Posts tagged ‘English’

March 26, 2015

Procrastination and Lists of 612

Waiting the day
for something
to happen;

wasting the now
for the then.

Sharp alarms, busy commutes, weathered words,
between;

we are too—
local tasks, art, lists, work, and trends.

March 23, 2015

we are the same

You, me; us we—forward or backward,
together we are the same.

Parts of a carnal body, whole—
built of dust, thoughts, and air;
no scar is without a measure,
no action still unmoved,
shell of human being outside,
ghost of us within.

We are compelling a kind,
eyes peer to see;
from Franklin and Nicollet to NE,
Middle America to Middle East.

Still, forward or backward, we are the same.

March 20, 2015

Interactive Image (you and me)

Sometimes great minds think alike, think local,
some don’t think at all.

I have to put on deodorant today
in order to become an average human being.

All the while a naked spoon holds a naked cherry in the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden;
now that’s art, now that’s smart, now that’s in a park.

And then we have the Thought Police to condemn what,
to patrol what,
to portray what,
to convey what message?

IDK

How things have happened,
evolution is real.

No one single person is JC or PC or perfectly-,
we just are—you and me.

Categorizing and “knowing” is impossible without error.

See,
labeling those into groups would be easy,
yet we place with sedimented phrases, universal,
adding variance to that idea, disparaging,
then spreading like disease,
ones with history—you and me.

There is no describing,
living is art.

March 13, 2015

Prelude to Spring Break 2015

As early March had come in biting and the best were kept inside,
a span of two weeks had passed slowly and sleep had become elusive.

Professors watched second hands tick and gave out faux tests;
these symbolic life quizzes—it’s who makes it who matters.

Desks became confines as concentration went out open windows,
to welcome hands of mild weathered-breeze and new-season sun.

People—tired students, red-eyed lecturers, they didn’t exist;
regular situations became stimuli for a stagnant comatose: why?

No answers formed, except that three days later a person could be a week away,
anywhere—abroad, nothing to do, only to read titles and books which please.

Yet we all sat watching that clock, it moved slower despite us;
now, it would have to stay indoors and assess classrooms of empty chairs.

Scholars and administration would hopefully be in Spring air, taking it in,
with a cold beer in hand and tender sunrays on their back;

minds would exist as empty—blank slates, to pen a tale—an experience,
with no thoughts of what was left sitting behind, with not a hint of rigor.

February 25, 2015

Free Me

Blood for ink,
the page for flesh,
and few words for character
description;

their imprint does stain,
the pinprick storyline
of a feeling—

I would sit and count
for minutes,
hours,
days,
months,
years,
etc.

but sitting is not conducive
to good movement, patience does nothing
except waste time
and progress
and dull the mind…

They may say: relax, let it pass.

that time; what could be
a particular goal seen to fruition.

Those who hold the ties that bind,
the keys we need,
are working steadily behind my
eyes,

the nerve—these nerves,
and more; each synapsis connects to
the message passed,

this circuit board commanding:

a knee jerk,
a hand slap,
an orgasm,
twitching muscles going to
bed—as you rock to zzzzzzzzzz.

Found out in between,
no verse to discuss,
no song to critique,

just the rigid clock’s tick,
and those who run by it (and from it):

they tell us what to do—
how to eat sleep and breath—
where to be, what to wear, how to look,
when and where—
there—and how to see.

Now who tells you how to be?

February 25, 2015

how do they “know”

If people “know” more than
they have experienced
or read,

how can
you trust what
they “know”.

February 24, 2015

Taking Tuesday

Waking to this early Tuesday overcast
Love and work scatter the wooden floor below

Amongst dust rhinos and smudged folders, as
Stacked bound books beg for openness

Violins float in the apartment, making classical
Air, as though class systems didn’t exist

A tea kettle is burnt alive at the stove top,
While I starve in scraps of last night, of last minute,

Of yesterday, and of the rest of my life;
These pieces abstract on this yellow kitchen table

The body is fine when the temperature is above freezing;
Spring is here, teasing us back out of our shells—

Newly just out of bed, just in new light,
Now is the product of our sensitive closed eyes

And a person should acquire all of it,
And it’s just the second day of the week

February 15, 2015

February Forecast

The back-window view comes through plastic-split shades,
A muted setting of winter-barren under dampened-dim skies;
Thoughts of base raise in the mind question to go wander,
A forecast forlorn suggests: layer in bundles, stay inside.

February 12, 2015

How to “know”

Words we use which we don’t “know”,
Have been framed from a storied past;
Sedimented by interpreted histories,
Always portrayed by fools as fact.

February 5, 2015

Convulsive Flower

Honeysuckles robust,
Of a rich land,

Dripping to velvet tongue;
This Lai sweet song,

All nature;
Moving with the wind, touched by the hand—

Shining there—wet,

Ready,

Taste naturally.

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