Posts tagged ‘reading’

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.

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 27, 2014

How to Label an Artist/Author

The Art we delegate
From our own perspectives
Shapes our lives by our objectives

Down along the river
Or near a country farm
Intersecting thoughts which gather alarm

One sees it as this
One sees it as that
But who took the time to create the abstract?

Drunk on a bent
Metallic mouth of pills
Constructing a piece of horror for simple thrills

Other way around
Small city, big town
We have nothing to be ashamed of; these entities which confound

Orthodox rigid
Purely stuck in her ways
Running and ruining the lot, dictating thorough days

She stood so tall
Fat shiny red virago
‘Nothing new under the sun’, she said- let that swine waddle

Pictures in mind
Drawings in chalk
Some people are artists, while others are just talk

Strolling through woods
Park groves we stalk
The sights and sounds accumulate here on this walk

Figure a fitting label
Sit at sparse dinner table
The wind blows in performing a fable

Absolute absolves
We can make it, one and all
That of which we announce as “Art”, -exclusively they call

Most things are Art, and some things are not
To be an artist you must show what you’ve got.

April 28, 2014

Hipster Trivia at the 331 Club

Traffic lights outside
Squared off streets we ride
Orange glow comes to eyes
Promoting fun inside

Progression riding electric tracks
Now new Prius mounted bike racks
To tires, to gas; of metal and glass
Varying vehicles pass; blurred mass

Two Towns as one; this Twin Cities
Biked them apart in nights- winds against me

Horseshoes hit pavement in the mist of flown pigeons
Spanned bricks and mortar, riverfronts lain nigh bridges

Talking loudly with crass; assumed trite little facts
Old times we tell ourselves not to look back

At great heights we don’t look for cracks
At the bottom we look up and react

A smile;
Could be the start
Of a beautiful frown,
Or vise versa.
….  Or really dumb words…

To the street to the beach
To the liquor store first
On two feet in the sleet
Bright-sunned winters; make hurt

Not like sun burn
Pinked enough to learn
Thrown thoughts of concern to the birds
Know the fish by the worms, in other words

On the bar with “local celebrities”
I have to ask, “Where are they at?”
So many people who are dead to me
The meaningful discussions they attract

Flash those few a fat front row
Wait for a single beer, find seats for the show
She said she writes for Revolver, things like that
She said just put “hipster” in the title for hits, fact.

You learn something new every day.

April 25, 2014

Espresso Royale Observation

Leathered Leaves holding residence
Of standing in pots of dirt in present
These structures capturing the eyes
Outlined fine disguised greyed skies
Boxed and boarded in this casement
Of the light opposed save debasement
Terrarium rest the inquisitive patients
Along the observation deck, gauging at situation.

April 22, 2014

Worn Soles (How to tell a Major)

Shoes lined the step
No faces to connect
Worn Chuck’s symbolize fun
Mindset symbolized by dress

Who owns them in person?
Who unties them at rest?
Who wears them out walking?
Who sits them snug under desk?

A mile in shoes and you’ll know any old fool
One’s on life’s route just running through
Jumping foils and flows constant as they go
Rubber soles smoothed stories traveled true

The ebb and flow goes under toe
The times that move ever slow
We walk on fast, and move on past
Our shoes just follow below.

One can always tell a shoe by the wearer
One can tell a major by Chuck Taylor’s (English).

April 21, 2014

Beautiful Faults

I can read the scar on his face

Outline grooved

Intensely indented

Somewhat shadowed

Speaking volumes

 

I can read the scar on his face

It’s not a conjured statement, it just is

 

Facing out,

It exists on just that

 

It will never leave him,

It will be there tomorrow when I look back

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 26, 2014

Ms. Price

The Matriarch of Thought
Standing once, again, at the front, near porous mind’s space
Stay at the cusp of those taught tangled tangibles.
Yet now I am
Her words, weighted moving out,
Stopping, at the presence
Of lofty stagnant aired room, scented perfume, bouncing off eggshell walls
And the aged dust of those pupils.

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.

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