Posts tagged ‘outside’

July 23, 2014

At the beach (Cedar South)

At the beach,

this burnt sand desert;
tan,
beyond feet,
hot!
dig underneath.

Swimming lake water to avoid the heat,
people lazing on towels,
hiding beer cans
attempt save discrete.

Plants sharp as knives while walking with bare-feet.

At the beach
At the beach

Sex parts covered by diaphanous cloth,
where we sit with wandering thought lost.

Sunscreen smells,
lax notion,
rubbing lotions,
discussion minced, quiet commotion-

ride, bipedal, or car from the city to the streets to meet,

at the beach
at the beach.

May 5, 2014

Pre-Game Summer (Mayday 2014)

Of early summer days, at the parade:

When late hands adorn grease and dirt,
Evidence produced of work and worth.

Beer stains on shirt-
What’s worse?

A face tight from sun bright;
Fried,
Sun-burnt,

Smile with deep lazy pride,
A good hurt.

Rode through
Commuting by
What exercise?
What a great time.

Things not done in winter,
Don’t think of that,

–Think of that.

Minnesotans had become bitter;
Different,
Now back.

In groups we relax.

Clear skies managed weather apropos for on-the-go.

Outside,
Midday,
Mayday,

Until night

With the cricket songs
And the crowds gone

We ride our way back,
And wake with the morning light.

April 10, 2014

The Sense of Morgen

Morning language of foreign affairs
Out the door, across the lawn
A man lip-syncs silent frustrations
Coming light exposes woken dawn

From afar becoming freshly shaven
Supple smooth shining firm at distant sight
Exposed shoulders soft warm- they smolder
Bending and twisting with purposeful might

Flattened fur amongst fallen fodder
Stepping past on sprung gait fore longed
Hesitate to walk, they jump at a ponder
A flock of Birds sing their sweetly song

Traverse moving, coming forth
Up the stairs straight along the rail
I come passing through the door
Winds up blowing leaves as a sail

Dimmed light inside; night, upon the daily rags
I grab one staggering past as a lady bends
Hands pull and from the rack this pulp drags
Front cover to see what this issue lends:

Of riots it talks, never had that haughty celebration
Of pay it talks, we aim to change the penurious situation
Of development it talks, can we mount this station for payment?
Of research it talks, for progress searching for inspiration

Take a seat and read, the day’s been made
Take some time to think of all these claims.

***
This rests in between reality and not.

April 7, 2014

Warm Daydream

Lofty clouds amassed,
Images of which to defuse
Hung high mingled against cool inoffensive air
Robin’s eggshell-blue lay o’er matted grass hard hazel hue,

Horizon wears;
Faded fable
Collecting odd glares
As the willing and able

Constantly circling the direction of perched Cock,
High, going all spun round
-Unknowing
Oh, please come down, a sight not to mock

Shut-up, shut-in, sit straight, out of side-
What was impossible is now probable and ascribed

Fond apathy now bruised- speak of senses, sneakers: tied shoes- dried and rash, none could chance a comparison for truth

Left those pedestrians and people-watchers completely confounded; light thought that drowns the senses, unawares and confused.

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…

January 14, 2014

Well…

Well,

 

As a shut-in I have found:

I love to read books.

I miss the warm weather.

And I am fond of being around those I am fond of.

 

Well,

 

As a shut-in I have found:

Snow bound text, warm weather nostalgia surpasses the wind-chilled breeze and frozen feet.

All parts of my body feel the weight of the weather in this climate, although it could be changing, one feels the immediate effects of the now.

 

A barometer can be used to check the air pressure.

But a tool for measure is useless when one can just walk outside to prove this.

 

Well,

 

As a shut-in I have found:

I wear no smile, no frown, I have few thoughts; those, I think, you are here somehow, you move forward somehow-I wonder what it’s like to be on the brink, somehow…

 

Well,

 

As a shut-in I have found:

This will be yesterday and you will be tomorrow.

 

This seems to happen a lot.

But never when it’s hot.

 

These are ideas.

And as my grandmother says, “A well is just a hole in the ground.”

Kind of like this weather.

 

Well…

July 3, 2013

Two Times

Two times a year you cannot go outside:  One in the winter and one in the summer times*.

 

The former you’ll freeze up, and the latter you’ll run dry.

 

Minnesota questions, why?

 

The contrasts are stark.

The places we reside.

Actions never lie-as one lies confused on the floor in sweltering heat, rain, snow, or sleet.

 

(*purposefully, as to why I don’t leave…)

 

The yearly repeat.

June 14, 2013

Perspective From Under A Bridge, Part 1

You were a wrecked ruin too soon.

Our recent past was your now in comparison.

 

Your fair skin has been traded for peeling paint.

 

Steel to steal, scraps revealed, a rugged appeal.

 

Lastly, you sit… You remain; all around you has changed, the results of a capital war waged over tires and trains.

 

Lined wood soaked in creosote,

A shade of dark grey stays where rails once lay.

 

Cement legs that function, you stand your solid ground.

 

Above the river you hang, dark, dormant, and artfully quiet.

One has a hard time just walking by it.

 

History speaks volumes along the river’s edge on an early summer’s eve.

May 1, 2013

On the Banks Under a Bridge

Sunburn epidemic, the sun is out and going down.

Get out of the house and off of the couch.

 

I will still love you if you go.

Flesh tinted a red glow.

 

Thoughts you should know; we can move, change and grow.

 

We can live on our own.

Roam and moan.

 

And still love what we know.

Still be free from owned.

 

To and fro, ‘til dust and ash, why fuss, that negativity is just trash.

And if you must, you shall know, we have a warm weather lust.

Who wouldn’t, we have been living under ice, wet, cold, and snow.

March 25, 2013

Along the Mississippi (part 2)

Every moment serene, sitting perched on tree root, aside the mighty Mississippi.  The river at this stage is a docile and friendly companion.  The breeze is mightier, vast a complex, cold and harsh.  Sitting in contemplation, pleasant situation.  Pre-springtime life.

I can see hither the Western banks yet I cannot command the impasse on foot, rather by structure.  Nor do I stir; the quality of life in this sedentary placement has left me lazy and awestruck.  I spin my head what I can to take it all in; a beautiful sight, in a beautiful land, with nature, my friend.

Brown and dirt is omnipotent; the color of the bag in my hand and the bottle within it, the ground around and all that is found.

 

Birds, although sparsely fluttering, chirp in the distance and over shoulder.

Leaves moving alerting ears to a passing threat, forget that, just a passing threat.

Just the wind, we catch our breath.

 

The sun is mediocre-warm, although bright enough for shades.

My hard cider is cold but it warms.

A bell rings when a locomotive is pressing, a whistle, a Northstar train has passed.

 

I sit back as the water slowly slides south.

 

 

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 644 other followers