Posts tagged ‘work’

November 3, 2015

constant reminder

i supposed
i’d rather listen
to the room’s
pipes bang,
& put the kettle
to the rang,
and have
a clear mind,
than think
about why
i woke up
late last night.
they say the
artist will
starve, but the
cat, and the
bills, and the
debt, and the
truck, and the human
food, and the rent,
all those things
are enough to do
you in. but
i’d rather not
think about that,
those things are
just moments,
and most things
do change.
seems i am
reminded when
the colors fade,
and the bare
nude trees,
and the cold
chill in
foreign winds of
new seasons.

September 11, 2015

a passing thought – neurotic

sick with the taste of
exhaustion, caught in throat
with cold wind, radio barking,
pizza sitting, how legs tire,
how body aches–so sore,
tender, cutting, sharpness;
stomach in knots; hours
of night, pushing pillows,
sweating, drooling, shake;
waking, wanting it to go,
tiresome day, morning lows;
semester’s triumphs & wows;
the hue is darker in autumn–
daily highs, found here
in bed dying; living, life,
nose bleed caught in tissue,
she asks, I tell; can’t talk,
doing nothing but packing,
leave on the next day–if i can,
feeling as my co-worker
with a pain in her side: wary;
will they remove it, or am
i just paranoid at a thought?
these remedies come fast,
vile seeds sewn and growing;
if only to fix my fretting mind.

August 28, 2015

I love coming early

Good morning Midwest,

there is joy to be found in objectively
taking the peeking sunrise,
even behind overcast clouds.

It happens so early in fact
that you can taste the shine
of the drinking fountains
lining the walls,

and last night’s perfume
carried still
in vacant halls.

That place is so early; an empty room—
soon to be filled up,

is a peaceful quiet serene,
in all feeling at present,
for a brief moment.

I stand noting the close function
to create this occasion:

I am at least 15 of 60 before any shift
worth getting paid for—

at least;

making the punctual look lazy
and the lazy look dead.

No apology here,
I can’t fix apathy, or ignorance.

I say become besties with the alarm clock,
buy stronger coffee,
cook leaner eggs.

I make my day on time
because I am running out of it,

and you didn’t even notice
while punching in.

Here’s how it’s done:

At night,
in twilight slumbers,
I dream of coming early

on most days
ending in “Y”.

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.

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 24, 2015

Adjusted Advantage

The world can seem so small
when assessed from the confines
of a one bedroom apartment.
A space tight, sticky, stuffy,
and near unbearably drab.
For a person to go outside and look,
to see all there is to see—to expand the expanse,
to imagine what one might attain
in the span of a lifetime,
at the change of a thought,
on the prospect of a whim, at the drop of a dime.
A perspective can be released
from its rigid boxy cage to stretch sore wings
and to grasp the once unthinkable,
for merely a chance thought,
and for adjusted sight, mercy!

June 23, 2015

Fixed Mesh

Barefooted feet sounded aloud the carpeted hallway,
Where people passed in sunlight of a side window view;
Forms drew on, each bearing a different meaning—each,
New reason passed by, as all parts came meshed true.

June 15, 2015

Failing a Foreigner

A wavy reflection at the Dunn Bros. storefront up Como
left me marveling at open beauty,
left me a helplessly stumbling fool,
left short words of: I am not from around here,
left a lady in a little black dress with a thick accent saying,
“Cheers!” and walking on.
Inside I palmed a hot cup of coffee
with new found direction,
“thanks man”, I said, as I dropped a buck into his tip jar,
after he had scrolled his iphone for the address of our location.
I went outside again, to help.
Gray skies had left her gone as I stood puzzled in the space
of thick fonted glass at a doorway threshold.
I thought of how useless I was to a foreigner as my liquid cooled.
How American of me,
I am not from around here, but just down the road.

June 11, 2015

you look like you got some sun

One of my favorite phrases to hear on Monday is,
“Oh, you got a bit of sun over the weekend…”
The idea of going outside and sitting in the sun
without buildings, without work, without people,
without being stuck in-doors, without a thing to do,
without being paraded around like a fool at a party,
without the constraints of what society deems correct:
you should wear sunscreen, you should cover up!
you should avoid a sunburn—it will cause cancer!
I have to assume that people die of accidents daily.
You should avoid cigarettes, and expensive scotch,
and domestic beers, and fishing, and jerking off,
and relaxing for no reason, and not doing anything,
and cooking raw red meat, and frying fillets of fish,
and reading a book, or two, and driving an old truck,
and thinking about sexual fantasies, or debauchery.
Yeah, you should probably avoid all of those fun things,
and while you’re at it, make sure to hide from the sun.
Nah. I want to say, “You didn’t get any sun at all?
That’s great, I am sorry to hear you are a shut-in.”
But rather to save some time, I just say, “Yeah.”

June 3, 2015

Moving Wood in West Lakeland

Wood laid in a pile,
brought down in the days before;
years of life soon ash.


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