Posts tagged ‘reality’

November 25, 2014

Little Bird (On such a Violent Day)

Side-walk bare-
A thin bird lands,

Picking through crumbs,
With its beak,
While a moment later
It takes to fast air.

No sex, no gender, no opinion, no chaos… no care to compare.

This feathered,
Dark-speckled fuzz-ball;
Natural, not from test-tube,
Sweet sounding creature just is, -true.

Picking up
Hopping round;
Scrounging for what
Lie on the ground.

-Concerned only with its food.

November 24, 2014

Coffee Croissant and Cigarette

I’ll take a coffee croissant and cigarette-
To pull me out of this cold,
To help me forget.

I’ll take a coffee croissant and cigarette-
Deep chills in the wind,
Heavy bundled at best.

I’ll take a coffee croissant and cigarette-
Miracles do happen,
However snow comes ubiquitous, wet.

I’ll take a coffee croissant and cigarette-
People have needs,
When hands are full satisfaction is met.

I’ll take all of the above, because if I look below I see: Ice. Salt. and Snow.

November 22, 2014

Comely Civilian

Sipping hot Chai Tea,
When bitter came sweet.
Numbers change degrees,
Perspective saw discreet.

Early time of day,
We met along the way.
Present here now sit,
A life made of odd bits.

Notice slight turn of head
Sparking bulbs in the mind;
Wait, watch, and reflect,
Faint to smell of Dandelion.

Supple as shone flesh,
One acknowledges dewed must,
Affective thoughts to pass,
Words spoke, open mouth trust.

Salacious centerfold,
Touching each endpoint nerve,
Appointing minor tasks-
Let eager subjects be served.

Sit perked straight up,
Lace bound tight round back;
Pictures opened doors,
Imagined forms one retracts.

That fiend- the mind, moves fancy to bust.
That fiend- the thought: human nature of lust.

November 20, 2014

Mislabeled Morbid (For née LB)

We live in a land of the past,
Books and pages are ways of old.

We are pieces of historic quilts,
Coming loose at the fold.

Proper prints of precious paper,
We have worshiped, day in and day out.

Those ancients come back to haunt us,
Specters float free around old house.

Preposterous monster, behold you!
So green, so vile, so askew-

Distant memories my friend, you’ve passed,
Now we make frightful light of you.

BOO!

There is nothing so morbid as fearing those of the dead,
It’s with great anxiety we’ve weighted them in our head.

*
My father would agree,
He was agreeable.

November 15, 2014

Paper for Paper

We are dictated by ink and dead trees.

We create paper,
To be judged on paper,
To attain paper,
In hopes that that paper will put paper into our pockets;

-Paper for paper.

We are dictated by ink and dead trees;
-This paper,

Any way you call it.

***

Ink:: “Ink can be a complex medium, composed of solvents, pigments, dyes, resins, lubricants, solubilizers, surfactants, particulate matter, fluoresces, and other materials. The components of inks serve many purposes; the ink’s carrier, colorants, and other additives affect the flow and thickness of the ink and its appearance when dry.”

Paper: “Paper is a thin material produced by pressing together moist fibers, typically cellulose pulp derived from wood,rags or grasses, and drying them into flexible sheets. Paper is a versatile material with many uses. Whilst the most common is for writing and printing upon, it is also widely used as a packaging material, in many cleaning products, in a number of industrial and construction processes, and even as a food ingredient – particularly in Asian cultures.”

November 14, 2014

Theatre Our Selves

What play to our mirrors
Coming to for our peers
Gains a perfect little show
Moved to smiles and tears.

We cannot drop this act
Because of love- the fact:
That we are truly ourselves
Only inside of our house.

November 12, 2014

Connect to St. Paul

Follow steam as it floats
On our daily commute,
Orange eastern horizon,
Thoughts of warm soup.

Eyes locked on the bus
Swaying back and forth,
Come along on this ride,
Again, feeling so north.

Travelling tainted ways,
Thinking of pins and pine,
Bundled people walking-
Beyond the glass, outside.

Seasons to be discussed,
Roads to pass as we go,
Men in boots and gloves
Shovel hard at the snow.

Now these sitters travel
Careful as what to pack,
Each to make way here,
In hopes to make it back.

What more could we ask?
What more could we ask?

November 9, 2014

Sunday, November 09, 2014.

It is no Sunday, November 09, 2014.
Or any day…

It is a surreal institute
Of darkness in oppressing clouds
Looking down, waiting, coming-
Wrapping round;

Tangible—insistent, proud-
Turning breath to steam, to puffs, muting sound,
To daggers in the chest-
These real proper effects!

It is not any day,
Or any Sunday, November 09, 2014.
But the weather,
But the pressure.

Felt in measures.

October 31, 2014

Small Parts of Us

Balled tissue found in my pocket,
Crumpled, asymmetrical too,
Holding browned stained spatter,
Amongst dried tears of proof.

Discovered in seldom worn jacket,
Once you were tucked deep inside;
Producing contents as pure magic,
Tiny parts in my mind come alive.

Last I wore you to a wedding,
Then we heard passing bad news.
I was standing dressed in all black,
Together we were singing the blues.

I tucked you away just safely,
For another day to come;
I found you on this morning (for instance),
Now, I’ve been struck dumb.

Little things we keep, held on to so tight,
Parts of us small, which make up our lives.

October 29, 2014

The Silverado on Blocks

In an upscale neighborhood,
There is a truck what sits on blocks;

Stuck out as a sore thumb.

Hard to miss,
Even in thick morning fog.

Standing sepia in darkness
High on taut tied stacks;
Set out afternoon before,
Recycled paper compact.

An act of sheer convenience leveled,
What leisure for these thieves.
Owner’s shocked face contorted,
When they walk out to see.

Nothing quite changes the feeling of comfort
As a thief’s malignant and distasteful way.

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