Archive for ‘social’

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

***

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September 2, 2018

let our government fix all of your problems for you, because it can if you believe it can, believe, you pay for it

“Minnesota has a progressive income tax with rates that are among the highest in the nation. Property and sales taxes are also above average.” –smartasset.com

***

i want more officials voted into office who want me to do better for me by me, through hard work.
that said, bigger things dont
necessarily mean better things, plainly.

my mom says dont help.

(i dont want to be labeled or seen as unusable–i have hands, feet, & a head, like most.)

more bloat, more unhinged, more confusion, thanks Chuck Todd… And CNN… Their ads…  
my television and your Facebook tells us so.  gives me something to fear about today.

QUICK look over there:
more taxes, more need for unnecessary, IT’S necessary–we make it so, so…

but come November forget what we charge you to be in charge of you and remember to vote to look good not feel good.

(i think i can do anything, or most things, when i think i can do those things.  irregardless of production or support. )

still throwing money at something
without a plan is still throwing money
at something without a plan still: blue solutions = bigger institutions.

when you fail to plan, you plan to fail, so many have said.

i want local politicians to stop talking
and stop taxing and stop spending on special interest and change
the size of the potholes on my Midway block,
change the size of my American made pockets and pocketbook to bigger, and less empty.

(i have a goal and lists and chores that could use it. :))

yet many worry about how someone in a white house might do something that the media says is such and such and that is not good, you must obey that thought and act on it without question…  but it probably wont happen. very unsure..

you know the guy down the street in charge of the town wants to have you pay him more money, right?  his buddies up the way want to gather more bucks from you to give as gifts in their honor to their voters to keep them in charge…  you pay for that probably.

tho maybe your tax dollar flies overseas
for things you dont believe.
tho maybe those taking have unknown friends
with no sight of the end. IDK.

could use space, could us paper with faces on it as well to better my community, my yard, my rental, my commitment, my family, my potholes–like the ones i give you.

i want to change my life for better every day–i try,
with every dollar of my time it takes, then those
around me will be better themselves too,
with their time the same. just good old fashion trial and error.

i have a plan.  plans…
capitalist for hours and minutes, optimizing my abilities and resources.
even if one is anger or disdain or confusion.

could drag just about anyone and their name through the mud.
that’s easy. thoughts of what was.

and usually when i ask for handouts it’s into a mirror with silent facial expressions,
usually i can find crumbs, water, and hope.

usually when i ask for handouts i dont ask, i ask but it’s remote.

So here:
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August 25, 2018

believe in you

you can craft a life better now, think, you.
no excuses, no fair, no perfection, nothing at all.
no history too much for we animals.  today.  yes.

hard work every day, daily.  grind. all. moments.
sharp, clear compass.  fast, go, fly. weightless.
no obstacle not fragiled to dust.  bridges do fall.

when we believe.  believe in you. now. now. now.

***

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March 31, 2018

When I Commute from Hamline/Midway in St Paul to the East Bank of Minneapolis at 7:20 in the Morning and back at 5:15 in the Evening, it’s a very personal experience that I will share with you because you are part of it too and everything and you should know

outside, on the street, other drivers can’t drive.
i mean they drive, but badly.
going on University Avenue to CVM by Surly
i realize this frequently, daily, to my surprise…
i want to see all my surroundings at once,
close captioned, in HD, real-time,
over 280, let me explain.
people choose not to use their turn signals,
they choose to not stay in their own lane,
they find illegal parking on the side by Dunn Bros…
when we pay taxes we pay for both sides of the road, i get it.
at West Gate Station, get ready to abruptly stop, always.
Get ready to get looked at hard, in a not nice fashion.
there is no open road freedom.
further, pedestrians look at crosswalks like patrons look at art at the MIA.
here, nothing special to see, white lines, no meaning apparently; awe-inspiring.
i am stuck in Frogger, these are the frogs, i am the cars.
try me, run for the train.
when i sit shotgun i am a shackled dictator repeating:
slow down, babe!
watch out, babe!
OMG, don’t tailgate, please, i know this person loves
causing accidents…its probably
an insurance scam waiting to happen…
see those dent’s, i can tell they are texting and driving 3 cars away.
what a nice person, what a great driver, i substitute curse words.
i like to think about things like that, and potholes.
they make the moon landing less believable, these craters on earth.
both cities, just please fix the fucking roads.
this is in my head i never say it.
only more cordially or through art…
i don’t care about politics because they just talk.
just make it so i can get to somewhere without destroying my vehicle,
at least when i am in the beautiful city of, i am between.
if i wanted to off-road most days i would go to the farm.
still i am offered excuses, told how hard it is, all at once, patience.
as an adult who pays taxes, officially, and who drives a leased Subaru
i can appreciate the idea of better infrastructure
for logical reasons like having nice things, if you can’t agree
that’s not for me…
but again, outside, other drivers can’t drive.
and, now, the construction site that took away our child’s daycare
to make cheaply built expensive high-rise condos
also takes away the single lane
after they took away the double lane a few weeks back.
and i got no condolences, i make nothing off it only lost time.
it’s hard to apologize for wanting better roads
and better drivers on those roads, and people to get off
their phones, and for some dangerous bikers to be careful, to choose a side.
i guess for a safer and better life for all, a better community…
that’s initiative today, just complain about it.
i can’t recall the last time
i didn’t pay for insurance, tabs, plates, gas,
parking, repairs, oil changes, general maintenance, deductibles for insurance
after hitting a twilight rodent; that’s just life tho, my choice, i know.
but other drives, O, it’s so hard to understand them!
and they breeze by and scowl like i have a problem!
(probably it’s me too, we are all to blame.)
and they act like they have never wronged or sinned or failed,
or mistakes don’t happen to them, ever. i think we know better.
that’s America though; we never do wrong. they do, right?
we are all Gentlemen Animals, no different. human animals.
covering so that the Thought Police don’t get to us at some point.
but the Thought Police are Facebook and Twitter and WordPress and GMail…
but other drivers out there, please drive safe you add value.
i don’t know, i love you because unless i am eating
i talk, so i would make a bad spy… and you are great.
i don’t know, i like the view to curtail this complaint or Ode,
it’s beautiful, i race trains and buses and
the sun’s glare from St Paul in the east. i see all people,
and i love them, even as drivers, commuters, they are part of my day and me.
it’s a perfect way to get to where you need to go.
it’s a perfect way to be a part of it.

January 26, 2018

waiting for the green line train at west bank station in the snow and cold and heat around 4:36 p.m.

the smell of a late afternoon lunch
enough, enough for snow to melt
imagining debt without a time clock
or vise versa–in some time only fixated…
dusting between keys on a keyboard, jet black
creating something like this, and that, unnoticed unawares
moby-dick for meaning of meaningful meaning
they tell me i have books to pick up
some stand on the shelves like straight soldiers
some crack like and egg in my hand at breakfast
they tell me have a good weekend & we just got over the flu
google will better my photo of West Bank, only soon
words won’t come so easy after that tune
some things just look better in digital format
i will wait for the train, again, here
amongst people who wait for the train, again, here
praising not having to wait for her, once were
wondering what’s in that guys hand, that guys bag
no one puts things on the floor anymore
picking up my little man
waiting for another to arrive–O’ plans: we had
and he asked me what i was eating as if it were bad
i told him what and who made it, of course
man my stomach was starting to feel good just then
thought this before the train came.

January 13, 2018

Fact: in Minnesota, the bus is always late in the cold, and later the colder it is…

i was telling the ladies at daycare
about how the bus
always comes 20 minutes late
when it is cold out.
like now, it comes half-an-hour later, guaranteed;
when it perfect out the bus comes on time…
the colder it is out
the later the bus arrives.
and this isn’t a joke this is real, scientific method real, tested.
this is an actual fact.
they asked so i told them, i love our talks.
he made it, great, goodbye.
but the truth is
one would figure these waits would get better
now that the Superbowl is coming to town.
but i guess not. not for the peasants.
us in servitude, making it to work and back
not having the magic platinum tickets, not insiders.
have to wait on ice packed glaciers between snow drifts.
global cooling is giving me frostbite and making me bitter.
across from the Goodwill at Fairview, near
some abandoned shopping cart excursion,
son in stroller, meth-addict twitching, calling
the Google schedule bullshit, smoking a cig.
don’t these things come every 20 minutes or so…,
give me a break–i mean seriously,
i don’t need this in my life,
no not when it’s negative 20.
then it floats up when you are moments from death, asking god.
this is, even while being secular and skeptical.
i think of summitting Everest and wait longer.
you know i probably could with this training.
though the oxygen tanks and Sherpa, i need them now.

July 15, 2017

the black hole of the nextdoor app where they tell stories on social media and everyone really cares

someone on the nextdoor app
had a bad encounter with authority and expounded,
like that has never happened before…
we both live in St Paul, near Falcon Heights…
like anyone cares IRL…

March 10, 2017

a flower underground

i knew what it felt like to be a ghost,
or an earthbound flower,
all information, all the time
on these matters: doxing and politics,
when that is all we absorb in our bones.
where the oatmeal ran cold
below contemporary jazz notes
and a vase full of roses.
here were also books in layers
onioned out over our wooden shelves.
and dying temptation had me
money in my pockets–full,
rich like those other in-tune saps,
unwanting and vainglory lame,
found doing the same ways,
for another 8 years with no change.
then i read through it entirely,
a children’s book saved me.
Fox In Socks again, very closely, and smiled,
we don’t do that enough;
it’s lonely at the top,
it’s quiet at the top,
other people hate the top–what hate(?).
humor, the distasteful, slop.
i think about time and how it escapes me,
i think if i could make it stop
and smell the fancied spring flowers
i’d want to make it start again.
i’d know that they were never really there.
modern days of trials and errors
never let you live it down;
beauty never seen, a flower underground.

February 11, 2017

skill

these poets have got skill
they ought to make gods
out of straw men
with fists up to disrupt
in groups large enough
not to miss
but for a singular idea;
for the entirety
individuality has left the building
like they say Elvis once did
and
they prefer and
persuade yours’ gone too, verily–
auf wiedersehen, jetzt;
tho irony poses a problem
when
you think about that purpose
without thinking about that principle,
a group think showing
others to not think
for themselves: so don’t; ironically,
for some everything
can be a problem, depending on the message,
similarly with the critic
at a convention of their beat–they just have to;
still there is nothing new under the sun.
but as arms of automated
recycling trucks
reaching out with care
at soon to be new old shit
these poets
could fall like building 7
16 years ago September, to grey dust
by one true statement,
fall like a beggar’s budget
at two buck chuck,
and then break
their wrists patting their own backs
as if they made
that poignant prose
so much their own,
accordingly their every breathe
is arrogance.
let’s call it “skill” anyway.

December 20, 2016

bean sandwich

when it is
lunchtime
and you literally
eat
a bean sandwich,
just black beans
between sandwich bread
and that’s all.
and then you
eat it slow
with no seasoning,
and stale water,
and then its paste falls
out in chunks onto
a folded paper towel
on some dirty table,
and the blue sky
beyond the old window
is blotted out by
purple drapes, and then
you think fuck,
i wonder how dusty
it is in this room?
and you look around suspciously.
and think no one please
talk to me right now,
i need a wash, thanks.