Posts tagged ‘art’

August 28, 2014

Local Public Radio

Frequency of seldom infrequency,
static-noised air to patient ear,
while colored with sun near a bus
or at the beach drinking beers.

Electric sounds come forth in waves
causation to rethink a certain thought,
eclectic colloquialisms, esoteric anecdotes;
meaning and purpose somewhat lost.

Effect and affect the way we make change,
asking questions: who, what, where, when, and why (?)
Coming from a time, this by-gone era,
not much action; save weather in the sky.

And yet always so much to say though,
because this is my local public radio.

August 12, 2014

Man Man at Triple Rock

Observant trend scene,
Heavy tattoo engrained,
Faux-tough and minor mean,
Façade, true, is claimed.

Street: Riverside, easy ride:
Perspective existing local,
Patched bags for small fries;
Real hipsters for yokels.

Through Cultures and Vultures,
Much Music and Trash-
Relative status shown vouchers,
Can’t see; bright lights we lack.

Stand in short lines outside.
Killing self with thin cigarettes;
Realize these lies through eyes,
One puff at a time, we forget-

Dive into undulating pool of people
Scuffed tennis shoes tied loose,
Sweat smell we breathe through-
Sip expensive cheap rail booze.

Catch the Route 2 Bus to be,
This night-life part of the city.
***
Motto: seen you there before, but never met, as in meet.
Standing dirty wet floor below feet until it’s time to leave.

August 11, 2014

Poemism

Poemism,

 

Women in a hallway laugh in high-pitched gasps

Keyboard sounds each letter, each word, each mark

Columns and books and pages and paper and carts

Hands have been tied; set in motion, all of our lives

Anointed anecdotes for possible and realistic potion

Motion in the lines, value and dots; we make art a lot,

Half-assed cross-hatched chicken-scratch, this and that

Comparison in passion, although found it tough to relate

Mouth agape, unwanted sentences we slate, as of late-

Contribute contraband, questions, and propaganda

With what is the stamina; have we not enough coffee?

Have we lost are heads in puffy clouds above so lofty?

Most moments digress, then forget, find the path, then again forget

Minutes we have have been lent, meant, it stops only when it can

It moves, bends, manipulates, morphs, and changes for nothing.

What else is there to say about everything besides that:  It’s lovely.

August 6, 2014

Counseling

Broken concepts,
And I used to use colloquialisms frequently.

Is that a fact?
Glib drab, parted ways we react.

I haven’t pressed so hard with a pen in years;
maybe at counselor,
maybe before I tasted beer.

One can easily forget- what, with all of the prescriptions: Prozac, Zoloft, Ambien, and Effexor… These are words that won’t come underlined red; that common- for the better.

Does the kid have a mental problem, or does the country have a label and pharmaceutical problem?

You be the judge__

I have this many problems: to the nth degree.

I need better; fix me.

He wrote with passion, they say that in past-tense.

He had ideas,
he used words,
spoke when they allowed,
when they told him enough(!) he didn’t make a sound.

Now he changes his ways to reflect that language is sediment.

Trash amassed at each letter’s small feet,
from history they suck like a leach,
from years ago, and now today,
the words we use have their own ways.

Each one speaks through me.
Is it a drug addict or a patient that you see?

***

“The doctor is ready to see you now…”

***

My face was clay when I looked into that mirror somehow.

July 31, 2014

Days between Books

Time is of the essence
We have now and others don’t
The mail comes in
Heavy, in boxes
Full of books
People count on efficiency
Moments matter
This is now
Time never ends, but when it does
Patrons to service
Phone calls to make
Papers to print
The life, the day, the dollar, the request
Another recall
Another beep
Another list
Projects and process
Building this knowledge
No one regrets
Nothing to fret
Days and what we do
Define me and you
The only proof lies in a check
Electronic deposit, hardly noticed notion
Who does anyway?
This is incredibly easy to forget.

July 29, 2014

Born Again ________.

Decrepit church, ruinous cemetery lay falling round back. South Ridge, Methodist, where we used to hunt for truth, speeches of the rock, power, and how it stands- magician slight of hand. Find your rock. Abracadabra.

Weed and trees—green, shade the worn markers for comfort, rough sandstone run smooth. Grass is tended monthly- assumptions, assume.

Parishioners the few, the lot, opening doors once weekly searching for healing light, they hang on rusty hinges, comfort from solitude, a peaceful mind; AA for the lonely, hope for those who don’t put faith into science, logic, rationality… I digress, proper community of another name; a normal life, sans convent.

Half full the gold offering plate, dirty money within, spins from hand to hand, spoils of the land.

Lost place on a lost hill- so many lost souls, lost confessions spilt.

Daybreak is comfort, night warrants for want; words, movement, in the vast stillness of the Minnesotan plain. Silence falls hard as pots do from top cupboards, and down. Crash of landing draws attention, the vibrations hangs in the air for years to come. No one loses grasp of that time- never, timeless, priceless, event. Dropping flowers, tears, exhausted.

This church stands as the bow, at attention, an ancient pale white. Stern amassing casualties of life, flesh wrapped- longevity lapsed, they lacked the fight. Laying in peace, producing nothing new, save for dust when the wind blows or stirs, these vacant memories of others.

July 22, 2014

a writer engaged…

Engaging keys to dance on the screen
a sticky banged-out sort of language,
eyes flicker-flash as they register,
each finely enacted word is painted.

Sentences used decidedly, discrete-
far beyond just average meaning,
right below the incomprehensible
reading brings light day dreaming.

Realism in lines, dots, and white blank space;
page-art, satire even written in haste,
excessive save excite, readers we do invite,
the slashes and dashes become grammar’s delight.

Ah, to scribe
Ah, what for?
Ah, to be a part.
Ah, what more?

Thoughts just come, one by one;
even when lacking to grasp,
some are produced with purpose-
others just come from the ass.

It is easy to complain, but so much harder to compliment.
It is easy to say we make, but so much harder to create content.

July 21, 2014

Monday Morning

alerted bolt upright by a sticky sheet situation,
first hours of the day
eggs toast and hot sauce
back pains and skin stuck to the bed.

radio conveying news, noise, whatever…
life has been brought to my attention -social media-
ladies promoting sexism; life venting on things, ironically, whatever…

moving stirring sitting standing
applying lotion,
fresh tattoos peel and feel like sunburns,
still drying to some extent.

packing bags, fingering keys, opening doors,
one way to the bathroom for relief
fake leather gloss on my bike seat
read something, anything—Nietzsche.

shower, shit, don’t shave
set- stare in the mirror,
look down to feet
making way, avoiding the cat and debris,
dust filled rooms, draw shades no heat relief.

silverware drawers,
sink filled with grease,
pressures such as time, hypocrites, saboteurs, hunger, cleanliness–…  oh, and NEEDS.

hang about dizzy-clogged head
one thinks
one forgets
one waits
one bends
I should have stayed in bed
I should have stayed in bed.

July 16, 2014

Morning Has Broken

Morning has broken,
Plants, people, and mechanisms are touched by light.

Strange concepts we call life.

Buses roll out onto Dalmatian-potholed streets
as sun hits gazing eyes.

Water beads bejewel, adorning the
perfectly cut blades of
verdant grass.

Trash men collect garbage
swishing and slopping repugnant trash.

Commuters traverse out and through; up and down,
all around
big-small town.

This is no winter,
summer months of reprieve;
warm,
hot to sweat,
we lay at the beach.

Though always in motion;

The never still late nights,
even if we embody the hard to wake early mornings.

City Morgen
Intensely inviting,
Enticing to the outsider
a spider’s web for those who call it home.

You are here today
Taking it in-
on some corner of some neighborhood
in some way.

Lucky you,
Morning has broken.

July 12, 2014

downtown alive

the downtown life;
bike,
bus,
people;
this traffic.

concrete jungle summer,
new-comers and city lovers.

the space betwixt is a waiting room for action:
excitement for concern,
mini-skirts, excrement,
and trash abandoned.

business casual, with cash they flirt,
although beggars with signs ask first.

there is always art, music, and thought to sell.

waiting is the pedestrian,
some adventure sought:
tourist; look at the mess we’re in!
bus-stop theatre, a show free of cost.

completely and utterly lost,
sticking out like sore thumb,
mind numbed.

through structures which shoot into the heavens;
box shaped, corporate; of consequence.

hotter than hell,
clothes transforming to shells.

spells, smells, and potions.

beyond tables,
the chairs,
the patrons,
and buzzing busy waiters and waitresses.

past signs,
commotion-
emotion,
causing big eyes-

knowing,
coursing
breathing
bleeding;

witness,
downtown alive.

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