Posts tagged ‘coffee’

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.

June 19, 2014

Minor Details

Eyes in front,
Focusing on some high-rise Ant Farm

Minor details…

No coffee; none for sale.

Thoughts on our time
When contemporaries write on depression
And how they want to write,
Immodestly mentioned

Do they write for words or recognition?

In my mind,
At the beach
Shirtless,
An ex heroin addict describes me as fat- I react.

Paltry people
Trite intention
Sad appeal
Apathetic apprehension

Now,

Off to work
Watching busy professionals pace hard by
Begging for fame- notice me! They say.
-Under heavy skies.

April 25, 2014

Espresso Royale Observation

Leathered Leaves holding residence
Of standing in pots of dirt in present
These structures capturing the eyes
Outlined fine disguised greyed skies
Boxed and boarded in this casement
Of the light opposed save debasement
Terrarium rest the inquisitive patients
Along the observation deck, gauging at situation.

February 10, 2014

Mental Morning (Me Post-Structuralism)

A bunch of facts and a boom

I’m scattered across the floor

Quick! Run-            

Grab the broom:

Me Post-Structuralism

 

***

I lost my shit over breakfast this morning

The weather made me do it

 

Not the hangover

Or Clover

 

Oh, brother

No other lover

 

Apology of Autonomy

Soft as applesauce

 

Sometimes we make choices

Sometimes we get lost…

 

Raised red streaks down pale face shimmering

Of reckoning; today is the coldest day

One of those

‘Til tomorrow

Then we have to change yesterday’s name

 

Cold, sick, and hollow

Deep tracks we’ve followed

 

Cuddle long always

Wallow until warm stays

 

Over coffee, blank verse, and burnt toast

This one goes out to the one I love the most

 

I apologize profusely

To put it truthfully

 

Frigid weather courses through me

Computer screen’s bluey

 

Let’s make a hibernate date

I’ll change around Mid-May

 

Promise_

-Out-

December 5, 2013

Frozen Life

Frozen face,

Rest of me layered like an onion,

On track-tragen,

Zen composer, it gets colder,

Every day here on out,

Nights we don’t leave the house.

 

Lights tell us the season,

I can see other reasons,

Frost on tree tops bare,

Everyone is hardly prepared.

November 30, 2013

Travelers of the Hometown

With a moderate hangover we wake to unfiltered light.

A sign of the debauchery transpired last night.

 

Weather view tempts those to wander outside.

If they take time and mind to leave confines.

 

Travel,

Family,

And the Local Paper -

 

We barter borrowing the car to visit familiar strangers.

 

Beer,

Coffee,

Bowling,

And a Walk in the Books-

 

Finding matters of interest-vague yet specific,

Travelers of the Hometown, try? …

 

We didn’t even have to look.

November 11, 2013

Free Money

As if others don’t know it,

As if labels couldn’t show it.

A lot of them talk what they want.

Mostly their walk is below their thoughts.    

 

More importantly (near Starbucks at Lind Hall):

 

I found two pennies on the ground this morning,

I bent down.

 

Not too demanding of a task,

Yet it was:

Change of mind.

Exchange, interact, a reaction of mine.

Someone had left this in my path as I passed.

 

Pay penance for epiphany.

Couldn’t care of the cash, as if it were a hundred dollar bill in the trash -

Composure relaxed.

 

I guess we try to save.

 

Avoiding slippery slopes,

Remembering my lines,

Laugh like joke.

Choke like smoke.

 

Here in due time.

Thoughts steadily moving towards hope.

Belief, what a crime!

 

And at this moment I glanced at my watch, just out getting coffee.

Ask me awfully- Why I look down…

You lost me.

 

Eyes move as I measure the cost.

 

I promise ADHD.

 

You never know what could be found.

Things what won’t happen again.

Until you next look at the ground.

October 18, 2013

Lab Text 101713 (Daily Prose)

Coffee as pretext to events.

Stay awake on this date.

 

Wasteful thinking; none such-

Linking the unlinkable…

 

Chained to changed up.

 

Drinking from a hot stained cup.

 

Holding posture proper.

 

Nothing but love.

 

Finding resources through resourcefulness.

Logic, commonsense,

Like twopence we forget when bent, but if we wait…

 

Here in this filled computer lab I sit.

 

Some day it could be too late. Trying the best I can to give a shit about making lists and the weather brisk. Someday it might change, or remain the same, with that the date won’t stay.

Time slips away anyway.

How will we know unless we take risks-not just exist.

 

Some find it practical while happy to complain. Defaced, deranged, disfigured, and feeling strange. Some, in the latter state can bring a smile to their face and chase away the rain.

 

Some have taste.

Some have dreams, they keep pace.

 

Some remain in the same place and pray, while others fill their briefcase with gold flakes.

 

Cold mornings, hot spells, what the hell? The difference is quantitative only to subjective measures. Pleasures of our endeavors. We think we are clever. Pressure. Presumably, we watch their eyes.

 

Small things: Pulling an acorn from a tree, taking photos of leaves at feet, then calling both ART-at the very least.

 

And then no one answers,

 

Forget it.

October 15, 2013

Confusion at Best (Around Town)

Confusion at Best,

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

I send out the same message to everyone I know,

To no effect,

To be similar to you,

So you won’t forget.

I do this just as long as we can grow.

 

It takes place probably somewhere between Coffman Union and Marcy Holmes.

 

This act is redundant proof,

Enough thought to write tomes.

 

And the stuff we are all made of,

Like a warm place where we actually write poems.

 

This is like biking from Northeast to the Turf Club.

-Counting the stars above.

 

Hell Bent as Heaven Sent, stare on bold reader.

These pages are wet with regret and eager.

How we are:  pressing the buttons, blackening the pages, and living life so meager.

 

This is in the Downtown High-rises and next to the St. Anthony Main Theatre features.

 

I bet you don’t even know of the Multi-Verse yet.

But there are so many artists, poets, and musicians, how could you forget?

September 24, 2013

Songs to the City (piece 1)

Songs to the City (piece 1)

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

Not affording a blank page…

These are words on what I love and where I live.

 

Fall to autumn, a promise of frost and harvest.

We are all locked into our preoccupations in the largest.

Thoughts we offer and give.

 

Cold as a late September Sunday morning snow;

Water droplets consume me where I stand in a china-white bath naked and whole.

Coming and going, some are strangers some we know.

 

Our teachers tell us to live.

 

Smelling of filtered cigarettes burnt-out in hand, smelling like wet trash; smelling of first rate-first class.

Egos swell and expand.

 

Remnants of booze adorn sweet on my lips.

Care for a kiss?

It’s like rose petals-rose hips.

 

Faint sting of headache, we pray for a sudden solar eclipse.

An aspirin, coffee, and water diet won’t buck these nips.

Stuff like this only proves that we live.

 

We sit, what have we done?

 

The sun is up and has been.

So have I.

The day has just begun.

 

Where shall we travel  under blue skies?

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 641 other followers