Posts tagged ‘money’

July 31, 2014

Days between Books

Time is of the essence
We have now and others don’t
The mail comes in
Heavy, in boxes
Full of books
People count on efficiency
Moments matter
This is now
Time never ends, but when it does
Patrons to service
Phone calls to make
Papers to print
The life, the day, the dollar, the request
Another recall
Another beep
Another list
Projects and process
Building this knowledge
No one regrets
Nothing to fret
Days and what we do
Define me and you
The only proof lies in a check
Electronic deposit, hardly noticed notion
Who does anyway?
This is incredibly easy to forget.

July 24, 2014

Entitlement Changes Everything,

I won’t buy shit I don’t need.
I won’t sell worthless materials.
I won’t attempt to acquire possession,
save foil distraught people.

I won’t sellout my “loved ones”.
I won’t assume the intent of the dead.
I won’t speak implementing conjecture;
spinning cobwebs in your head.

I won’t suddenly change on point;
giving up my morals and ethos.
I won’t stare you in the face,
passing along “truths”- steeped in apocryphal.

I won’t because I can’t;
my spine remains intact.
My brains still function proper,
processing small things, this and that.

My train is still on the tracks,
just coming out of the station.
Presently I sit in thought,
pondering every situation.

I won’t bend to others’ whims.
I won’t listen to frivolous debate.
I won’t exist in sedentary situations,
or act foolishly in haste.

Moreover, I ask the lot,
In a common sense place:
Won’t you do the same?
Won’t you do the same?

So now that I’ve come forward you can take a lesson from me
Put away all your assumptions and let your words flow free.

***

You know my name;
It’s the same as my dad’s.
Everyone “knows” what he would have wanted,
weighing a lifetime, possessions in their hands.

July 13, 2014

Sociopolitical

Sociopolitical,
as lipstick and licorice;
kiss with the tongue,
hard feelings then diminish.

We won’t mention that again.

She said she’s always fine,
the next week she died.

I have the text to prove it.

-Found her along a country roadside
with holes and blood and mud.
The Sunday newspaper said it as
a matter of fact- Just. Like. That.

We had this one class together…
-Fremdsprachen, Deutsch.

Who writes that shit anyway?
It can’t be real-

Those papers…

A life that lacks is labeled as that.
A life on track is labeled as that.

Hands tied, for gosh sakes!
Bright white lines,
Coldest milk shake,
I was on Valium so I don’t remember that day- anyway.

Then the poetry reading was over…
So was everything else-

No apprehension
No hesitation.

What’s tension?
We mention:

Now-a-days,
A lifetime away,
Full of choices
Did you hear them voices?

And you thought for a walk.
And you thought for a talk.
And you made art with chalk
that did not last so long.

-Some cloudy milk transparency.

But that was all you did,
then you slept-

after the sun had left.

***

Also, danke schön Pakistan.
Story: A patron puts one hundred-dollar bills inside of the books he returns only to promote reading.

July 8, 2014

Commuting on Como

Up,
Pedaling through
Como Avenue.

Alongside shared-living apartments
Neon-signs cluttered storefronts.

Following is
the
summer sun,
heat,
and sweat.

7 years ago I was more acquainted
There was so much to forget.

There was sun and snow,
Heartbreak and elation,
Sex and lies, good times;
Things called by other names, situations.

Past trees which grew
Broken glass from bottles drunks threw
Stand lampposts which haven’t moved
These quiet streets, home for rocks, sand, and dust- below shoes.

Maneuvering, wondering if the old neighbors were still alive.

Winter stuck in a basement
Bright light outside
Warm only within
-Hiding eyes behind dingy broken blinds.

Father stopped in around Christmastime
I was with a she who left like the wind.

Found in moments betting on the weather.

Two doves,
A cat,
Empty bottles,
Trash amassed; pieces of me mixed between.

Now I ride by this old familiar place.

Remembering,
Biking,
Thinking,

How did this town get so small?
How did I get so big?

***
She once said: biking is the best way to learn the city; Minneapolis is the biggest small town around.

July 5, 2014

The Metropolitan Recluse

Downtown lot
walking amongst trash, others, and pigeons.

Looking on,
Moving forward.
To self- no words
Same city we live in.

Spending money there and here,
Names for affluence, titles, labels, and idea appear.

Sharing air, space, and time;
Random moments in life aligned.

Yet they are hardly noticed.

Soft sun smell; triggered warm refuse
Familiar with no one close-

view the metropolitan recluse.

July 3, 2014

Nicollet Ave. in the back of some kitchen…

Having a bad day—usually
I just need to walk it off,

Most times,
I’ll even sell my soul at the coffee shop

They can’t judge me if I am stuck inside
I don’t mind,

Getting down
But you’ll be hard pressed finding me in uptown

Juice by morning
Beer by night
Winter take the bus
Summer take the bike

Kickball every Tuesday
Was routine as day and night
Had to cut back, and sit back
To make bucks to keep on the lights

My mind is freewheel spinning
My positive side is at start like the beginning
Nicollet Ave downtown in back of a kitchen
I learned how to deal with what I’ve been given

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 5, 2014

Measure of Man

Hands spun on a dot
Reflecting a scene before
The peanut butter sandwich inside
Or its crumbs on the floor

The wise-crack comment
That no one seems to get ever
The sheer weight of stupidity
In a mass of clever

This is as I am
I am truly just one person
I wake up in the morning
To make important decisions

I rest late in the day
Just to make it through to night
I am an average thinker
On the pathway of life

Am I the measure of a clock that hangs on the wall?
Am I a past person, moments ago, the one they recall?

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 30, 2014

The Death of Dinkytown

Consorted constructs
Moving,

Pressing forward–

View the new rubble of Old Dinkytown;
One can witness history’s deconstruction firsthand.

Cars, trucks, dust, dirt and trash,
Catalyst set in motion for cash.

Landmarks traveling by the bucket load
Motives directed by greased-tainted plans
Structures confound
Expats return to these unfamiliar lands

Sidewalk seating on patios
Leisurely sitting patrons relax
Hotels and High-rises impose
On storefronts that won’t last

Coming up from the ground
These trite hollow dwellings

Capitalistic stories in stories;
Transparency of circumvention, they remain—foretelling.

Few set about shaping a city of many with their money, their interests, and their greed.

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