Posts tagged ‘2013’

November 30, 2013

Travelers of the Hometown

With a moderate hangover we wake to unfiltered light.

A sign of the debauchery transpired last night.


Weather view tempts those to wander outside.

If they take time and mind to leave confines.




And the Local Paper –


We barter borrowing the car to visit familiar strangers.





And a Walk in the Books-


Finding matters of interest-vague yet specific,

Travelers of the Hometown, try? …


We didn’t even have to look.

October 15, 2013

Confusion at Best (Around Town)

Confusion at Best,

By Terry Scott Niebeling


I send out the same message to everyone I know,

To no effect,

To be similar to you,

So you won’t forget.

I do this just as long as we can grow.


It takes place probably somewhere between Coffman Union and Marcy Holmes.


This act is redundant proof,

Enough thought to write tomes.


And the stuff we are all made of,

Like a warm place where we actually write poems.


This is like biking from Northeast to the Turf Club.

-Counting the stars above.


Hell Bent as Heaven Sent, stare on bold reader.

These pages are wet with regret and eager.

How we are:  pressing the buttons, blackening the pages, and living life so meager.


This is in the Downtown High-rises and next to the St. Anthony Main Theatre features.


I bet you don’t even know of the Multi-Verse yet.

But there are so many artists, poets, and musicians, how could you forget?

October 14, 2013

What if I Shut Down?

What if I Shut Down?

By Terry Scott Niebeling


What if I shut down?


The world will go on with or without me.

Those I’ve let down will no longer frown or doubt me.

Most will believe as they renounce my legacy with glee,

And pull apart what defense surrounds me.


What if I shut down?


Where you stand won’t change hands,

All will move about free.


What if I shut down?


Don’t mind the voice (barking television bobble-heads).

End the Fed, they say, but how can you kill what is already dead?

…  We just have to smell the rotting flesh, ready the grave, and off with its head!


What if I shut down?


This is post-logical, history for news, as they struggle, argue, blame, conclude, and abuse.

Others research, read, and consume truth.


What if I shut down?


We all sound the same to ourselves.

Are we all fools?

Do we play by the rules?


Who is in charge of the pens and papers?

Who is teaching this and that in the schools?


True to form, honest doubt;

Questions we have within, and without.


I can’t believe such thoughts and ideas compounding, likewise confounding, without viable and realistic results.

But don’t worry, I won’t ask you to cite your source, and to be fair, I won’t ask myself.


What if I shut down?


I am not like Uncle Sam; he is more indebted than I.

He is not like me; I have unfiltered eyes.


What if I shut down?


I will be depressed and broke and still move forward in a more positive way.

In my best attempts I try to hide my remorse, of course.

I see a vast life of possibilities on the blank page, but they can’t even come to an office on the same day to make change.

August 28, 2013

Dew Point (Part 2)

Around 80, with the dew point, similar to 100 and lost.

This is only for a few days, and we measure the cost.


There remains a great contrast, from shut-in at negative 20, to shut-in and very sunny.


All above and everything below have theirs to tow.


Weather, a well suited rival, for wherever we are we strive for survival.

We learn as we grow.


Some clutch drink, others clutch the Bible.

I am just preparing for the recital.


My glass remains sweating on the table, the fan blows hot air in, and I wear a smile.

Now, about the weather today…  Where do I begin?


August 27, 2013

Dew Point (Part 1)

Most won’t run in “normal” temps; I run best in advisories, while injured, after a cigarette.




Sweet putrid smells greet the nose, as it goes, in the air around this city.


Noon, as we steadily increase to terminal dew point, a midday jungle hell, all the populous feels and knows, pressures build as dead swell.


Praying a fast hour to follow.


An almost empty glass bottle, wood-corked, lay with remnant rose’ along the side of sweltering asphalt streets.


Bike frames lacking single tires, basement doors easily unlocked, the city is almost barren, inside to air-conditioning, and fans, people flock.


There are three places to find relief:  first, the library, second, the basement, and third, the beach.

Bring water and a small dirty sheet.


Sand, or leather chair-suit your fancy, free yourself of cares.

Less words, more discrete, fast on feet, on a mission, thoughts of cold sleep.


The only objective is to beat the heat.

Weather mental-disease; fight the condition, and remember to breathe.


Thoughts of comfort released.


Shirtless again, three showers later, and I still sit in wet.

It is too hot to feel defeat.

Times like these we forget.

July 10, 2013

Mid-Coitus POV

A walk outside,


We were stuck like two rocks in a stream, submerged in the water.

Amidst dreams, cows lined patiently awaiting slaughter.


Lying dazed and unconcerned.

Nothing learned.


Catch the day.  Catch the same.


Just over, just under;

Above not being below voyeurism blunders.



To pay bills, cheap thrills and such…

So much time, so much trust, so much luck… And we are out of all.


Eat Out For Lunch.


Small plant does not exceed its pot.

Dead flesh left to rot in the hot.


Sunglasses on, facing skyward, praying for the fall, thinking about it all.

Minding nothing and still breathing.


Catch the day.  Catch the same.


Another day to make another dollar-to change another life; yet we sit around staring at a television on another night.

Consummating commercialism.

So sexy.



Remember when you were ahead of foresight?

A baby’s eyes before first seeing light?

And now we punch clocks, pay bills, and take pills.


This is The Great 2013 Depression.



Rich dark soil on either side, sitting-fixated-as the water passed by.


We cover our eyes as we forget to open our minds.

Awake like mid-coitus; foreplay of fellatio, and here we go.


And still, no one cares to notice

Who knows? 

May 31, 2013

Why We Need Drugs (The Simple Life)

I used to have this linear structure of ideas that dictated my life…


I have to:


Drive my car,

Take my meds,

Pay my bills,

Talk to my friends,


I have to:

Have kids and get married.

Or else the future will turn dark and scary.


And I will get carried away like the light at the end of a very long and very beautiful day.


Nothing unexpected (ever!)-then I wrecked it.

Those straightforward-thinking creatures have patience, and time’s lost, but what’s really been wasted?





What people think?  Oh! How we fret.


Forget that shit (ennui), no reason to be upset (truly).


All I was taught.


All I remember.


All I’ve Lost.


All I regret?


No conclusions.

Only conclusion I’ve been using is there are no conclusions ever.

After that all challenges have been met.




And in a distant setting, such as a living room, in a suburb, of some city far away, someone watches television and consumes highly processed foods, and that feeling is the exact same feeling as what you have read from above.  Don’t change your perspective because someone tells you to, tell yourself. 

April 11, 2013

All Falling Cold Hell

Anticipation led to hesitation; perception of spring led to disappointment by appointment amongst other things.


Labels led to let down, frowns on pale faces.


Snowflake to fertile ground, like seminal traces in hot fleshy places.


Bumbling to blunder the tragic funster.

Sauntering as he perused through town.

At times, head down.


Walking the evident precipitation, precipitous, no elation-bitter nation.


No one laughed.


Investigate the fleeting suspect clouds.

Tacitly, at times, implying:  Go back to where you cannot be found.


Cursing them, at times, aloud, losing one’s mind, becoming unsound.

Stuck in: culture, climate, and the daily rounds.


Ultimately and absolutely let down; however, proud of the weather that fell about the ground.




I almost had a brain aneurism when I saw the heart-attack snow in bright white mounds.

January 7, 2013

Tender Thought (Self-sufficient Shorty)

She asked me if I ever got writer’s block…

I thought about it…

Yeah… I thought, but only when I’m in love; I can’t seem to get out of bed…



All that stuff in the past, I can’t rewind that.

Think as it passes, and then relax, its as good as trash at this juncture, in relation to my head.


I was gathering dust and rust with lust, so I traded in.

And found something underrated.


I found something that was there with patience:



Like rocks in a river.

Like cold to a shiver.

Like heat to a blister.


One another, together; behold a symbiotic situation.

A generation waited in anticipation.

Baited with cinematic inspiration.


And mildly let down…




It Feels like a lifetime since I’ve said I love you like this.

It Feels like bliss.


Like that.

Like old hat.

Like a first kiss.


Like this:


Not unlike the heat of super-glue placement on flesh, but absolutely benign.

Love is hope.

Love stops time.

Love is divine, and blind.


Love loses coordination; A sea-sick sailor, oh(!), on weak knees.

A maladroit, worth being teased.

It’s not butterflies within my stomach, its children on trampolines.




Water and debris, in all its glory, just float by me.

All to see; my mind’s absorbing and storing.


Stuff like this needs to be remember for later, saved for a rainy day as they say.


Call it Zen, call it mother hen to chicks, call it being logical and simplistic.

We all need shelter.

We all need a little helper.


Every movement of the eyes is categorized, recorded, and translated into a statement.

What do they see?


Check the facts, there are no stats on love.

Nothing hanging above, just pure perception, intention, and honor.


Like subjective minutiae worth the weight of the world sitting on your chest.

Like boys and girls.

Like coming unfurled; sprawled for all to see when you’re not at your best.


There is only true feeling.

No embarrassment, guilt, or regret.

It is heaven-sent, even to the non-believer.


To live without such love would be oppression, regression of my true nature.

Not a misunderstood nomenclature, just part of my culture.


How one survives without someone like her, I’d be damned to know…

She is like a warm drink and chaser in midwinter, she and I sat bedside as the sky turned grey.


We had only good things to say; no stones to throw.


And that is what I thought of on New Year’s Day.

I thought of writer’s block, and how it felt when she and I were alone.