Archive for ‘create’

May 16, 2017

fresh breath of water

here are words and thoughts.
here are posts and talks.
where we go and where
we dont… rather not say.
rain falls through windows
sideways, kissing a leaden sill.
the broken internet is dead,
that means my castle is down.
ok google, make me rich.
ok google, grant this wish.
ok google, play jazz.
see, that one works–soundtrack to my life.
one works and works and works.
and one really doesnt.
they dont like the prospects, every option.
probably not a pension in protest.
and me too, many things are hard.
i am worried about all these poets
with all their problems–no odes,
saying all of the same things
begging for different, acting as fact similes.
we are and we arent the same and writers.
stand up comedy was much easier, welcoming;
comics want the same thing, yes: a laugh,
and they get it in different ways, yes. that.
i am just wondering, worried.
will be home to teach English in China.
will be home after learning them to read.
will be home some day when i get one,
now i must buy a box–be sure.
a million different reasons
to not be the same, to create change–but talk,
but friends and donations and money
might dictate that. the focus. the appearance.
no one wants to hear about
what i look likes problems.
there are bigger and more unjustices,
there are impossibles that simply must.
i trust that it will smoothly be
ironed out over time by talking heads.
and they keep praying. and stay awokened.
tell me to believe, hard to do now.
i cite science, but i respect all religions;
that is not a dichotomy, that is reality.
i am just looking for my free lunch,
and my wife and my sons, and everyone else’s too,
an ad hoc lottery ticket: to win,
and some time to find some time.
when i do i promise to buy you something…
no one knows though,
and our roof disappears in July,
as the money did for my emergency health.
all in the same fish bowl
trying to find the fresh water and good shade
and not get called out for it.
buying the cheapest beer,
hardly eating anything at all.
enjoying what i did in the past more and more.
man, i was living the dream then and now.
and that is how i got here, you too. 🙂

May 5, 2017

a timed view at 814 S. 12th

my early eyes cut to
the open window at our landing
a pink and orange rising
on some neighbor’s siding wall,
outside quiet,
unobtrusively unannounced,
where grass shakes as strips of paper
leaves stand still as burning effigies
and time waits for a moment.
all life is here and now
the release–of breath of soul of whatever…
and somehow moving on
is less of a chore for this than
sudden death, than surgery, than worry–
and it lingers all the more
touching you softly where it hurts
grabbing you lightly away from your words.
i beg to take a photo of it
that captures such brilliance
but i would only my waste time
with that greedy thought,
and miss the meaning just passed.

December 12, 2016

spring break in canada

one time, jess and i drove to canada
in a small chevy truck. we stayed along
lake superior and its blowing winds. thought
cedar greens would snap. got to tofte at

about 8:35pm, couldn’t see the site.
a ranger called that morning told me they plowed it.
slept on hard rock ground, no foam mattress.
woke up found we were at the shoreline,

read a death in venice. made coffee,
warmed fingers, walked in snow. thought
of my dad and how it was 70 in the cities.
we drove north, had pizza at sven and ole’s;

i had a beer, got in the truck; then crossed
the border past an endless sea of pine, rocks,
and blue water mass. got stopped, wouldn’t
let us through. stayed at an airnb…

won loonies at some casino, tipped very well.
everyone asked us why we traveled north for spring break.
drank bulleit rye in a sauna and turned into a jerk.
got lost. got deals at target. watched

forensic files, ate pancakes, and we became
international travelers; drove to another country.
just like that, for a thought. and i don’t
know, thought i would recount that situation.

it was good. crossing borders, it was nice
seeing things outside of an america lens.

December 4, 2016

snow day weekend

to salt
the drive,
and sidewalk,
the 67 bus stop,
there is some
old ladies’ and
then mine.
after
pushing
that
not-
heart-attack
pack,
the fluffy
white stuff,
nothing
like it;
the melt
snow, –salt,
the to snow
melt, –salt,
surprise.
this morning
one more
chore
to do…
one more
thing
to find
a meaningful
something
while
breaking your
back
because.

February 26, 2016

For-Profit Poets (What Bugs Me)

i wonder if the gnat in the shower mist
understands that money changes art.
the very idea of creating something for
pay transforms the something you create.

as if you aren’t going at it for self,
but now going at it for millions. this comedian
bug in our bathtub garden had the sense of
humor to remind me the importance of not

knowing, of not assuming, of not trying to be
the best in any situation, because there is only
self happiness inspired by the true muse.
and nothing more. and those words changed

for the pennies they paid, and some poets
would rather fill their bank accounts than self
actualize. and especially not talk about it.
notice it in similar words and formulas and

themes around these twin towns. i’ve seen
art on the green line, art on the transit, art
at the office desk top in non-profit form that
gave more to the world, so much more.

and i’ve begged and asked of some time to
merely experience, and some think they
have a chance at competition that proves
nothing more than some of us like just this.

February 25, 2016

Different Open Mic, Same Formula

The Wording Out
open mics
at Northrop
are always
a fun experience,
with the ill-timed
comedians,
the dead
mother’s missed
eulogies,
the fancied
subjective
assumed
thoughts of
same same same
injustices
coming
over that
easily acted
Loft literary
formula (EASY!),
maybe if
Some (U) Slam was
more inclusive,
maybe if
certain groups
didn’t exclude,
they would
find others
in their
audience
also wishing
for something
objective,
real, novel,
also wishing
for something
(anything!)
that perhaps
sounds new.

I don’t know though…

***

Stop assuming what people around you think,
write about what you see, your experience.

February 23, 2016

I don’t usually take the bus home, but when I do…

Dim lights fading
as dim feeling,
somewhere,
I am Northeast,
viewing dark
clothed bus seats.
Somewhere wet,
floors and smells.
Hello book,
hello patience,
hello fading sunrays,
hello girl on a bike,
now, inside I wait.
Now, you go,
as I do likewise too.
Hello to hear
a sharp beep
in a moving bus
ringing through.
To get groceries,
to give no fucks,
in spoiled dusk.
How dim it is—it was,
Hanging like this:
And the veiled gone sun
as though I am too,
not here but,
still purgatory…
still full of layered blues,
and hollowed cold,
and late afternoon mist.
Going home, to
just check off lists,
going home I sit.

February 21, 2016

I saw something today

I

saw

double standards

from

the
single-

minded.

It

was clear

and easy,

and I

didn’t say.

February 6, 2016

fir st age mu sic

is it
od
d
that
clas-
sical
music
ca-me
be
fore
every
thing
else?

shoul
dn’t
it be
cal
led
experi
mental
mus
ic… ?

first
age
sound.

January 5, 2016

Mapping Life (Broken Case)

Broken case, & we ask for a fix.

Set life, & we want this

framework society whole,

for we stay. I imagine the world

as a walk through a snow-covered dale.

(Alone, yet we are acutely surrounded.)

Taking animals, breath, & fodder

we imprint & claim. Where factions

of cogs, similarly, work thru the day,

toiling in a city’s heart for pay, and

edged on the fray. Life as an object,

an eye—seeing, as those

who place the charts remain.

We follow, set the calendar’s pace;

boxes crossed out, and the way we

plan our inevitable forays,

this, as the others, all the same.

Our mapping life, all right, the sight…