Posts tagged ‘Applefest’

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.

***
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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 18, 2016

La Crescent Haiku #1

Fog of deep valley
drifts away from verdant bluffs.
Small town soul revealed.

September 19, 2015

applefest casualty

Those trees of the backyard
Through a naked window
kicked at my eyes while a truck drove
busy and loud in my skull.

The white beer tent last night,
with its sugary high notes
and crisply set carbonation
caused splintered synapse today.

And those leaves were changing outside,
and Dirty Jobs was on the set
and life was passing by momentarily
as butter rested malleable on a knife’s edge,

and in the dish, on toast, on pancakes;
between a paper, and conversation
about how this generation doesn’t get it
from another which heard the same …

Now, yesterday’s ideology was stale as the open chips,
and contrived but real and there.

My kindergarten teacher was my bartender,
her pupils were standing years apart
and side-by-side amongst the crowd
as a cover band played Queen
and last week’s hit single.

A flea market set up where we played as kids,
and mom had to go to the fest grounds
to help the church in bright light fashion.

Text messages came through
as I pulled the rubber band
off of bold print fragile paper.

The headline spoke of what was outside:
the backyard, again, window earlier today
—I almost threw up—
remember new years day?
and the champagne and its pain?

On the set was tanning leather—
the wet kind, grey and grotesque;

and in that flowery prose
was a half-baked sentence
which balked at this fleeting instance
of happening nature.

He said just take these pills
and don’t mind the stale smoke smell
of that crumpled shirt at your feet,

an hour later my head
became straight,
I dressed for the game,
and for the weather, and for the
cold fall to come.

***
It was a morning of remembrance
and a splitting headache,
thoughts of sweet beer and bubbles.

We were talking sorts in the dark,
in the night rain,
near tents and lights
and sound.

Many questions now…
There were no awards for 3rd place
in the poker tournament…

We have the hardest time understanding
that we don’t understand.

It exists because you hear it,
or you hear it because it exists.

***
I remember feeding the horse,
and then eating food with my hands…

As a loading television allowed for novel thought.

August 19, 2014

St. Paul in the Fall

St. Paul in the fall,

whilst leaves change and thin.

 

Whilst festivities and fairs

under tents, bearing food, creep in.

 

Whilst trees bend

with robust forceful wind.

 

A time to reflect the mess we’re within;

past and coming years, one which end and begin.

 

Peers and loved ones we’ve lost,

at grand experience’ cost. 

 

Standing growing moving,

shedding one layer at a time

 

A tan peals and pales,

A secret is revealed.

 

Skin and bone become frail,

light years fast pass the snail. 

 

A north shore lake-effect patience,

Months under sun we’ve waited.

 

Suffering rain snow and gale,

Minnesota weather: what it entails. 

 

In and amongst everything;

though a singular unit, alone as one.

 

Walking fresh cold press coffee in hand,

scanning distant verdant lands.

 

On this walk towards autumn- new times and old friends,

alternatives we enact; to the ever changing plans.

 

Remember the voices we will never hear again.

Remember the times with loved ones we spend.

 

Perplexed by this simple yet inspiring life,

St. Paul in the fall feels cool, close, fast approaching, and right. 

July 11, 2014

Storied Weather (South Ridge)

Familiar clouds
tell of South Ridge
and distant relatives;
revelations such as this
come hard to miss,
a loss of words.

These were once
interactions,
turned keys,
and crossed-out lists.

Rain drops tapping my head soaking my shoulders.

We drove there in the morning
to leave by afternoon.

Now, I stand here under
dark spinning skies
watching
waiting
and hoping for you.

April 15, 2014

“The Apple Capital”

This town
Under bluffs of a river valley

Ancient trees
Fixed in rich dirt of sediment

Through the
Sandstone foundation of long forgotten
Specters under the sky
Incarnation of this “American Dream”

Their progeny haunt
Stalk
Past the dying brilliance
Of traditional affairs

–The audacity of Business
Gathering
From the land
Of which they do not own
–the view
That warns
The conscious being

A vast distance between states
Two, as splendid
Establishment in the new frontier
Dust to flesh

Once whited maps
Growing with pride
Now what it stood for is merely a novelty