Posts tagged ‘Terry Scott Niebeling’

August 19, 2014

St. Paul in the Fall

St. Paul in the fall,

whilst leaves change and thin.

 

Whilst festivities and fairs

under tents, bearing food, creep in.

 

Whilst trees bend

with robust forceful wind.

 

A time to reflect the mess we’re within;

past and coming years, one which end and begin.

 

Peers and loved ones we’ve lost,

at grand experience’ cost. 

 

Standing growing moving,

shedding one layer at a time

 

A tan peals and pales,

A secret is revealed.

 

Skin and bone become frail,

light years fast pass the snail. 

 

A north shore lake-effect patience,

Months under sun we’ve waited.

 

Suffering rain snow and gale,

Minnesota weather: what it entails. 

 

In and amongst everything;

though a singular unit, alone as one.

 

Walking fresh cold press coffee in hand,

scanning distant verdant lands.

 

On this walk towards autumn- new times and old friends,

alternatives we enact; to the ever changing plans.

 

Remember the voices we will never hear again.

Remember the times with loved ones we spend.

 

Perplexed by this simple yet inspiring life,

St. Paul in the fall feels cool, close, fast approaching, and right. 

August 16, 2014

Empty Space Saturday

This place

desolate, bleak,

empty-

skeletons stood upright to

prove

a structural form.

 

Watching

the paint on the walls grow old,

 

hearing

thud: heart-beating,

below skin.

 

Times,

follow the second hand’s tick-

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick,

 

sound of a knife-

slice.

 

Ding of the elevator; on a far off floor,

maybe the moon-

these distant lands…

 

Not for you.

 

Sit down, not quite at home-

comfortable,

this place is haunted too;

 

with:

dead memories

dust

and pasts assumed.

 

The surrounding silence marks the language lacking.

 

Hunched on rowed stacks,

far towards the back.

 

-Can’t see.

 

And you thought you were the only one

Sit and think until punch clock strikes: done. 

August 14, 2014

The World We Live In

Broken bones under flesh fortress

lacking compassion, brass tact,

watching misshapen clouds float by

lives ending every breath they pass.

 

Dine on colon cancer while

sipping cirrhosis of the liver.

Indulging just to indulge,

dropping bombs, “peace giver”.

 

Common sense factors in this;

complain about maligned malaise,

bike past full-up Mc Donald’s

those sick and confused sit for days.

 

People stunned, smoke and speak,

running once a week, not for health-

weakened knees, speckled disease

always giving up when in doubt.

 

I can’t, I have a mirror to answer to,

how does one explain that?

No need for a child right now,

I already own a cat.

August 12, 2014

Man Man at Triple Rock

Observant trend scene,
Heavy tattoo engrained,
Faux-tough and minor mean,
Façade, true, is claimed.

Street: Riverside, easy ride:
Perspective existing local,
Patched bags for small fries;
Real hipsters for yokels.

Through Cultures and Vultures,
Much Music and Trash-
Relative status shown vouchers,
Can’t see; bright lights we lack.

Stand in short lines outside.
Killing self with thin cigarettes;
Realize these lies through eyes,
One puff at a time, we forget-

Dive into undulating pool of people
Scuffed tennis shoes tied loose,
Sweat smell we breathe through-
Sip expensive cheap rail booze.

Catch the Route 2 Bus to be,
This night-life part of the city.
***
Motto: seen you there before, but never met, as in meet.
Standing dirty wet floor below feet until it’s time to leave.

August 11, 2014

Poemism

Poemism,

 

Women in a hallway laugh in high-pitched gasps

Keyboard sounds each letter, each word, each mark

Columns and books and pages and paper and carts

Hands have been tied; set in motion, all of our lives

Anointed anecdotes for possible and realistic potion

Motion in the lines, value and dots; we make art a lot,

Half-assed cross-hatched chicken-scratch, this and that

Comparison in passion, although found it tough to relate

Mouth agape, unwanted sentences we slate, as of late-

Contribute contraband, questions, and propaganda

With what is the stamina; have we not enough coffee?

Have we lost are heads in puffy clouds above so lofty?

Most moments digress, then forget, find the path, then again forget

Minutes we have have been lent, meant, it stops only when it can

It moves, bends, manipulates, morphs, and changes for nothing.

What else is there to say about everything besides that:  It’s lovely.

August 6, 2014

Counseling

Broken concepts,
And I used to use colloquialisms frequently.

Is that a fact?
Glib drab, parted ways we react.

I haven’t pressed so hard with a pen in years;
maybe at counselor,
maybe before I tasted beer.

One can easily forget- what, with all of the prescriptions: Prozac, Zoloft, Ambien, and Effexor… These are words that won’t come underlined red; that common- for the better.

Does the kid have a mental problem, or does the country have a label and pharmaceutical problem?

You be the judge__

I have this many problems: to the nth degree.

I need better; fix me.

He wrote with passion, they say that in past-tense.

He had ideas,
he used words,
spoke when they allowed,
when they told him enough(!) he didn’t make a sound.

Now he changes his ways to reflect that language is sediment.

Trash amassed at each letter’s small feet,
from history they suck like a leach,
from years ago, and now today,
the words we use have their own ways.

Each one speaks through me.
Is it a drug addict or a patient that you see?

***

“The doctor is ready to see you now…”

***

My face was clay when I looked into that mirror somehow.

August 4, 2014

Fond Memories

Stand in a pale room funeral home.
Dim yellow dances striped walls.
Close fake ferns and fresh-cut flowers.
Not into gleamed opaque casket.
My father sits, near his stepfather lay.
A soda can rests on stained wooden edge.
Here bright reflections of unnatural dye.
We have to pick him up, so heavy- and out.
Grab hand on cold pallbearer’s hold.
Navy Cadillac hearse backs to still box.
Pull with strained arms, struggle to balance.
Measure more densely than expected, hot day.
Hung-over and dried out, stiff- filled chemicals.
We get in the van and head to the American Legion.

Disbelief.

Family and a buffet line inside
We sit close and speak soft
A pastor comes up to talk
He says he is with god
I go and get seconds
Completely lost

My grandmother does not understand.

August 3, 2014

Morning Read

First thoughts of morning,
poor vision blues in a book.

Hung on each dark word as the guilty-
grabbing tired mind as it takes me inside.
Scanning each sentence, detecting its mention;
importance of just this, and just that,

-at that,
I put my head back
on a pillow,

Thoughts of last night stir as my belly aches.
Reading inspired relaxation as I ready the day.

July 31, 2014

Days between Books

Time is of the essence
We have now and others don’t
The mail comes in
Heavy, in boxes
Full of books
People count on efficiency
Moments matter
This is now
Time never ends, but when it does
Patrons to service
Phone calls to make
Papers to print
The life, the day, the dollar, the request
Another recall
Another beep
Another list
Projects and process
Building this knowledge
No one regrets
Nothing to fret
Days and what we do
Define me and you
The only proof lies in a check
Electronic deposit, hardly noticed notion
Who does anyway?
This is incredibly easy to forget.

July 29, 2014

Born Again ________.

Decrepit church, ruinous cemetery lay falling round back. South Ridge, Methodist, where we used to hunt for truth, speeches of the rock, power, and how it stands- magician slight of hand. Find your rock. Abracadabra.

Weed and trees—green, shade the worn markers for comfort, rough sandstone run smooth. Grass is tended monthly- assumptions, assume.

Parishioners the few, the lot, opening doors once weekly searching for healing light, they hang on rusty hinges, comfort from solitude, a peaceful mind; AA for the lonely, hope for those who don’t put faith into science, logic, rationality… I digress, proper community of another name; a normal life, sans convent.

Half full the gold offering plate, dirty money within, spins from hand to hand, spoils of the land.

Lost place on a lost hill- so many lost souls, lost confessions spilt.

Daybreak is comfort, night warrants for want; words, movement, in the vast stillness of the Minnesotan plain. Silence falls hard as pots do from top cupboards, and down. Crash of landing draws attention, the vibrations hangs in the air for years to come. No one loses grasp of that time- never, timeless, priceless, event. Dropping flowers, tears, exhausted.

This church stands as the bow, at attention, an ancient pale white. Stern amassing casualties of life, flesh wrapped- longevity lapsed, they lacked the fight. Laying in peace, producing nothing new, save for dust when the wind blows or stirs, these vacant memories of others.

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