Archive for June, 2013

June 30, 2013

Confident Woman

Confident Woman,

By Terry Scott Niebeling


Confident Woman,

You make yourself,

No one else molds you.


You are Top-Tier,

Wanting eyes behold you.


Confident Woman,

Lit up red ruby, like a dozen roses.


On a June day,

Anything you say, I say,

Anything supposed.


You are always here, no door closes.


Confident Woman,

Alone with you and your beauty,


In the moonlight,

A sight at night,

A chance at life,

Your words are so soothing.


Confident Woman,

You vex me with complexity,

Reality has it as you next to me.


Purely ecstasy.


I am blessed to see you, purposefully, truly, and aesthetically.



(Disclaimer:  A Confident Woman can be anyone, anybody, and/or anything encompassed, with self-love and self-respect-having confidence.)

June 25, 2013

How To Love

I ask you to remember this, (a special poem)

By Terry Scott Niebeling


Let the good times roll.

Always appreciate one another.

You are no longer alone.

You are lovers.


Work as a team.


Come together to achieve goals.


Move upward and onward.


No one else matters,

No one else needs to know.


You are as one, companions on your own.

The two of you’re seeds, together you will grow.


Love is not a passing reaction.

The other stuff just works itself out.

You have to trust(!) would ya?!

Love whole-heartedly, without a doubt. 


Life is simple don’t make it complex.

Laugh and watch the sunset.


Be wise and above the words of others.

Be strong-come together as lovers.


Have faith, and faith will have you.


Think positive rather than negative, because whatever you believe is true, and if you go looking for snakes you will find them too, so just stick to being you.


When you look at one another, you are now looking at yourself.  How do things appear? Make things better, offer help.


Take care of your spouse like you would take care of yourself.

June 21, 2013

The Mobile Device That Will Change Your Life

I’m on the phone.

One minute (a finger pointed towards you).


I’m texting-I’m cool.

Thought you knew.

Wait til I’m through.


Hold that thought-hold the line.

Am I getting through?

Bad connection-it’s yours not mine.

Which provider do you use?


Voicemail almost obsolete, I never check that thing, haven’t heard a message in weeks.


Dial tone, on the phone.

Bad reception, when in Roam.


I’m on the phone as a matter-of-fact.  I’m phoning home, just trying to get back.


And you and me, when we meet in public, I’ll take my phone out in a moments notice and love it.


I love it.


We talk in person but there is no replacement for a buzzed in ringtone vibration notification.



Obsessed to death with full coverage policies, low batteries, connectivity, and missed calls.

Hey! Its got the universal adapter just plug it in the wall.  Its also got you by the balls.


We make time to be rude, to stop eating food, to interrupt mid-conversation, to make our loved ones wait patient-real-life lost in translation.


And what’s it all for, to get spied on by the NSA while we are preoccupied with constant connections that we are paying for?


I guess…


Now are you going to take that call?

I haven’t got all day.

June 20, 2013

Utilize Eye Drops (See Clear)

The heat of the room, the action within, the incident and the reaction again, not the temperature-literally, affected my skin.


Sipping iced coffee white-spiraled with creamer, while rolling silverware.

One likes to be prepared, one observes a moderate demeanor.


Utensils are the bare essentials.

Preferring pen over pencil.


Vision blurred, rubbing lids, hot sting symbolizing an acute singe.


An acrid air amassed around.

A mass of people walked about.


One-third ice, two-thirds water…

Fill the glass; hydration is key.


Ridiculously Redundant, for it neither helps nor hurts the function.

The health of happenstance



Like, Problem, Take That!

Like, Lay off!  Give me some Slack.

Get off my back and such.


What the…

Something is stuck in my eye!

I say.


Assess the situation, and I am suddenly claustrophobic.


Drops to dry eyes return the tears we’ve cried.

Return me to being focused.

Return me while I wait patient.


At this point in my life nothing was wrong.

At this point in my life I could have written a love song.

I chose not to.


Everything was right, wet eyes gleamed in the low light.


But physical ailments waged a formidable affront.

Situations like this can be such…

June 14, 2013

Perspective From Under A Bridge, Part 1

You were a wrecked ruin too soon.

Our recent past was your now in comparison.


Your fair skin has been traded for peeling paint.


Steel to steal, scraps revealed, a rugged appeal.


Lastly, you sit… You remain; all around you has changed, the results of a capital war waged over tires and trains.


Lined wood soaked in creosote,

A shade of dark grey stays where rails once lay.


Cement legs that function, you stand your solid ground.


Above the river you hang, dark, dormant, and artfully quiet.

One has a hard time just walking by it.


History speaks volumes along the river’s edge on an early summer’s eve.

June 12, 2013

Overcoming The Future @loftliterary

After the drunken interactions, bike accidents, moving, and ill words, starting the day out with work seemed somewhat refreshing.


J.J. sits next to me exhausted, however, happy not to be cleaning out apartments in the summer heat.


Dead flowers and ornaments lined the paths we walked, remnants crumpled under feet.

Memories of our lives lined the paths we walked, lost with loss, a tangible defeat.


Now we see.

Now we hardly speak.



Now step to the sea, feel reason.

The past was a lesson, like the passing of seasons.


All pressure and then release.

Subtle while discrete.


Writing of what we had midday on the black hot paved street.

Evening rain soon washed away the chalk.

Milky puddles were all to be seen.

A natural deed.


Mad at the steps for being so hard on the feet.

Straight-line conclusion amidst a fork in the road, an easy path is not taken by those who are bold.

Now I see.

June 10, 2013

Mark My Words Again 2, @PumpHouseArts

One Night In Northeast Minneapolis,

By Terry Scott Niebeling


On the western horizon hung white-violet light.

Just before dusk, just before night.


Outside arctic breeze whipped clawed tops of leafless trees.


On the ground snow-pack stood a foot deep; booted pedestrians crossed icy streets.

I rested back on bent knees, transfixed: at work, at peace, at ease.


On my mind ideas of being set free: thoughts of flying east.

Only a piece of glass stood between.

June 8, 2013

Mark My Words Again, @PumpHouseArts

One Night In La Crosse,

By Terry Scott Niebeling


An end day sun etched itself along a green bluff horizon.


Below a town settled in for the nightlife, speckled skies light above, those who gathered with love.



Sepia of eve seeped in, adding value to an abundantly abstract land; rolling hills and valley deep focused in the distance.


A drink, a coffeehouse, and cultural sin:  carnal pleasures, felt throughout and within.



For better or for worse, the light-pole stands the test of time.

Helping those legless along the way, to the river, to home, to an affair, to the end of a line.




For better or for worse, no light to shed eyes to the plight, celebrate, antagonize, follies of fright.


To bed we go as the river flows away with the night.


As morning is broken we see what is stolen by the flooding in of sunlight.



A late night early morning witness to this.  Rub eyes to see nothing amiss.


Empty bottles, crushed cans, and plastic wrappings take it all in from the street corner.




And within hours it begins again.


June 5, 2013

Poetry Contest ($800 Prize)

America’s Problem (Anti-Artist),

By Terry Scott Niebeling


My eyes are closed to all those of inferiority, but nearly open to everything I am selective to.


Objectified, and, of course, opinionated.


Straight laced tied shoes.

Washed face, blemish blues.

Oxymoron attitude-surprisingly, I’m apathetic too.


American epidemic but my problem is foreign.

Locally located in an adjacent basement placement.


It’s where we were born.

And where we come to die.


What’s more dangerous than words?


You and I.


Locked in for payment.

One of the Disgrac-ed.


All action and denial, and so many words: To avoid bringing more in, to avoid bringing more mooring-Especially the Moronic and Turbid.


Have you breathed since you were last buried?


The beautiful, the proud, the unfair and the fixated;

I stand firmly on this pavement.


You can’t spell Commercial without ‘merica. 

The United States already has enough artists, so stay out!





To The Contests,


I dare you to take a double-blind study, I bet the person who won was your buddy.