Posts tagged ‘Truth’

September 30, 2014

Modern Problem

Overreliance on technologies;

I need my smartphone to:
take out the trash,
go to work,
pay bills
take notes in class…

I need the whole world to shut down…
I need to get off of my ass…

When I push that button
And watch the screen glow-flash
I know I’m wasting my time
I know I’m not alone in that.

September 28, 2014

Dream Goals

If you treat

your goals

as dreams

they’ll disappear

when you

wake.

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.

May 2, 2014

How to: Career Planning

Gold ring found had been nearly drown
Old times from past, histories step to advance
Trees walk among the least, from Sauron they flee
The brave stand their ground as the weak bow down. -OTS

How to Make (Do)

Here I sit at the bar
Not contemplating life
Not outlining my day
Not drinking away my night

Here I sit at the bar
Long faces gather round
Supping dry liquors
Some clear and some brown

Drawing on politics
How the world spins round
Group caste of another knit
Supply far distance around town

Before the sun has long gone
Or merchant door fast locked
They show a gaze forlorn
Of the have and have-nots

The old they say:
Go not to school
But make hay
Education is for indebted and feckless fools, they claim

I’ve polished the boot
I’ve washed piled dishes
I’ve stacked up dirty loot
Backroom illegitimate kitchens

I’ve been told what to do
What to think and how to move
I’ve gone full circle to prove
The importance in abandonment of marionette rule

One surprised at how life takes place
Scholarly alterations of changing ways
They say make haste- time is not to waste
Lest become pastiche of those with taste

People, they talk and they chat
Reacting as they can to this and that
Doing little for much complaint
Devising no real plan of attack

Again, at the bar I sit
Reflection on past
I drink to the good life
To others I say, “Relax, only just act.”

They are merely talking when they say they are making plans
Lips move grand ideas but what movement do they place in their hands?

***

The loudest people with the best ideas
Have nothing to do, and so much to fear.

Excerpt:

Only to enhance our frowns
Taken care of by indebted future lot
It comes with major threats and frets
Stuck in made plans, yet to disband they have not.

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.

March 5, 2014

The Death of Ruby Red

I cut her deep, was a small feat

Her pink shown light orange mingled red flesh

 

I peeled her skin exposed her meat

Her, beautiful orb-cracked, torn, limp, was dead

 

Her innards spray juice-sluiced, hot heat

Her life, close to expire, was in threat

 

This grapefruit I eat

Fact–

I express no regret.

February 26, 2014

Amtrak’s Writer’s Residency

Amtrak

Early arrival

Intent on leaving

Small talk survival

 

Minneapolis to La Crosse

We can get lost

Step aboard

Minimal cost

 

On the no-one-will-stop-me policy

Here, showcased for the recital

They’ve caught on to me

Alert words signal my arrival

 

Life on ice,

On Mars,

How Nice,

Trains vs. Cars

 

On to where the tracks lay

Lying all the while

Spoke of being on time

Waiting hours with luggage piled.

January 8, 2014

Polar Vortex Complex

Deep down in my bones I could feel the bitter cold

Unlike the weather I tried to remain positive

I could feel I wasn’t alone on this ill-tempered day.

 

The other commuters were as bold

Walking alone proved treacherous

I noticed this as I made my way.

 

Fixed we stood.

 

None took bare fingers to examine smart phones

So pained by the wind one could hear its distant moan

This had turned into a city full of steam and smoke and coats.

 

KVJ says, “So it goes.”  “So it goes.”  “So it goes…”

 

Warm thoughts what we could

Long minutes existed in time unknown

This as we waited in a bus shelter along the road on this dangerously weathered spinning stone.

 

… Here’s the 3B coming, right?

 

I can’t see, lenses create ice

Early day twilight wearing these damned sights

All eyes and no view, please help me make it through.

 

It must be dark as night on this frigid January morning

It was forecasted with forewarning

They said, ‘Stay inside.’ -like run and hide.

 

We have the Polar Vortex Complex

This is not Global Warming*.

 

This is a place where all inside have lost their minds because of ‘things’ being boring.

 

Thoughts, then I look on

Blurred Metro Transit lights?

 

Praying it’s not gone.

 

I am not even halfway there yet

A walk I fast regret.

 

Lungs feel tight, I start at fright.

 

Walking, my vision fogged and I forgot the art of breathing

Ice crystals formed on my lashes not for the better of seeing.

 

-Seething, I’d not like to die like this, on a near vacant campus

I begged, pleaded, and asked the UMPD for a small ride, I did not gain advantage.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Five minutes later my temperature changed

The outside temperature stayed the same.  (Below Something-nearing -50)

 

I thought, has my nose frozen yet, has carbon-monoxide damaged my brain?

Blackened and blotched flesh-stained.

 

All was but rearranged, all my ideas of sustain

All my big plans were being choked at the throat

I try manage at maintain.

 

Things we think about in a bundle

In this frost-bit jungle, the coldest city I have come to know.

 

Minneapolis,

Little cold apple, come as they go

Most, (at least), some will stay home.

 

Temperature of this place we live in

All things we’ve been given.

 

I must have blindly run off somewhere

Panic gulp puffs of smoke catching air as I passed

Mad dash hypothermic maniac, today I am back intact.

 

 

*Hyperbole

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January 6, 2014

Spare the Rod

My father used to say, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”

 

I think it was some church thing.

 

He used to say that,

But he doesn’t say that anymore…

 

Now I am bigger than him,

And people talk a lot.

December 9, 2013

From Books to Blogs; A Story of Evolution

 

From books to blogs like cats and dogs;

We’re surrounded by a million writers with a million words,

Wanting to get read and be heard- absurd.

 

Zombies scare me less.

 

How to Be a Famous Writer:

Start today, don’t delay, and get on your way.

Print press doesn’t pay like they say.

It only takes a few seconds to change your ways.

 

Like Flies on Shit.

 

What’s an artist’s wage?

Cost per page?

Adverts?

 

MPR broadcasts their crying.

You’d think people were dying.

 

Do they even fucking read?

 

I could hardly hold back my laughter.

 

Then we look at progress, and the prospects.

Not finding a silver-lining.

 

No room for wining and dining.

 

You find that surprising?

 

No one’s getting fatter.

 

This hobby wasn’t to fill any part of any wallet.

Act like Author Gods but they haven’t yet penned their ‘Hobbit’.

Just minds and thoughts figuring how those unique (everyone) call it.

They were so close, but they lost it.

 

I want to vomit.

 

I don’t see.

They follow what they want to be.

Flee to the next scheme…

 

But sadly others have been there before; up, down, and in between; twice, three times, maybe four.

Do we need anymore?

 

Can we chart forward progress by going backward?

 

Recline, sit in a chair.

Analyze, document, look, read, compare,

Tense up and think about how life is unfair.

 

Are you prepared?

 

Open Market, Open Mic, there’s an Open Season on the Weekend Artist tonight.

-Awake and aware of the unawares.

-Happily, a positive outlier without a care.

Counter parts rest comfortably under stairs.

 

Understand the standard deviation and mean,

But not meaning to be mean-

 

All part of the artistry in the Minneapolis Scene,

Wipe ass with freshly torn pages.

 

Print press has changed throughout the ages,

And they present new material as if it’s not dated…

 

Faded yellow on a dusty shelf. 

He called it sleeping knowledge.

I think his popularity needs help. 

 

And all of those resources have been wasted.

They don’t factor external cost,

They can’t calculate their displacement*.

 

At least hope and ambition aren’t lost.

 

 

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Displacement_(psychology)

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