Posts tagged ‘love’

January 25, 2016

tragic animals (true art)

the imperfections
make the
human being,

by nature we
are flawed;

so, love me
for all
my stupidity
and challenges,

as we are
animals of
a similar kind.

***

the 35W bridge
fell on a
swift August day
during
rush hour traffic,

in its
modern marvel,
in a humid haze.

the stone arch
bridge stands
square beige still,

just so, guiding
past and present
to the
city center scene.

January 11, 2016

9 below

9 below
and nothing
really
matters.

A dusting
of snow,
but what’s
that?

The forecast
doesn’t
mention the
wind’s biting,

the aching
bones,

or heavy layers
of clothes:

hat, gloves,
scarves,
long underwear,
and coat.

We Minnesotans,
we know.

9 below
is what
they call it,

but it’s something
else, something
more imposing;

it’s cold life,
like that,

nothing more than negative.

And I prefer zero,
calm and neutral.

And I prefer anything
but minus digits.

January 9, 2016

Realism in 4 Sentences

the 1st sentence:
you make it
what it truly is.
and then two:
nothing else
in this big-small
city matters,
not even the
bold peripheral
blatherings: blah,
blah, blah, blah…
or (3): the incessant
boring doldrums
of certain choice
modern artistry.
last (4) sentence:
when will your
actions reflect
this sentiment?

December 31, 2015

Homage to Charles Jackson, The Lost Weekend; the lost critic

There is no fix for it, besides outright
quitting. And how many people will do
that? They don’t care to, you know. When
they get upset like any person here, they
think they want to give up, but they don’t,
really. They can’t bring themselves to
admit they’re critics, or that judgement’s
got them pegged. They believe they can
give it and take it fair — so they give it.
If they do stop, out of shame or awareness,
they go at once into such a state of
depression and shock that they become
inaudible. They are lost of thought, and
feel sure enough of themselves to be able
to start assessing, promising objectivity,
or straight realism, and — yeah, then it
becomes the same old play over again.

December 29, 2015

Ode to Inventing Ireland

we were a dark pink
dawn over Paris

the Libertines of
South Liffey

Gaelic winds
of Aran nights

ferry and bus rides
to another time

we were an ocean away
and of new mind

with wide eyes
of grand sights

abroad we travelled
abroad we’d find

we were inventing
Ireland, we were alive

December 20, 2015

new sunday (amassing life)

the objective thermostat here
is hard butter on a dirty
busy kitchen countertop.
other contraptions don’t work.
i am front page, B & C,
and Columbia Heights business.
they want coffee shops for
auto care, they want a place
to find what they need.
they, they, they, but who?
this is sunday with my nose
in a creased Star Tribune.
i am at home with Jazz 88(.5),
with the smell of burnt sourdough.
that which surrounds creates.
sounding the packaging from
yesterday’s christmas market parade;
that was money well spent.
coffee travels with it in aromas and
heat to our morning stomachs.
empty then, now made stuffed full.
just two grown up children
at a register, talking about getting
quarters for laundry, where baristas
broke food & beverage codes,
and what goes on later that day was told.
i don’t want to get sick, i just want.
i love the short weekends for
what they are, for what our
society allots a persona like me. i can
afford this for just five days of paid toil
out of the lengthy work week, and
i think, it might be worth the wait.
new sunday measuring the warmth,
running in the cold; we are finding two
for five for a 40 hour amassing life.
and that is how exactly i am i.

December 14, 2015

Seeing the End

I’ve seen doors locked for all time,
purpose in moments changed,
and boxes closed indefinitely

with familiar occupants inside.
Yet, still I lift my head in ice pellets
coming down on the campus mall,

and still my view is fixed straight-
forward when allowed, and with
this aside, and taking on alternatives.

I exist in a one bedroom apartment
in Southeast, brushing teeth, put-
ting my eyeballs in to see just this.

December 4, 2015

we love

we love between
the facial hair stabbings
and stolen cane plants.

we love between
the outside world separatists
yelling “unity”

and the inside agitator’s ignorance.
we love between
a wide geography traveled distance

and unremarkable ones we are shut in.
we love between
dry hands and stained duvets,

purity years ago, and the
light of a Christian morning
staring back at you from a pulpit.

we love like that,
no between, unequivocally–alive:
kiss, trust, and a made breakfast.

we love.

December 3, 2015

The World Inside

i have just fogged up
the dirty mirrors
on my bathroom
mother, with a
view of putting
my eyeballs
arduously in, as
the cat lapped at
a curtain, a horn blew
in the metro distance,
as she stirred in
her layered bed, natural,
non-sound; where the
just is just was
there to take.
all day long for this
preparation, rebirth
from here on out,
then out into it all.
i am a reflection had,
i was blind then visible.
awoken to resemble a cog
from dreams of the nod.
cleansed this simple,
inside world so nimble.
i was just there
in an adjusted stare.
and this mirror fogged up.

November 23, 2015

why i say “i love you”

saying “i love you”
is not a transaction.
there is nothing
to be given nor
taken away. it just is
that, something said;
all important, all
meaning, poignant,
but only if it is meant.
like taking a breath.
you do or you don’t.
if you do, you are.
if you don’t, you are not.
love is not currency
love just is simply.
and these things we
say make us smile.
and that is mostly why
i say “i love you.”

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