Posts tagged ‘612’

March 23, 2015

we are the same

You, me; us we—forward or backward,
together we are the same.

Parts of a carnal body, whole—
built of dust, thoughts, and air;
no scar is without a measure,
no action still unmoved,
shell of human being outside,
ghost of us within.

We are compelling a kind,
eyes peer to see;
from Franklin and Nicollet to NE,
Middle America to Middle East.

Still, forward or backward, we are the same.

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April 4, 2014

Cash for Compromise

Local daily rags adorned capital paid ads
Words minced in between seldom seem
Pin-prick point disorder has been had
Cash for incompetence, that’s wastefully redeemed

One needs a paper shredder for some sort of pleasure
This old-time failing marketer’s scheme upon me
From what I’ve seen there are no stories to treasure
Eyes on the prize, a fat hand full of cash it gleans

Politics and stance change like the weather
The reader is the one losing sight of what’s seen
You read this, you read that; for the assumed equal measure
Avert inquisitive eyes, these lines of falsehood reign supreme

But what I ask in my own research is:
Who is pulling strings behind the scenes?

As one can say in full-view glory
It feels wonderful to produce an untainted story.

 

Who pays you?

Who writes your stories?

Are they the same person?

July 14, 2013

The Julia Belle Swain, Part 1

Belle of many hearts, how you once cut through the Mississippi River was art.

Of Mark Twain and the swain which came about you.

How you blew your Calliope and sounded your whistle as you paddled throughout The Muddy and The Deep.

 

La Crosse, at sundown, she once stood at attention.

Speaking of you, an honor to mention.

 

Your first name was Julia, I do dare tell.

The current in the water below you spun and swell.

 

Steam poured through you, all of your hot and powerful veins.

Sorted history, faded paint, and tie-downs remain in your old space.

 

Your hull of history and mystery is massive as your myth.

A trip on you up and down the Mississippi was not to be missed.

 

Winona to Prairie Du Chien, now, in dreams.

 

So much attention and affection and now you sit vacated North of port.

Once accompanied by the leisurely relaxing sporting sort.

 

No more a deckhand says, “All Aboard!”

No more flags soar.

No more polished glass on the captain’s door.

 

As if your funeral precession was silent and empty.

Cut the ropes, let you drift-finally set free.

 

I imagine in my dreams dusting the Red, White, and Blue of you.

 

Many have loved you, taken sight of you-jaws have dropped in awe.

 

I had a single summer with you.

One season I will remember until I die.

To this moment what I learned from you:  Alone, I could still catch both lines and lock you down on the fly.

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 25, 2013

Another One of The Few (Not for You)

Another piece from an exploited animal.

The cage remains the same.

 

Virtuoso and I haven’t even picked up the manual.

Capture that shot in a picture frame.

 

Heaven sent prospect; opportunistic optimist.

Not coming to grant your wish, just trying to exist.

 

Think about handling shit…

I can do the math-Its ____________________.

 

Baffle bitches while I swing it like a whiffle bat.

Breeze like air through holes, wearing cold sneakers and a backpack.

 

Time to relax the act.

Pick up the paint brush.

 

You show me canvass, I’ll show you abstract.

 

Cold house, small heater, Minnesota’s where its at.

Time to follow the leader.

 

2 questions:

Who’s in front though?

And can you see her?

 

***

I miss you Poopsauce, I hope everything is great in Philly.

TS_

December 10, 2012

All the Beauty (Of Season)

All the Beauty,

By Terry Scott Niebeling

All the Beauty-

A cold mass hangs in the grey skies;

snowflakes dive about

as the ground comes near,

Tears trickle from frozen eyes.

All the Beauty-

Rosy cheeks touched not by heat,

but by wind harsh as needles,

As we peddle down the street,

Avoiding vehicles and people.

All the Beauty-

Friends for French Press and a baguette at the nearest cafe-

Warm conversation and rest, dry the wet, then progress.

All the Beauty-

Downtown is taken in on this day;

the iced walk ways,

the passing tourist waves,

With the response of a passive gaze.

The way we walk about in a Midwestern Way:

Stop by, but don’t stay; talk a bit, and then stray;

This is the Minneapolis Way.

All the beauty-

Working on display, positive spirit, and

The people we meet as we trudge through along the way.

A nod, a smile, and a wink.

Much time to think.

All the splendid beauty, and time to think.

December 3, 2012

This Day, Her Day

Lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling he thought:

 

This Day-Her Day

Downtown-Airwaves

 

Real-life-Good Times

Alliteration-Great Minds

 

No Idea-In the Clear

Out of beer-Out of Here

 

Summer days-Winter Months

Bike to Work-Eat Lunch

 

Rake the Leaves-Sit Inside

Slap her Ass-Forget the Pride

 

Hungover-Sober Judge

No more Headaches-A lot more Love

 

Fun times-Fun times

 

Every Day-Hard Times

Semi-Pro-Novice Rhymes

 

No Insurance-No Church

Feeling Better-Feeling Worse

 

Most Days-Hardly Sit

Look Around-Take it In

 

He threw the blankets aside and rose from his bed to do it again…

Only to do it again.

But this time while looking in the mirror he said, “Hello my friend.”

 

Then I thought:

How much does your book weigh?

It’s heavier than my remote.

 

Then I experienced:

And J said, “You are so positive.”

I said, “If you aren’t positive, what can you be?”

J said, “Negative.”

And I said, “No, not me.”

 

Another day, another dollar, broke scholar.

Keep reading and writing.

So enlightening it’s frightening.

 

 

 

November 11, 2012

Oppressive Options (Now They want to be like Me)

Fans are setting goals in respect to my situation, and talking about words on occasion.  I am in good company; everyone that surrounds.  Complexion not mentioned, hardly ever, always abound.  Those who avoid regressive expression and let it out.  We are found.  We are now.  

Like DKR, Like my roommate.  Like we do.  Like in the BroHaus.  Over and Out.

 

However, I sit and think.  I think and drink on economy, prosperity, reality, and dreams.  How realistic they seem, and how to make ends of means.  I believe.

I guess I believe…

 

I turn pink because I can’t relate.

I read more, instigate, initiate.

 

Not to hate, not to hate.

I’ll extrapolate.

 

Dodge dates, girls wonder why I show late.

Or not at all.

 

Count your blessings.

There are 99 bottles of beer on this wall.

 

Not my fault; I was taught by condition to absolve and revolve.

 

Keep straight forward, on a mission.

Watch out for number one, and wash the dishes.

 

Breakfast in the kitchen; Guinness Extra Stout and Gravity Drip Coffee, eggs, lime, rice, and beans.  Be lean, stay clean, read Minneapolisscene.

 

Write like that, like this here.

Right here, right now.

To exist, not missed, somehow, and still get around.

 

Not so fast, chill out, sit down.

 

So clearly mirror what you are near that you disappear.

Steer clear of fear.

Drink much with peers.

 

Appreciate those you hold dear, and the lack of competition.

 

Wishing like they are fishing for a compliments.

Bitching, that’s how I vent.

Commonsense.

 

And they hold it in.

 

Get asked why I am so happy.

Probably because my smile says fuck you, and inside I want to flee.

Exactly, exactly!

 

Just to be free.

Just to be something like me.

 

So many options and no definitive answers.

 

But freedom and choice cause oppression and tension.

Just go with your gut, end of the lesson.

 

And in my other blog I talk about fucking, and she says its substantial.

Beat that Dane-imal.

She gave me a handjob and called me an Asshole.

 

The day was uneventful, so I slept through it.

 

***

 

Identity crisis, thoughts divided.

Self-minded, ever self-minded.

 

I love you Dane,

Good luck on your goal to out write me.

P.S.  Sorry for drinking all of your SnowShoe Grog Schnapps.  I’ll get you S’more Schnapps soon.

TS-

November 6, 2012

Coffee, Reading, and Votes 11/5/12-11/6/12

More material than a craft store…

Starting word wars with scholarly whores.

 

But, anyway, we wake up in the same bed, problem solved.

 

And that one time began like this:

A Cat in a window with different colored eyes.

Light blue and light green, contrast clearly defined.

 

Walking to the cafe to spend a few dollars.

 

A pumpkin ahead smashed to death on the side-

walk right by to Bob’s for java and the warmth inside.

 

To open up my eyes.

Just to open my eyes.

 

I sat back, watching peers through a window as they went on with their lives.

Strolling.

Contemplate the day; a pint earlier, though it was morning, but not before sunrise.

I was patient, life then was boring.

I couldn’t find a surprise.

 

A modest work for a modest pay: the modern modest’s only way.

 

Art, Drink, Sleep, Fuck, Write, Etc…

Shut off the light and pray you’ll make it through the night.

Breakfast of champions.

Feeling cramped again.

 

Start the day.

As they say:

 

What are you doing with your time?

Are you still studying?

Brain bubbling?

No, not really, I am just waiting to quit.

I’m loving it, reading a lot.  You know-

Books are legit…

 

And minding my own fucking business.

 

 

(Then I listened about)

 

Anxiety of national responsibility on their lips.

It sets in, as hearts dip.

 

Even worse my Ma is sick.

I am thinking B.I.G., I am thinking dark and tired, I am thinking about starting a fire.

 

Trying to be inspired.

Bukowski said don’t try-its written in stone above his catacomb.

 

It’s the water around it.

 

Don’t doubt the happenings at a glance.

Wait to review the past.

Then think before you act.

 

And I was tired moments later.

 

(Then I listened about in another direction)

 

The Beatles were playing and everyone was buzzing about politics.

 

January 20th, 2013 everything will change.

They say.

The tea is warm and tastes a bit bitter,

I thought.

The coffee smelled swell and everything was well.

We all sat, we were all lost in thought.

 

Then I took off.

 

Warm place downtime.

 

A transgender lady spoke to a gentleman about stance as David Bowie played one of his classics.

I finished a book and couldn’t find the right words.

 

God damn, I can’t wait until tomorrow is over.

You can’t say that everyday.

October 31, 2012

Wake Up Downtown

Waking up to a situation with you.

 

Blond hair and ruffled blankets; sitting up naked.

Nothing new, same deal, same issues.

Remaining relatively true.

 

Things aren’t as bad as they seem.

This is true, true.

I don’t know about you.

 

Socks, shoes, contacts stick to blue eyes like glue.

Hello to the mirror on the wall, trying to see things clear.

Asking who is the fairest of them all?

 

I see me.

 

Counting, looking around to see this fantasy bathroom stall.

Then I leave, then I disappear with much sound.

 

Sun light, so bright.

 

Getting up, not my bed.

Just another night.

 

Getting up, she turns her head.

She says.

Wish we could be here all day.

 

I say,

I say.

 

Right.

 

Yeah, only in dreams.

Right.

 

Then I found myself on my way.

I found what the weather patterns mean.

 

On my bike, looking left, looking right.

Cars, gas, fumes, liability, citations, cash, and frustration.

What a sad sight.

 

Drivers waiting patient, like a logical fallacy.

 

To 3rd, to Central, to parking lot and sidewalk, to Nicollet, these are places where I will never get lost.  Downtown habit is a chronic pathway to the day, individuals traveling in every which way.  From the Stonearch Bridge to the Grain Belt sign Minneapolis is on the mind.  The weather is chilled, same as the attitudes.  People standing in line to have a good time, most never move on.  Who is wasting time?

I coast and back pedal only in travel…

 

Getting up, haven’t slept like this since birth, since last month.

Getting up and outside to see what its worth, to open my eyes.

Gift or curse I’ll figure it when it arrives.

 

I thought this as I waved goodbye.