.
Her legs, her skin, her taste, and her face.
Fate: to be next to this situation after 25 years of patients and not be flagrant, saving grace.
Obviously happy, obviously living, it is obvious.
Go to the bar, get lost, know a friend-the real ones, truth is set so relax.
Tell it on the mountain, yell it into the grey skies.
I see this as I fly back to it all.
I just realize.