Posts tagged ‘thoughts’

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 2, 2014

check your inbox

Hello Veronica,
I will be there.
Thank you,
Terry_

Hello World,
I will save you.
Don’t worry,
Terry_

Hello Bottle,
I promise I will empty you.
Best of luck,
Terry_

Hello Minneapolis,
You are claimed by too many “artists”.
I won’t leave you,
Terry_

Hello Existentialist,
You are aloof in the park doing stretches.
I know you don’t care,
Terry_

To whom it may concern,
You are the best person.
Please write back,
Terry_

November 30, 2014

The Morning After (Downtown La Crosse)

The morning after,

Early new day;
“Bar hair” and Fishbowls,
Smell of smoke,
Sore throat-

Subtle suggestions: Let’s walk down by the river.
Last night’s concepts seem less conducive to life.

Now,
Light which sneaks
Through venetians blinds.

_even though they are closed.

Painful to eyes-
And then a piss.
Then a brush of teeth,
Under dry lips.

Moving,
Aching,
Wasting,
Stiff tender bits-

The evening before, knowing full well it would come to this.
Downtown: the nightlife, old friends, the drinks, to witness.

November 28, 2014

Every Story has a Companion

It’s really easy
To look at one side of a story,
And to be affected
By just that one side.

But what I’ve found throughout the years,
Hours of thought,
Hard-work,
And beers-

Is that more often than not, that one side of the story is not alone.

Words and interpretation are never the exact
Same,
Objective,
Way.

Except for apparently in America,
In August, last week, right now, and today.

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 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 5, 2014

Patchwork Thing

Broken parts
Accumulate the me
I am;

Pieced together
What it seems
On a whim-
Head, abdomen, and limbs.

Padding down ends of Scotch tape
In hopes that it holds.

So many holes,
Can you see my soul?
Dismembered me standing in place,
Am I exposed?

Crease the folds.

Broken eggs can relate.
Falling apart to date.

Life as this quilt stuck together.
Indifferent and varied, as the weather.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 863 other followers