Archive for December, 2012

December 29, 2012

My Day In Comparison (Circa 1984)

“I go to her breast like bees to a sweet flower.”  -OTS


Of waking in such a world:


Eyes dark to the element of night.

Avoiding aversion, focused assertion:

I have to do this.


Alerted companion, shield your gaze.

This hour will not see you wake:

Sleep beacons and pulls you back.


A kiss goodnight again; what we do before bed.

Kiss on the lips.


Morning, noon, and night, it doesn’t matter…

Like prayer, but better.


She was wet with excitement, I was hard to conceal.


Few words to discuss.

What is the meaning?


Love or lust?

Is this real?


Bike to work; quaint, quiet, alone, thoughts of others.

My Day In Comparison.


Who cares?  I am not everyone else, am I?

I miss love like I would miss oxygen too, just like you:


Held under water to die-when you are gone, begging you to come my way, to come my way and stay.  Forever long.


And I wake with another…

Beep, beep, beep.

Another day to stumble through, thoughts of you.


And the sound of a hand slapping plastic is echoed through the sheets.

No damage is done, I pull the blankets over her face and leave.



I think…

My mother always told me to watch out for Number One.

December 28, 2012

Christmas Train

On a train, in a lounge car, somewhere outside Winona Minnesota…

Thinking about moments and soda-and who is over my shoulder.


Another locomotive passes by; sound and light.

A moonless night shows no river.


Shrug off the thoughts, they don’t exist.

Shrug off the lost, its old business.


Traveling companions take a glimpse of what is, reflect and walk on.


No business on a trip like this.


Crumpled and out of place, like a Christmas wish list on the 26th.


The land speeds by, invisible to the eye.


What happened where I sit?

Did they learn from it?

Were they burned from it?

Was it realized?


The things we leave behind.

Out of sight, slightly out of mind.


Answer the question:

Affection is feeling not leaving.


I left on a train after dusk.

Winter days, winter months.


La Crosse is just lust, and what you find while looking for flesh.

Nothing meaningful, sometimes regret…


Most inhabitants always get wet.


Seething and hateful-

Girls are so graceful.


So on, move on.

Bygones be gone.


We don’t see each other.

We see what is right in front of us.


I see empty seats and a few people reading.

Cans at my feet, chewed nails start bleeding.


Other people laugh as they drink and carry on.


I think, time to kick the habit.

As I travel through time…


The train shakes, rattles, and bounces along.





December 23, 2012

How to Win the Lottery

I left work a lowly kitchen staffer.

I woke up 400 million dollars happier.


My phone rang.


Then I woke up again, thirsty, tired, alone, and cold…

I woke up, literally, at my apartment, late for work, hungover, disappointed, and stoned.


I woke up and moaned.


My phone kept ringing…


I realized the moral of this situation:

Don’t play the lottery, and you won’t lose a dime or a moment of your time.

Just don’t play…


But exercise your mind.


Be happy about your life.


The dreams we allow ourselves to create with the purchase of just one piece of paper-

We find in due time the Grand Creator.


I answered the phone and found out it was the wrong number…

Twice now, fuck.

December 22, 2012

Winter Solstice

A semblance of light as seen in the dark, amid transport, a mere spark; washboard streets littered with ice and snow, touched slightly by brown matter, illuminated by waxy yellow bulbs which hang above, and the semi shown moon, shaded frequent by cloud mass.

(Life is a class, an education, always learning something new.)

Your doubts are about you, your mind wonders to something true.

Traveling is innate and thoughtless.

Time travel is priceless.

A punctual prospect.

Darkness seems darkest before the shortest day of annual; winter depression has just set in, and already, it has worn out its welcome.

Depression is subjective.

Who can object?

I doubt them.

The loved ones are gone, here for a moment, then away again in the next.

We have fought, we have thought, we have cherished the moments we have lost, and then our mind is flexed.


We do what is best, we do nothing.

We stretch out waiting patiently for the rest, then we subject ourselves to something.

The seasons.

A destination is met.

I look outside once more before I shut the door on a winter’s day.

What have I to forget?

December 10, 2012

All the Beauty (Of Season)

All the Beauty,

By Terry Scott Niebeling

All the Beauty-

A cold mass hangs in the grey skies;

snowflakes dive about

as the ground comes near,

Tears trickle from frozen eyes.

All the Beauty-

Rosy cheeks touched not by heat,

but by wind harsh as needles,

As we peddle down the street,

Avoiding vehicles and people.

All the Beauty-

Friends for French Press and a baguette at the nearest cafe-

Warm conversation and rest, dry the wet, then progress.

All the Beauty-

Downtown is taken in on this day;

the iced walk ways,

the passing tourist waves,

With the response of a passive gaze.

The way we walk about in a Midwestern Way:

Stop by, but don’t stay; talk a bit, and then stray;

This is the Minneapolis Way.

All the beauty-

Working on display, positive spirit, and

The people we meet as we trudge through along the way.

A nod, a smile, and a wink.

Much time to think.

All the splendid beauty, and time to think.

December 3, 2012

This Day, Her Day

Lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling he thought:


This Day-Her Day



Real-life-Good Times

Alliteration-Great Minds


No Idea-In the Clear

Out of beer-Out of Here


Summer days-Winter Months

Bike to Work-Eat Lunch


Rake the Leaves-Sit Inside

Slap her Ass-Forget the Pride


Hungover-Sober Judge

No more Headaches-A lot more Love


Fun times-Fun times


Every Day-Hard Times

Semi-Pro-Novice Rhymes


No Insurance-No Church

Feeling Better-Feeling Worse


Most Days-Hardly Sit

Look Around-Take it In


He threw the blankets aside and rose from his bed to do it again…

Only to do it again.

But this time while looking in the mirror he said, “Hello my friend.”


Then I thought:

How much does your book weigh?

It’s heavier than my remote.


Then I experienced:

And J said, “You are so positive.”

I said, “If you aren’t positive, what can you be?”

J said, “Negative.”

And I said, “No, not me.”


Another day, another dollar, broke scholar.

Keep reading and writing.

So enlightening it’s frightening.




December 3, 2012

Warm Holiday

Cold pills, neglected bills, cough drops, and James Bond thrills sat on a night stand.

That’s what I found when I came back.


Imagine my day; a car load of family and words; letter games the whole way, a lot to say.

From: La Crescent to Whittier-South, now, guests in my house.

Thanksgiving Night: Small travel and a conversation at an organic orchard (Literally, Hoch Orchard); 10 foot fence, nothing held back-transparent intent-now, I am thinking of you.


If you come up we won’t bone, just thought you should know.

_That’s what she said.

So I know.

I replied with the same message, and told her I thought she should know.


The wind blew through the white plastic structure, she walked the long gravel driveway, as she came near I could see the orangish-red ember of her cigarette appear.

Dark bluffs rose in the foreground.

Two shadowy houses sat in the distant, an outdoor fluorescent light blanketed the nearest sides.

I told her she couldn’t bring the smoke inside my mother’s ride.


We waited in the gale for her leaves to turn to ash, then we drove back.

She sat as I drove slow, we laughed.


Hours passed.


Lock the gate when you leave, abandon me, avoid the electricity.


Drive the dark windy dirt road home.


All alone; while staring into that rearview, listening to my soul.


Sometimes it hurts to be clever.

Remember, I never feel bad about anything ever.


My mom beat me in the word game, we all laughed together.

I wish we could drive back from a family holiday like that forever.