Archive for ‘La Crescent’

September 14, 2018

inheritance, of no one locks their doors in the Apple Capital of Minnesota and i learned all the important things in life in kindergarten

apple crisps so good,
and you can easily make
them with what you have at your
house. that is what my
mother said walking the hall.
that night we sat and
ate ice cream and viewed a 1995
Louis M. Martini Merlot and
a Montague Dawson. i found an
heirloomed Seiko on my arm.
still love the Casio tho…
found us watching Seinfeld again.
made calls yesterday for freedom. found
a teacher i had learned everything in life
from has cancer in a delayed line at
a grocery story, by happenstance, caused by me:
Kwik Trip ran out of Applefest buttons,
well the liquor store ran out first…
no one pointed me in the right
direction, but her. that was ’94
that was a long time ago.
new favorite phrase: i am responsible.
i thought she would cry.
we hugged and wished each other best.
Hokah and 20 years ago is not far away.
i walked through a parking lot
in mourning sun, to a phone call of
being late and wondered how the
beer was in the car seat.
remembered finding coins with Xiong around here.
nothing gets stole in this town.
they leave the doors unlocked.
still no one lives forever.
except that river over there.

***
YOU can contribute to keep my site free to all. Any support is greatly appreciated!

TSN_

Donate at: https://www.paypal.me/TSNiebeling

Advertisements
September 13, 2018

Mac Miller and Donald Trump and Lil Pump and Theories, they are all good to some, and not.

Hello.  Do you consider yourself a helpful person? If so, consider donating to keep the poetry on my site free to all. Any amount helps, even a penny. Thanks!

PS: WordPress does NOT pay me for the ads you see all over this page, they make money off of my writing through these advertisements.  I don’t receive a dime.  So anything truly helps.  🙂 

Keep this site free!

Donate at: https://www.paypal.me/TSNiebeling

***

we can safely say
that Donald Trump DEFINITELY caused
the hurricane–and every other problem in our lives,
set to possibly strike, today.
(Right?! I feel that is what the news is telling me…)
that’s a real sentence, like the news:
allegedly, possibly, here’s my opinion: fact-checked.
tell your Facebook friends in real life about it.
at the same time, in real time,
i ponder revenues and gains
of crises and who pays for the news about possibilities.
(that’s one aspect of an event and objectively real.)
i ponder what if it doesn’t happen?
(i am an economist. a fiscalist. a realist. a human.)
surplus: like gas for escaping.
surplus: like lumber to board up windows.
surplus: like food and supermarket staff…
surplus: of water and winds and clouds, as reported.
petrol to move product to get to you.
.. then again, other tragedy, Mac Miller died, heard a story.
now, i want to start a podcast
called conspiracy theory dad or responsible millennial parent,
get artist before i die… “he wrote this and that.” “Amazing.”
but everyone has a podcast.
everyone makes music and writes words.
everyone is political scientist ready to expound.
everyone is a progressive poet, #RESIST.
everyone is Facebook famous.
everyone is a human being and the same.
everyone has bad days and is at times sad and wrong.
my dad died. i believed in debt. labels define me daily.
told i would never. told i couldn’t. i did.
no matter what i do, anyway, it’s because of how i look.
maybe become a Christian again. maybe.
i believe everyone is good and can achieve if they believe
until they leave. but Mac Miller today.
he filmed a video in a coffin a while back, alive.
self-fulfilling prophecy has him there now still inside.
he wrote a song about Donald Trump, the president,
causing storms and Stormy Daniels news, and pointed views,
read Wikipedia about it on accident a day or so ago.
nothing new, like history.
wow, that all means nothing to me.
wow, that all means something to me.
it’s not like paying debt or working hard or having a plan.
not being involved with consumer debt and ads in the news.
they get you to buy, get you to buy into it…
present an event, present an option to buy, present why.
or, it’s not like
making a sandwich or changing a diaper or getting screamed at.
it’s like asking for a handout and
expecting it as if we were (fill in the blank).
this poem sucks, no potential, and Lil Pump sells millions, fuck!
i am happy for him though, he seems happy too.
he doesn’t cause storms and is alive.

***

Hello.  Do you consider yourself a helpful person? If so, consider donating to keep the poetry on my site free to all. Any amount helps, even a penny. Thanks!

PS: WordPress does NOT pay me for the ads you see all over this page, they make money off of my writing through these advertisements.  I don’t receive a dime.  So anything truly helps.  🙂 

Keep this site free!

Donate at: https://www.paypal.me/TSNiebeling

September 8, 2018

A Lesson in Persistence (When Everyone Tells you you Can’t Do It), John S. Harris (Horticulturist) of La Crescent, MN. SOURCE POEM, Words and Inspiration by MSHS.

“Although most people agreed with
Horace Greeley’s
notorious 1860 assessment that
apples wouldn’t grow in the
often-harsh conditions of the brand-new state,
Harris was undeterred.

He planted more trees every year, thousands in total.
He shared his experiences,
along with apples and seeds,
with his neighbors. In his persistent pursuit of apples
that would thrive in Minnesota,
Harris experimented with hundreds of varieties,
most of which, he admitted, were failures.

At the 1866 Minnesota State Fair, his exhibit
of 20 apple varieties inspired
the state’s fruit growers to
form the Minnesota Fruit Growers Association.
In 1868, the group changed its name to the Minnesota Horticultural Society
and Harris was elected president the following year.”

MSHS

***

Hello.  Do you consider yourself a helpful person? If so, consider donating to keep the poetry on my site free to all. Any amount helps, even a penny. Thanks!

PS: WordPress does NOT pay me for the ads you see all over this page, they make money off of my writing through these advertisements.  I don’t receive a dime.  So anything truly helps.  🙂 

Keep this site free!

Donate at: https://www.paypal.me/TSNiebeling

March 6, 2018

03/06/2018 snow removal for the corner lot and the ideology that comes with better my community for my community through action

woke to
delayed buses
old tweets
hopefully not-cancelled daycare
strong coffee
necessary boots
thoughts of snapping
heavy fucking parka
and a pre-broken back
to shovel us out.
that’s my life.
no choice really.
checking my something…
the weather up here,
and we think we can change it.
probably we don’t.
it changes us.
in so many ways:
my skin is pocked
eyes are dry and red
throat sore, pain in head,
even when cleared.
tell me who owns who
and i’ll show you your facebook updates
and i’ll show you to donate to your cause
and follow that money, former and latter.
people do good and bad things.
surely, those ideas are paid for.
these are cost free!
why do you wake and stay woke?
there is shoveling to be done just there.
i have to go outside
and deal so no one trips
and falls and
sues. no one trips at this residence
and falls and sues on salted ice.
i disagree with MPR on the matter.
they don’t salt my walk.
i don’t salt theirs.
that works out for both of us.
the cameras will tell of the driven snows and blocked streets
and they talk of fairness.
blizzard winds, clear my sidewalk
so i don’t have to. diapers to change.
English language to teach in foreign lands from my basement.
that sounds fair to me.
go out and get lost in it, i will.
go out and another round at this love.

February 24, 2018

a million pieces in my head from the 1990s, in summer and winter and with my family

one time, in wintertime,
my dad flew his ultralight plane
to about a 1,000 feet above La Crescent.
he was over blue lake at the time,
at which point
he dropped an old bowling ball,
straight down from the blue heavens.
it hit mature ice and shattered
into a million splintered jet-black diamonds.
its inception played out in reverse on mute.
in summertime, over Wildcat Landing he did the
same stunt with a Santa and a parachute.
i wonder about physics and propellers.
i wonder about moments and momentum.
i suppose he was creating novle myth here locally,
reprising antiqued beliefs,
taking awesome to new inspiring heights.
and now the dust settles on one-of-a-kind.
i suppose, or not. i don’t know.
i guess i sometimes remember these things
and wonder where those new inconoclasts reside.
too many sycophants to being glib modern Spectacle.
maybe he was just raising hell in the 90s,
being like he wanted to be, naturally,
high up in the wind, free.
no politics had a hand in it.
no opinions that were unreal.

November 26, 2017

list of life and lists

a work                                                     of art in progress
such                              a sort of sorts
too much                                  of some things, nothings
a few       more beers, more cheers at the rail
of mice                           and men–books
a river                                    runs thr            ough it–fictions
lighting            the lights Riverside Park
dogs                  killing rabbits   in the backyard
in the                           morning                as
coffee          drips down, down, down, yum…
here the elevation                                     of the bluffs
is high                    as the heavens  call it home, come back,  call it home
a whole city below aglow,  November cold, no snow
sacred, blessed, meaningful flag waving above
bald eagles soaring on pause, floating: not sure what it sees
shining, driftless center like me
movement, more movement between
a city with its shit together
(they collect the leaves and
they have nice streets and it shows)
running in circles, no pot holes
talking the same, politics and pain
narratives of truthful ideas
narratives of appeal (so real)
exhausted we climb on
exhausted we climb on Eagle Bluff Trail
crumpled leaves and sweet sap
and a tree dying on top of an Impreza, I think
cafe jazzing my way through it all

September 17, 2017

Homecoming

My heimstatt has hills that go wending
A mighty river that flows bending south
And people so free, you are too, and can be
A place in the past and present, now
My family buried in deep, rich soils
Trying to fight it as aged leaves in fall
But we all must change for something
I choose docile and those who understand me
Never meant to be caged or tied or told
Fish where my father did, see him
Lost in meandering wakes trailing off
Trawling as a million circles borne for clouds
Through rain and chop and histories in water
Coming back here, want to stay–longer
The cities aren’t so hard at all
But this warmth, this peace–all days
Pleasantries, i hope others cant find it too ere me
For i need space for my love and my progeny
Pull the roots of the trees for better
Head south as that river goes, tell me no
Head south to it, i am fine, no worries, just  

July 1, 2017

rabbit in my heads

i followed a little grey
rabbit as it
leapt at the outside
window low while

hanging my curtain
readying the act
talking to China
as they talk back, my show.

i watched the tree
tied for its stiff branches
noticed leaves
all around on the ground, thinking…

going upstairs two dogs lay
startled and wait,
and startled again and came
at me to the gates.

above at the coffee pot hot
readied the night before,
here, much surprise
take it just black, i take it back.

tho my woman startled as
i left the bed
thinking i was child
and i was not, she said.

again but out the high window
a rabbit, same one, came
leapt on red bricks
of a neighbor’s drive.

ere we came to a locked door evening
the green grass straight
mosquito birds and
they wanted us to join,

told them “no, maybe… thanks”
broke the new fence
went around to a
La Crescent unlocked door

and here i stand, mug, ready to teach
watching a rabbit go about
thinking like us all too
it must eat breakfast.

March 25, 2017

coulee region, 6 am

The rounded mesas
were verdant sheen in predawn hue
and to the east
steam plumes were standing tall
and the sun
when it rose caught river currents
in the fore
so that they came
entwined to one another
on the earth,
the sun all aglow, sharp,
and the river a ghost mirror reflecting,
as if
they were lovers
of common grounds
beyond whose husks melted worlds away
past all understanding.

February 4, 2017

some bright orbs are hated for their difference

i feel like a grapefruit in
an orange grove sometimes–
like shave, shower, shit;
alarm bells, scrolling the internet;
deodorant, brush, smile,
sweating thru, flannel, true;
Moby-Dick, Hitchens, and
Bukowski, metal ends
to my leather toes;
unknown and close, you would never know.
40 and holding, always weekly,
bitch and complain and shamed
but still nothing for change…
and when they peel my flesh to test
the citrus juice comes fresh,
more blood orange than a crate of grapes,
more real than fake.
and they talk about Onalaska
and La Crosse and La Crescent
like they are all me, and not.
something above it, but
a grapefruit in an orange grove,
thinking differently alot.
or i think i forgot,
but that’s no big deal anyway,
see what i look like, have a taste.