Posts tagged ‘Fact’

October 15, 2014

Idiots with Entitlement

One is made pragmatic by experience;
A grave man
Speaks grave words
Of which the living cannot hear.

I would not spend $50,000 to buy shit.

Old-time orthodox tradition;
If fish didn’t kill themselves
By swimming out of water
We wouldn’t have cellphones.

Fact.

Relative relations wouldn’t spring so fast on advantage.

Fact.

Men wouldn’t stand on two legs,

Or breathe the thin air.

Or Fuck or Fight,

Or even care.

Fact.

Modern times,
What is art for?
Based on rhymes,
Behind closed doors.

And then they tell us to read:

Edgar Allan Poe,
Shakespeare,
Derrida,
Asimov.

Where “Lawyer” isn’t even a Word…

-Small town folk,
With small town ideals.
Maybe I’m joking,
Maybe I’m ForRealz.

I argue,
The same;
Because I am
Cut from the same cloth.

Then they tell us to fit in this:

Tight
Rigid,
Imposing,
Oppressive,
Box.

Though,

I was merely stuck in a book,
You merely read some words.
If things weren’t going for me
I’d probably too act on urge.

Now, how does one do the first part again?

October 14, 2014

The Cost of Education

Onion yellow pages prove the condition
of every Norton Edition I’ve been given;
there is a rubber-band taut around that,
to keep their edges from bending back.

Expensive lot of the campus book store,
with every Professor prescribing more.
I ponder the decision of this fine selection.
Asleep eyes open; scanning at attention.

Who writes these lines that I must remind*?
-With so much content leaving little time.
Fixed to a station, sitting rigid on a chair,
even short breaths find it hard to suck in air.

American Lit. comes but twice on weekdays.
I could’ve used the library in so many ways.
Next semester I’ll scrape, steal, and borrow
So that future bank visits won’t end in sorrow.

Aside from that, it’s the price we pay for our education;
Now, we must be mindful of the freedoms of other nations.

*Recall
*
Germany = Free Tuition

September 28, 2014

Dream Goals

If you treat

your goals

as dreams

they’ll disappear

when you

wake.

June 25, 2014

Poetry for Profit

Poetry for Profit;
The dilettante says.

It just doesn’t happen,
It’s an illusion in the sick minded head.

Corporate sponsors,
Ads which have mislead.

They have a job to do:
They have to pose and fit for trends.

If you do it for monetary reasons,
You won’t genuinely achieve success.

Real artists have bled,
They don’t concern themselves with worrying about the point-spread.

People live fantasy lives all the time
Where they are famous
They are sought-after
They are “the greatest”, labeled by their closest friends.

Where they try their best to be noticed,
But no one cares in the end.

If you write to proclaim “I’m a poet”,
To get paid cash and attain lavish threads,
To fulfill a lifestyle image that’s been played-out,
In order to satiate big dreaming ego-ed heads.

I have news for you:

You could write non-stop for the rest of your life,
But writing won’t always be the hot ticket trend.
So many others have paved the way before you,
While you merely lazed lying in your comfy bed.

***

Try doing your passion for years and years to free your mind, to share thought, to pass the time, unnoticed.

Could you?

Don’t do it for profit, never do art for profit; take a look at the masters, they lived in destitute, some unrecognized in their lifetimes for what they had accomplished.

-Doubtful.

***

Go, go, go-
I know people who have done more with less, they are called my relatives.

June 4, 2014

Local Odds and Ends

Currently my ears are to The Current:
1.) I need to do a membership drive.
2.) I need to tell you what I have to offer.

You may need me.

The someday sun guides these moments,
Skimming and scanning words for entertainment.

Dessa Darling writes of trendy folk
Sitting somewhere in Uptown
In a hyped-up exclusive dive
She frequents all the time.

…How natural.
Feeling somewhat deprived…

Locally famous can get you work—
Haven’t you heard?
Can one person tell us of life?
Exposing us to worth

__Describe what to like,
And what’s cool, new, and authentic! (Right?)

Stories retold
Mundane to old
Fresh to mold
Hot to cold
And I digress,

I do so, but
So it goes.

Who decides the content?
What did they accomplish?

A fine print promise

Only allowing what we should know;
Ads and Marketing pave the road.

Candle to the sun
Eyes attempt escape
Another torn notion
Another empty page

We read on:
We read on.

Their sales people and prospectors betray
Their photo editors have much to display
Constantly political in profitable ways
Constantly cynical; printing what pays

And we run off to a book, to a poem, to a forest, to a river,
To hear nothing but the truth.

May 3, 2014

Performance Art near Bryant-Lake Bowl

Jägermeister and biers
Then kicked out to the street
We were there for a bit
Then we had to leave

Flew round at sun-down
In scintillated light
Flew down for the evening
I was riding my bike

On Portland Ave.
They exclaim
They might see me

On Portland Ave.
I came
Wheels beneath me

Oh the drunk bastard is dry
Give him his rye
Oh that fucker; mean guy
Let sleeping dogs lie

He is less than me;
His reality is obscene
He is not next to me
He is underneath

Oh, Oh, Oh, and so on…

–No description at all,
None to recall
Was he fat or fit?
Was he thick-haired or bald?

Who judges this person?
Who judges discretely- who calls?
What you see with your eyes
Is described differently by us all

What company we keep
What of those we meet
Was it a pleasant surprise?
Or a disappointment in the least-

Again I sit with local celebrities
I have to ask pressing questions
Are names just minor discrepancies?
Are they darlings for our attention?

Goodbye Auf Wiedersehen
On to new situations
On the street forward making
On to splendid occasions

To Bryant-Lake Bowl
In a car we drove
For a stroll, for a go
Exposing deeply our souls

In reddened pale light
A girl died one night
This scene of present sight:
Some mixed up fight

Blurred pictures remain
No date and no name
Was a crying shame
We drank that day

Now we look
Broken on the curb
A collapsed man
Drunk and absurd

Too blind to stand tall
Not at all looking proud
He had something to say
Thick mumbling aloud

We walked towards and down
His adversaries stood over
We watched stepping around
While still moving closer

Blood on the street;
He on the ground
Level with feet
He made a pitiful sound

A bald man in cahoots
Was reciting him his lesson
2 men were to explain
Their benign intentions

Questions of: “Did you strike him first?”
What’s the story?
“Have you done cocaine tonight?”
Boy! Don’t you ignore me!

He was obviously not sober
After a few inspections
Words weren’t coming out right
Aphasia for reflection

They stood at the door; shoulder to shoulder
He: a sad pile of bones in a suit sat
Looking younger rather than older
We 3 strolled along light hitting as we passed

Waiting for a taxi cab
The 2 guys had to explain
One of them shouted,
“He said he had AIDS!”

“He blew blood our way!”
There he lay in subdued shock and dismay
He could not get up
So there he would stay

Now no one touched him
Confused little looks
They went about their business
Scot-free lucky crooks

Moved by this art
The blood drops dark red
Spread thick while inches apart
Trail of liquid which lead

A few more steps
And we were at the door
We took our seats
After chair legs screeched the floor

In most of my glory
Contemplation of sport
Of what we had seen
I was staring straight, completely absorbed

How did I get here again?
And what the fuck just happened?
:
Man in his stasis; we’ve likely had these days
It’s 20/20 vision to talk of others in such ways.
;
I don’t know what you do,
And I don’t care
.
That’s where I was,
I was there.

April 4, 2014

Cash for Compromise

Local daily rags adorned capital paid ads
Words minced in between seldom seem
Pin-prick point disorder has been had
Cash for incompetence, that’s wastefully redeemed

One needs a paper shredder for some sort of pleasure
This old-time failing marketer’s scheme upon me
From what I’ve seen there are no stories to treasure
Eyes on the prize, a fat hand full of cash it gleans

Politics and stance change like the weather
The reader is the one losing sight of what’s seen
You read this, you read that; for the assumed equal measure
Avert inquisitive eyes, these lines of falsehood reign supreme

But what I ask in my own research is:
Who is pulling strings behind the scenes?

As one can say in full-view glory
It feels wonderful to produce an untainted story.

 

Who pays you?

Who writes your stories?

Are they the same person?

March 19, 2014

American Sonnet

We lost the interest before we began

Moving fixed posters on the thick walls

Level-headed distinguished man

Digging hard and working all

 

Sight beheld in the palm of worn hand

Many created problems we’ve called

We never tried to make a plan

Sedentary thoughts prove scrawled

 

From Forefather’s will in our acts we’ve strayed

Many against the conservative man

Labels aren’t of working clay

Written books in stern pale hand

 

Lest knowledge gone, saves the old way

Covered maps in possessive words to understand

Ponderings of the lighted day

Proven by those that they can stand

 

Mixed pot of melting to tell

Ignorant jump so high for frail joy

The inner workings of this great hell

Innocent lost those few trained boys

 

White colors cast the witch’s spell

Conjured up in those open young and coy

That symbolic dust holds to the clouds well

Annoyance of such fickle vetted choice

 

 

Locked into strict box orthodox-stayed course

The American Dream’s been broken and forced.

March 11, 2014

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead Dead

Full shoes rock smuggler

In the basement before dirt

Hopscotch walk muddler

Parted smirk with mirth

 

In a place with no character

We (they) find a shiny coin

 

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern

Are insignificant to a point

 

No spokes in the wheel; full circle

Disdain, now, no wound to ‘oint

 

The Players show empathy to Ros and Guil, no disjoint ;

they are also at the mercy of the elements i.e. Hamlet

They desperately avoid blunder and blood red moist

However they can’t undo fate with any willed choice

 

Lifestyle of livelihood

Real-life social effect

In that case I’m dead

Fractionally:  Yes

 

They’ve been gone this whole time

stuck with inquistion in purgatory

They relive this act on track

This fact amends the story

 

We see it in un-, sub-, and supernatural forces:

They are caught in between.

 

Heads

Heads

Heads

Heads

And so on…

February 26, 2014

Amtrak’s Writer’s Residency

Amtrak

Early arrival

Intent on leaving

Small talk survival

 

Minneapolis to La Crosse

We can get lost

Step aboard

Minimal cost

 

On the no-one-will-stop-me policy

Here, showcased for the recital

They’ve caught on to me

Alert words signal my arrival

 

Life on ice,

On Mars,

How Nice,

Trains vs. Cars

 

On to where the tracks lay

Lying all the while

Spoke of being on time

Waiting hours with luggage piled.

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