Archive for July, 2013

July 31, 2013

Love and The Way We Live

Love and The Way We Live,

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

Fickle Fidelity is tragic as traffic.

It has to be 100% or nothing on this ill-stricken planet.

 

Adjunct is the baggage,

A bemoaned advantage was managed.

 

We smile at each other in the setting summer sun.

 

Think of all the wars we have won in the name of local peace.

 

 

 

July 25, 2013

Academia (College Transfer Student)

Academia,

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

Academia,

Thoughts in a whirlwind-stir,

Before we open a single book, to a single page,

We think of the transfer of a single synapse about to occur in our brains.

 

We think of the working world, taking a second look, at a certain class.

Conjured up ideas of being trapped; you need to work-you belong there, that’s the only path.

Close the Book.

 

Deep thoughts,

How we succeed and how we fail.

Entertaining the need to exist, taking on adventure, and aspiring to prevail.

 

Lecture, process, write, dream,

We focus on what we can change,

While we sit factoring in a grading curve, trials that will be unveiled, and a main scheme.

 

Pay attention to the details; knowledge is bursting at the seams.

July 23, 2013

Take It As It Comes

After you go, leaves come out waving in the trees, grass takes a greener shade of fresh, and flower blossoms bloom over, etc.

 

When you come back it’s not so bad, I guess.

Because the beauty you bring takes away my breath.

All worry and stress to forget.

 

At the end of a memorable day there is a sealed-kiss perfectly colored sunset.

Living now as if there is no past to regret.

Enjoying life in the present tense.

 

What would I change:  Nothing.

Take it as it comes, because either way it’s spent.  (Time)

 

Even if you are alone, know, spread, live, and believe in love, in attempt to do what’s best.

 

What else follows is the rest…

July 21, 2013

Life Is Free

Going to the beach is free.

Broke like fracture.

Concerned in the least.

 

Laughter.

 

Walking, biking, maybe taking Metro Transit, in attempt to take advantage of the daily sun adage.

 

Daylight-nightlife.

Fight, yet mostly flight.

“Feeling right, all right.” (Quarashi)

 

An easy A artist creating garbage.

Starving on promise while others advance like the Amish.

 

Abject and objective, heaping into piles copious works of sorted perspective.

What’s left: A simplistically designed conscious collective.

 

Capture Artist.

July 18, 2013

How To Drink/What’s Your Problem?

Old drunks at a bar-side paradise:

An enclosed patio, surrounded by lattice and gratis-what a place-ladies lack lace, most come accompanied with baggage.

 

A few of these and I’ll forget my place, yet I care to save face.

 

I should just throw away my I.D. and my wallet.

They sponsor all of this.

 

Unisex Observation:  they all look the same; bloated, speckled; unhealthy, abused, used, depleted, and ashamed, with drinks and age.  Some wear purple bruises, others look like they need a snooze, they all say they have a choice to choose.

 

I am not rude, more scared than amused.

I don’t want to see a mirror.

I might change my tune.

I might see things more clear.

What’s to lose?

 

I pray for this to not be my future-I wonder if this was their past.

 

I examine my drink, ice beading water to my hands.  Here I sit, holding this plastic glass.

 

Throwing my life in the trash.

Gulp by gulp, ash by ash.

 

This drink will get me smashed.

All excuses amassed.

 

I am ready for the criticism.

 

Here’s to you and me and us and we.  Fuck it, here’s to that one guy who overdosed-he was in Glee.

 

All wires and chords, a man sings; no one is bored, yet nothing has been absorbed.  Shocked, I am ignored.

Watch the pour-ask for more.

 

I still enjoy beating a dead horse.

 

THE IRONIC ABSENCE OF A PROBLEM:

I DON’T HAVE ONE.

 

These patrons have hardly enough energy for a proper applause.

 

Remember: lay off the sauce at all cost.

These words are muted sip by sip.

 

Who’s the sailor of this ship?  I’ll run it aground just to hear the sound.

 

This is their familiar, I have been here a few times before.

Maybe a few times less as I measure cost and score.

 

Take a long cool drink, and He winks.

I feel tip-top, now, let’s hit the door.

This is no time to stop.

 

Bartender… One more!

July 14, 2013

The Julia Belle Swain, Part 1

Belle of many hearts, how you once cut through the Mississippi River was art.

Of Mark Twain and the swain which came about you.

How you blew your Calliope and sounded your whistle as you paddled throughout The Muddy and The Deep.

 

La Crosse, at sundown, she once stood at attention.

Speaking of you, an honor to mention.

 

Your first name was Julia, I do dare tell.

The current in the water below you spun and swell.

 

Steam poured through you, all of your hot and powerful veins.

Sorted history, faded paint, and tie-downs remain in your old space.

 

Your hull of history and mystery is massive as your myth.

A trip on you up and down the Mississippi was not to be missed.

 

Winona to Prairie Du Chien, now, in dreams.

 

So much attention and affection and now you sit vacated North of port.

Once accompanied by the leisurely relaxing sporting sort.

 

No more a deckhand says, “All Aboard!”

No more flags soar.

No more polished glass on the captain’s door.

 

As if your funeral precession was silent and empty.

Cut the ropes, let you drift-finally set free.

 

I imagine in my dreams dusting the Red, White, and Blue of you.

 

Many have loved you, taken sight of you-jaws have dropped in awe.

 

I had a single summer with you.

One season I will remember until I die.

To this moment what I learned from you:  Alone, I could still catch both lines and lock you down on the fly.

July 14, 2013

“Crazy Anna Stacey”

Passing stairs to get to a room.

One at a time.

Moments stuck in a line.

Thoughts in my mind of someone I knew a short time.

 

 

Doors in view, amazed as much as amused at a simple labyrinth hallway perspective.

Color: powder blue.

 

 

We need two more to do more.

Core to core, quarters are a fourth.

We wrestled laughing on the floor.

 

You solve half of the problem.

 

Wake in the morning to alarming phone horns.

 

 

Night moon pales in significance to the black sky.

I swear to God that’s how I got these black eyes.

 

We disappear after we die.

Fly into time.

 

She did.

She had robin’s egg eyes before her bulbs burnt out.

 

She turned purple on the floor of her companion’s house.  She turned grey in the ground, green in time, and stiff before the latter two.  Tattoos and art stuck in my mind.  All of time-and her legacy remains with me.

Rex and 666, no schtick-

Antler clad milk carton scars commemorate her in her passing.

RIP

July 12, 2013

Ice Cream In UPTOWN @SebastianJoes

At Sebastian Joe’s-omnipresent red walls, sweet-toothed smiles, leather furnishings, and tattered posters.

 

Uptown has never tasted better. 

 

Local papers mixed propaganda, spread-out reading material in innocuous fashion, fast-forwarding, forecasting a coming truth-I swear to GOD, this is proof.

 

Local hipsters and self-proclaimed art critics gathered round with passion. 

 

Old man Grab your Cannon!

 

-This sort of ART MUST BE DOCUMENTED FOR HISTORIC PURPOSES.

 

The ancient way hear tell of things-candies and treats, as if we got them now as no reward at all.

 

My grandfather always spoke of the funnies.

Told me stories until I became bored.

 

Ice cream and cold hands. 

 

Conversations and clouds; there is white in between blue skies.

We make promises on whatever’s on our mind-just killing time.

 

The ambrosia melts in a moment, but it tastes just as well-don’t it?

 

We travel bags and bikes.

Hassle at a stoplight.

 

And the traffic flows slowly down Hennepin Avenue, while I watch as the seconds on my watch tick by.

 

I think of the past as people slurp, lick, swallow, and enjoy anything on cone or stick.

 

No plans, I sit at a table with a crumpled napkin, an empty cup, and a white plastic spoon.

Just taking in an afternoon.

July 11, 2013

All or Nothing (Changes)

Where there is time to complain there is time to change.

 

Afraid of difference like a cat the severe storm.

What we have learned we’ve adorn.

 

Sit and pace the floors, searching for answers.

Asking for more.

Asking for less.

Asking for what’s best.

 

Of regret… Of accomplishment…

 

A life of collectables, and everything is lost in a house fire.

Tired, on a wire, wanton to desire, with no aspire.

 

We can think all we want, as much as we can talk.

But until we actually do we face nothing new.

 

And until the new we cannot see the old through.

 

Things must be certainly one hundred percent or nothing in the face of danger-in America with anger.

Or “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.”*

 

Walk up and take fear of change like a stranger:

Preparing for a handshake.

 

*Steve Jobs-

July 10, 2013

Eating Americans

As an American I must eat.

Eating is what we do: from the obese with a feast, to the skin and bone see-through.

 

We go to café for coffee and ice cream.

Fancy diners for exclusivity the most.

 

To the shores and beaches for a picnic-to the backyards for a meat-roast.

 

We hoist beer and brow to our companions while speaking aloud.

We bow with glorious affection at confection.

We are so proud.

 

Bet when the food’s gone and our bellies are stuffed the starving in Africa is seldom mentioned.

Pay attention: All that Cool Whip is just fluff.

 

(Starving exist in this country too.)

 

A bite of food has many lessons, hidden cookie-crumb confessions.

 

Eat to satisfaction, not full.

That is the message.

 

 

An aside:

 

As a child I was overweight.  Now I am averaged sized; however, I eat constantly.  I wrote this as a rebuttal.  I think eating can be taken many ways; eating is as deep as the food within us, and then it’s just shit…

 

Eat wisely, and vote with your dollar.

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