Posts tagged ‘American Art’

May 5, 2018

The American Underdog

The underdog is the
all-American hero.
They have no chance,
no hope to win, everything
against them. But with
astonishing effort and self-belief
they make the impossible possible.
It’s a beautiful thing.
The American Underdog inspires.

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April 4, 2018

shells of us

judging a book’s cover, imagine my face imaging.
infinite sides to a story, to a story’s story, but i know.
my flesh tells a tale, probably, as yours does too.
drawn in the blood of i forget them, never met, who cares i guess.
Passover at Easter, some pink ham in me again, belching.
nothing like anything. nothing like i just exist.
broken short nails, overgrown cuticles and shining bald spots.
adult acne keeps me younger than you might think i am.
alphabet soup of words keeps me sane.
reflections of thin air, in thin air scares, wisps.
clowns were in that movie of course, dark rooms, found footage.
still, i see apostles for anything relevant: novel sorts.
new, spring, green, now, on top of the every-thing, any-thing that is
trending hashtag section of their Twitter feeds.
until tomorrow’s Godzilla prowls painting a new-thing to hate,
until the next big no-thing, the next day.
then you do what they say, like clockwork spinning good, wait.
and you want to be different, unique.
then you tell them how much you can relate.
i guess they covered this on the cover. forget this poem.

March 24, 2017

my painting (even with tired eyes)

i woke up this morning
thought about
painting a painting,
put the colors in it,
gave it detail,
and so it was.
minor moves in maelstrom.
then i called it my own
and asked for a museum,
a place for it to
be put up in,
a place for it to call home.
eye of the storm, so settle in.
and then i woke up again.
and then i found my painting.
and then i found my museum.
to the leeward we form.
looking at the mirror
even with tired eyes.
thank you for this day.

June 30, 2016

ratings (unsolicited writers)

and the
tumescence
of our
local bards,
hatred for
love handles’
burn,
a lost day
on
some river
in the sun,
what
could be
worse?

i imagine
a world
where we all
do the
same thing
very well,
and
together,
and friends
of friends
up-top
who “know”
get it.

March 14, 2016

untitled 59

Skyscrapers and spires in the cool of night,
downtown & away, in the darkened light.
And we do what it is to make such sight burn,
we open eyes on what makes the soul yearn.

February 3, 2016

The Groundhog Day Blizzard

was stuck inside an office
checking local news for
hourly traffic reports and
telling the folks to go home
hopefully before five.

It was natural driving a truck,
and where does one exert so
much energy walking places,
and when else is everything
in view majestic as fuck?

I commend the bus drivers
and bike delivery workers
just out there doing their jobs,
just out there commuting, so
that others don’t have to.

More, were the processions
of landlords clearing paths,
and motorized snow removal
machines doing a dance;
how slick ways faired.

It really is like this no place
else, a bleak sheet filtered
the sight of once open walks
roads and schoolyard parks
muted and muffled by white.

Just the thought of it,
this is why we live here.

January 10, 2016

Last Night Allegory (Smoke Rising Over The Hennepin Avenue Bridge)

One time
bold people
walked
cold paths

under
hollow skies.

Last night
was nice,

even
with
the weather.

August 18, 2015

gnats in the wine

chewing it over—for what it’s worth;
last night’s me in southeast, and
the now going—nothing if not present,
on along como. proof in breath,
change the set. focus, and
then content with content.
the blinker light orange clicks,
the cracked window let’s cool air in.
if morning is broken, how shall we fix it?
fixating on what’s been given—so gifted.
and that taste in your mouth, and
that frown on your face—those things can be
given away. over 280 at about 30 and
it’s barely 7:40. midday convo mid-moment;
spit-balling my life, just a thought: let’s talk.
then everything will be all right.

August 12, 2015

College Park in the Past

Shades of the trees toward western skies rest a cool shadow

on a once brilliant face,

where the lacquer for paint

had peeled.

Smack of fuzzed tennis balls hurled in the wind,

zipping with bugs in

a St. Paul end-summer August warm.

Reflections and shadows hung on until it was time

to go back home—

just after supper and just before

candlelight vigils and auto headlamps scans rushed

into closed windows and about vacant streets.

Sitting, watching

the world come to close another day,

morning would be the same except reverse

on those tired night dweller’s eyes.

A can was crushed and we biked back

to SE through mosquitoes.

August 3, 2015

City Vantage

In varied ways
The city’s buildings stand;

Tall as they are, up with birds
And clouds,

Holding those lives
Seething, going, and watching
There inside.

Mazes put up for institutions,
Humans go about with same minds.