January 23, 2015
The city center has
Been filled with
These spots to grab attention,
To make you buy: react.
Local rags remain,
Good at that, and intact.
What stands out is
The importance they lack.
We have books by the stack,
And bike paths.
We have beaches
In the summer months to relax,
And theatres like
The Guthrie to see acts.
Local mags don’t really map that;
-With photos, lists, and ads.
Painting a picture without paving a path,
They write on setting precedent, because they can’t.
I suppose one day I will be surprised when an article proves friendly to my eyes.
But only after realizing how much effort was put into marketing to my demographic.
January 17, 2015
Double-Decker Buses, Outlet Adapters,
Dirty Seagulls and Elegant Flats;
European Cafés, Dublin City, -Ireland,
So much to pack and bring back.
January 11, 2015
On the streets of Dublin razor-wire hangs from fences.
Seagulls and Magpies dive in headwinds, this sentiment.
From a far off land noting the usual; on the corner is a café,
In the streets are double-decker buses, along the River Liffey
The needy sit, cups in hand, shaking; while padlocks affix
Bridges dressed in rust, only to express an undying love.
On a normal walk on a normal day, thousands of miles from
Home, just on my way – away. I walk to the store for toiletries
And a view. I find a thrift shop and enter to the land of Oz.
Across the street is Religion; with a paper in hand I watch those
Exit from the church, off of their pews, they walk through
The traffic stepping to, righteous, holy, and unamused.
January 5, 2015
We are made up of 60% water—
So, if we drink water,
From a different land,
From a different city,
From a different spring,
From a different past, present and future,
Do we become made up of something entirely different?
December 12, 2014
Thoughts of reading a text by *S. Heaney,
Bits and pieces of dewed Madrid,
With heavy inflections of Hemingway,
Scattered about within. Bull horns
And drink, and women, and sex. Smell
Of skin, fish parts, and molded excrement.
Emitting and emoting the pawing presence
Of death; Protestant and Catholic,
Rebellions over said claims.
There the air held hot, as one without water,
Lacking, in a vast desert, as a drunk’s hung-over
Morning plight, -head-spin, praying for the noise to fast die,
Lavishing in Great Lakes of the mind.
He spoke of letting it go, as in
Sobering up, as in really feeling this event.
He had been fearing the gun holster
And lack of action in present. Admiring the man
Who hand-gripped the cold barrel steel, afraid to notice.
But all those bleeding bulls, and fish debris, and local
Women, and spent shells counted. Dripping their sweetness
On his fingertips, wet, as the spilt thick
Ink of his pen. Language of stink
And movement. Surely he felt a bit
Satisfied as he sipped a beaded glass of beer
In the city center, in the summer, 1969,
In Madrid, as he wrote his free-verse prose. As he
Let his words come alive and go.
*Singing School (Summer 1969), BY SEAMUS HEANEY
October 7, 2014
Another day to have,
Shower, eat, read, be -Exist…
Only after we wake.
September 22, 2014
King of Notecards
Working so hard
Obsessed with syllabus
And what’s killing us
Read a book
Write a story-
Become moved… (episteme and glory)
Ruling Notecards to
See memory through
How about you?
September 21, 2014
Strong Autumn winds blow in;
Through trees, on a whim- these limbs,
and shadows made of them.
Exhausted year, once again…
Biers and tears,
Free and easy,
Mind’s been cleared.
Coming up wasted and frustrated-
Elliot Smith came up roses,
Empty handed impatience,
Changing mindset with practiced poses.
Some of the best luck of all time,
Some of the unluckiest best times,
Some logic takes heavy loads off minds.
Some laziness, what!? -The awful crime.
Round corners above pavement,
On a bike,
Life is dangerous,
Backpack filled with book pages,
Summer’s gone recently, but not for long,
This weather; indifferent, right, or wrong.
The Midwest is at least unique in that it is unpredictable in clime.
And I imagine Simon and Garfunkel will enjoy their vodka and lime.
September 13, 2014
Stench to prove-
Ammonia and hardened poop.
What it is.
No king cleans out cat shit.
In the air hangs
remnants of digested remains.
Hands to rearrange
Next to the toilet stool
What a silly fool
To be a cat;
To actually rule.