Posts tagged ‘prose’

July 21, 2014

Monday Morning

alerted bolt upright by a sticky sheet situation,
first hours of the day
eggs toast and hot sauce
back pains and skin stuck to the bed.

radio conveying news, noise, whatever…
life has been brought to my attention -social media-
ladies promoting sexism; life venting on things, ironically, whatever…

moving stirring sitting standing
applying lotion,
fresh tattoos peel and feel like sunburns,
still drying to some extent.

packing bags, fingering keys, opening doors,
one way to the bathroom for relief
fake leather gloss on my bike seat
read something, anything—Nietzsche.

shower, shit, don’t shave
set- stare in the mirror,
look down to feet
making way, avoiding the cat and debris,
dust filled rooms, draw shades no heat relief.

silverware drawers,
sink filled with grease,
pressures such as time, hypocrites, saboteurs, hunger, cleanliness–…  oh, and NEEDS.

hang about dizzy-clogged head
one thinks
one forgets
one waits
one bends
I should have stayed in bed
I should have stayed in bed.

July 14, 2014

Cold Day July

Hot Coffee
Cold Day
Blue Sky
Why complain?

Books to entertain,
Existing on this plain.

Between life,
insight,
Likes
Bikes and Lakes-

There is nothing but happiness along the way.

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 9, 2014

Tattoo II

Dark outlines
on pretty flesh;
a meaningful, forever, sentiment- lined sketch.

For life, for death,
a canvass to test,
bold bright colors; judgment: pretense.

Now art, now unique, now taut puffed; hurt when pressed.

Self-inflicted wounds to heal,
paying for this pain,
stories etched on the surface;
memories remain.

Now, what do yours mean? …

Everyone is jumping off of that bridge,
So I packed a parachute and lit a smoke- see?

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 6, 2014

Positive Platitude (this day)

Have a great day, make it that way.

Cold shower and fresh fruit,
Radio’s on to get the scoop.

Come dressed in Sunday best.
Blessed, whatever that means.

The little things__

Counting clouds in the sky, as we are biking by,
Minnesota streets; avoid pot-holes in between.

Big warm sun overhead,
Oh! To leave pleasant bed.

The life we lead;
Not the life we could have led.
Positive thoughts,
The words we’ve read.

Making what you can out of what you have, this day-

For no reason at all.

June 30, 2014

Certainty

Death, a certainty in life
Just one…

Gut-rot hung-over
Dirt in sleepy eyes

Then the rain came;
Drained,
Growth sustained.

Death, a certainty in life
Just one…

Changes as the clouds in the sky

Once tried
Once tried

No more

Certainly.

June 26, 2014

The Great Human Specimen

(Words of which describe feeling; the impossible to relate.)

Thoughts we couldn’t possibly know
Interpreting best we can
Relating as we move in growth
From anger to love; make amends

Constant ebb and flow
She says it gets worse over time
Freeing and easing as we go
Futile attempts at relieving the mind

Struggling to care for one-self
Bettering to make it through
The toughest part of life
Is missing those we knew

Forgetting each moment one by one
Filling them with something new
A child once, now a man
Living only to pay our dues

We are the great human specimen; half of one life and half of another.
Our eyes, our ears, our smiles, our fears, come from our father and mother.

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 11, 2014

Meaning

An anomaly
A puzzle
A quizzical notion,
-Enigma.

Light, dark, grey
Flesh opens to blood-stains and pains

Once wrapped taught around
Up top
A brain

Eyes,
A Nose that drains

Hands and feet,
Legs below

Born, an age
Names and clothes

Hair follicles misplaced; misshapen displays.

We make ourselves in better ways,
-But in better ways than what?

Big Bang:
-Molecules; me and you.

Fate;
Naysayers claim a choice to choose.

The Bible too…
It was made of something.

Paper, ink, think-thought, present moments, caught or lost—
That’s the idea.

Dare do take part,
Now,
How did it start?

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