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.
September 2, 2014
I have drunk
that were in
you were definitely
they were refreshing
and so cold
in homage of, and inspired by: This Is Just To Say, William Carlos Williams, 1883 – 1963
August 28, 2014
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 7, 2014
Buying the Tribune
in the morning
in downtown La Crosse,
walk the redbrick sidewalk.
Past the Bodega,
and last night’s Cigarette Butts,
washing dishes in the back of some restaurant.
Talking a lot, stale-
actions and words; NOTICE: they talk a lot.
watching drunks, and pre-cancer patients and cars being parked—
Save the day.
Wearing shorts under blue skies.
Call clandestine spies, looking up at the corner apartment window-
wondering what’s inside__
… As she wakes,
long legs lie.
Moving, thinking, that fresh brewery smell, now new adult.
In summer heat- beating down,
The Mississippi River on the breeze—cesspool,
I walked back from where I had come
trying to not feel so numb.
Because I had to walk back.
July 21, 2014
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
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.
sink filled with grease,
pressures such as time, hypocrites, saboteurs, hunger, cleanliness–… oh, and NEEDS.
hang about dizzy-clogged head
I should have stayed in bed
I should have stayed in bed.
June 17, 2014
On a boat close an expansive dam
A boy accompanied an Old Man
Fishing for hours cold hands
Only to have come up few clams
The river remained rough
Water spray wet brown splash
Bubbles in the water swirling
Bottom of boat held beer cans
Farther up the boy could see birds
Up close to the tumblers brightly red
Over white-caps exchanged few words
The Old Man palmed his rod in hand
Lock and Dam 7 lent no pension
Yet many prospered in its wake
The Old Man and the boy lay patient
They trolled up and down, but had to wait
Ice coated concrete walls
With rope or hook they fastened tight
Daylight lasted only so long in afternoons
The highway lights suggested night
Untying they came undone
River smell and worms in hand
The fish on the stringer were meager
Pushing off they went towards land
They passed others by and by
Anglers that were mastered
Coming closer to the landing point
Lights on avoiding disaster
Trailing wake in full gait
An out-board went ‘bout 20 knots
Blackness and bugs flew by about them
As they came closer to the docks
Lamplight held empty parking lot
Shown just below the river’s edge
The flat-bottom came parallel the wooden structure
The boy managed at his sea legs
With a hard bump from running in fast
A rope was fastened—quick, and down
The boat made way with the water
The boy made feet with wooden ground
Cold rushed from the river valley out
Nothing held the boy more in life
Than to be out near the Mighty Mississippi
In the dwindling hours of night
As children we are exposed to habits which prove a tradition
As adults we revisit those events to see what lessons were given.
March 14, 2014
On the Balcony with Love
By Terry Scott Niebeling
Outside of the house
Watching droplets all
They bounce up in the sun
Lit sparkling they fall
Sunlight how nice
Made an ass of self
For getting after my girl
On account of my fault
Whiskey glass fixed
In a cold dark corner
Full beer can of tricks
Bikers sit in the light
Talking weather and trash
They deliver their product
They careen as they pass
Balcony noise raindrops loud
Cars go by, and up, and around
Melt snow liquid moves splashing through
University sign scrawled illuminated blue
Machine gun fire streams
They fall from above
Perspiring from the heavens
Yellow orb showing love
Sit sip this splendid thought
Read and ponder this springtime hot.