Posts tagged ‘Terry Scott Niebeling’

January 28, 2015

Post-Modern Prose

Today I woke up next to someone I love,
I walked into the kitchen to feed the cat.
After that, I took a shower, a shit, and brushed my teeth;
Today has been pretty remarkable already.

January 22, 2015

On a Street in the Metro

The remnants of this weather on the ground;
Chemicals on a slick, snow plow.

December 26, 2014

There is No Time to Waste

There is no time to waste.

No time to waste on hate,
No time to waste on excess,
No time to waste on paltry,
No time to waste on regret.

There is no time to waste…

A fact we must respect,
So let’s not forget.

December 18, 2014

I’ll Call in Sick for You*

Are you at work?
Are you really sick?
If it is so,
I’ll help you with this.

You don’t feel well,
You feel pretty bad,
I’ll call your business,
The results are back.

May I speak to the boss?
Is ______ in right now?!
Well, let me tell you
They must leave town.

It doesn’t look good,
They’ve tested absolutely sick.
I’m Doctor Terry,
I’ll attest to this.

They should be released,
Purpose: to get better;
Especially in this perfect,
Warm, sunny weather.

Telling it to them straight,
So you can leave work-
It’s worth it to go,
Get from life its full worth.

Trapped in a cubicle walls seeming beautiful;
The wonders are outside, if the truth be told.

*For AKA.

December 16, 2014

a city shell (and individuals)

Fleeting acquaintance which grew like trash
As each fickle feigned word exchange passed,
Few thoughts ring true while coming through
Comprise this changing layered bunch of you.

December 10, 2014

Some keep Significance going to Social Media – (632)

Some keep Significance going to Social Media –
I keep it, walking the Park –
With a Book for a Link –
And the sun, for a like

Some keep Significance on the Interwebs –
I, just wear my shoes –
And instead of wasting the Day, for Scrolls,
Our little Writer – reads.

Man converses, a skilled Intellect –
And the thought is only skewed,
So instead of being Relevant, realistically –
I am every-day.

*Inspired by Some keep the Sabbath going to Church – (236) BY EMILY DICKINSON

December 6, 2014

A View in Minneapolis

While The Stone Arch Bridge looms
Over a foggy flowing
Mississippi;

In cold,
As flotsam floats-
Traverse these tossing translucent currents.

Glinting nigh business lights of St. Anthony Main.

Automobile and bus engines sustain,
Carrying the once open-air pedestrian-

Over 3rd,
In thin glow street lamps,

Bumping between buildings tall, and stoplights bright.

Downtown life,
With snow gathered underfoot below.

December 4, 2014

Finals in a Boat

Thick are these academic papers;
We cling to as long proved assets.
Fingers flip thru dull page after page,
Proving proclaimed righteous passage.

Moving red eyes scan this distant mote,
To grasp sought after effective note.
Hoping, praying, and prying we go,
Aspire this traveled boat always floats.

Thru vast opaque waters of fluid mind,
Much is the lacking of present time.
Having been assailed, to keep us entwined,
Confined we fret, towing endless line.

To calmer seas onward we press,
Trying challenges bested, nobly met.
To succeed; to degrees; to just pay rent-
Precious hours of our lives lost or lent.

To dock that long off nigh forgotten vessel,
To pin to chest the highest rank of glint medal.

***
See what I’ve caught? It’s called a label.

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.

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