Posts tagged ‘words’

July 25, 2015

Poetry Critics

Critics of today couldn’t take
away the feeling of the act.

No matter how hard they try,
no matter the American sentimentalism.

Or, the labels tossed
around as exactly absolute.

No matter what authority
or agency they promote.

It feels so good.
It feels so alive.

It feels like creation.
Pressing buttons to get a reaction,

from the black and white
and the dots and lines,

people see and they say.
Your cloudy mind turned

to someone’s bright-light inspiration.
It is nothing to not do; it is something

to believe in your actions.
No matter where you are:

on Hennepin or Hawaii, in Uptown
or on a bike in Southeast.

Critics of today do it too,
they just use other’s work for their muse.

In other words they describe yours,
without they would be nothing.

With, they have a job, or something…
Again, that is as good as to not do.

July 17, 2015

In a Crowd of Clowns

Dead artists & counterfeit idealists
Travel same paths I’ve once roamed.
To judge, to assert, as one were God—
Step off of your high-founded throne.

June 26, 2015

How I write poetry

Could they hear me at the desk oozing prose onto the page,
clipping hard at the keys for grammar,
few words and blank space,
giving my all just for free writing?

Had they known my walk through the pre-day skyway,
the negative eighty degree cooler I passed—I am like that: cool and old.

Had they been blinded by a window’s reflection
or kissed their love before exiting a truck?

Could they feel the concentration,
the poise,
the inspiration,
of each line, in each book
held in heavy hand?

White came black, black came red—what you read this heap (?),
red turned pale, then yellow, then green—the fear, coming out of me.

This was it,
the beginning of the end,
and I had just opened Word
to give my fingers a stretch.

How coffee, how Grape-Nuts, how banana,
how milk, how ab workouts and a tepid shower
had been the muse to it all.

My body in the morning, my morning.
They hadn’t known.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

June 25, 2015

The places we’ve seen (have seen us)

Motion reflected between where you are and where you will be;

Void for a shadow where you were, ever lying in wait to reconvene.

June 21, 2015

Rachel Dolezal is also a Person

Homosexual
Straight
Transgender
Transrace

A person can relate
Through whatever debate
With:
“I love you”.

***

Always,
Some can’t while others can.

June 18, 2015

If Adjectives were People

If adjectives were people
would we misuse them so freely?
Would we tarnish or compromise
their meaning, because we feel it so fit?

A day seldom goes by without hearing “amazing”
or “awesome” or some other elaborate word
that no one truly understands,
because we want to sound smart,
because impressive is good.

I imagine a day when adjectives are personified, incarnate,
they will come back irate,
pissed off at us for our word choices,
and they will take what is theirs.

Without pause or hesitation
they will call us all illiterates and fools,
imbeciles and morons,
they will promptly walk away,
with all ways to accurately describe.

We will then think on how we had it so well,
with no way to say exactly what we have to tell…

And then, inevitably, someone will say, “incredible”.

June 10, 2015

Unmoving

Ears of creation
Heard close on actions promised,
But what of the hands?

May 22, 2015

The Miracle of You

That great idea sparkled,
imagining a self that is beyond oneself,
though alike all others,
but different.

Where breathing air is a miracle
of filling a mass, and seeing for sight
a mechanism viewed, not closely near to being understood,
nor recreated.

And flesh and bone, a false creationism,
one of God, of man—of both alike;
the muse so exactly measured,
so detailed and defined and primed.

To discuss it would be off topic.
So, let’s cut to the chase.
Realism in truth, no “isms” could deduce it
to reasons or plainness, or a way to prove it in ways.

There is nothing and everything all at once, just waiting, just waking,
and this time it is just you who steps out of the front door to go.

Au revoir

May 21, 2015

Pre-Open Mic on Nicollet Avenue

Streetlamps poured
a waxen yellow glow on the Nicollet Avenue scene below,
as above heavens danced and sparked white
as now onlookers stood and watched.

The hum of vehicular masses turned to a city of cratered paths,
while people were lit as props, good and evil,
coming and going about their static business.

This nature in society, framed, isolated—what we have;
metal grasps of synthetic hands
coming to and shaping us,
to make up our wake up, to shake up our trust.

Bleeding oil, exhausting fumes,
killing cows, and loud preaching fools;

we exist as a populous,
with meaningful purpose, and American sentimentalism.

Illuminated here by streetlamp’s waxen yellow glow, on Nicollet,
under heavens about to open wet,
mingling with ghosts of our yesterday,
with whole cultures of churches and states to thank.

Amen.

May 13, 2015

Alternative is the New Cliché

To post artistic criticism today is
to paint graffiti
on a chameleon’s coarse back
and hope for intellectual longevity.
To go against the grain, razor,
a sacrifice must be made—those who disagree give up
and fall into the fold: forty a week,
snowflakes in the sun.
There will be flesh covered in blood.
With ease we quote Bukowski and Palahniuk;
though who are they to us,
us to them? Thoughts?
Good ideas without action.
Bad prose and poems at times come in good form,
and are closely read: this by example.
A dream is only a dream if you don’t realize it as a goal;
awoken to obsession, to stop at nothing,
or anything, depending.
Though commitment,
though a true course,
though a chameleon’s coarse back.
How long they maintain.
Qadri said he is not the same person
he was 6 years ago,
6 months ago,
6 weeks ago,
6 days ago,
6 minutes ago,
6 seconds ago.
I am though
slightly different,
one closer to being perfect.
…I guess I’ve changed
my mind.

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