Posts tagged ‘blogs’

January 3, 2017

free as i freeze (habit and time)

wake up to routine,
OK Google, play morning jazz.
watch people kiss at the
drop off spot.
it’s cold, there is ice–messages, go outside…
tie shoes and salt the walk.
change diapees of all sorts.
my son makes more art
than the lot in the books
than the lot on the poster
than the lot at the press
than me, and yes, i wrote that
and it’s exclusive to your publication
and i won’t send it
to anyone else, i promise.
no more surprises.
she asks me why i don’t wear
a jacket in 9 degree weather
to fill up the gas tank
so the fuel line doesn’t freeze overnight,
i don’t want to be restricted.
i want to not be cramped.
i just want to make ends meet
even if they have no interest
in meeting and becoming friends
and they just try to avoid
that moment, which i have set out so boldly
to make a reality, on my account.
wake up to routine,
OK Google, bring me a beer.
and deconstruct structure–
wood, screws, metal, shelves, etc.
they tell me i look nice in a blazer.
into packs cramped.
trying to be more free as i freeze
if you would just let me,
it only takes habit and a moment.

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November 30, 2014

The Morning After (Downtown La Crosse)

The morning after,

Early new day;
“Bar hair” and Fishbowls,
Smell of smoke,
Sore throat-

Subtle suggestions: Let’s walk down by the river.
Last night’s concepts seem less conducive to life.

Now,
Light which sneaks
Through venetians blinds.

_even though they are closed.

Painful to eyes-
And then a piss.
Then a brush of teeth,
Under dry lips.

Moving,
Aching,
Wasting,
Stiff tender bits-

The evening before, knowing full well it would come to this.
Downtown: the nightlife, old friends, the drinks, to witness.

June 19, 2014

Minor Details

Eyes in front,
Focusing on some high-rise Ant Farm

Minor details…

No coffee; none for sale.

Thoughts on our time
When contemporaries write on depression
And how they want to write,
Immodestly mentioned

Do they write for words or recognition?

In my mind,
At the beach
Shirtless,
An ex heroin addict describes me as fat- I react.

Paltry people
Trite intention
Sad appeal
Apathetic apprehension

Now,

Off to work
Watching busy professionals pace hard by
Begging for fame- notice me! They say.
-Under heavy skies.

May 27, 2014

Who isn’t?

Who isn’t?:
“I am writing a book.”
“I am writing a poem.”
“I am a published author.”
“I have a Kickstarter of my own.” -Every Writer Ever

December 30, 2013

The Artist We Hate

The Luck…

 

American Capital Art Realism, a simple unique optimism:

 

Americans think of money first,

Logic last,

And vanity before that as they perform their act.

 

They want to relax but they are so tense as they travel the tracks here and back…

 

Life Goals:

Find a fuck,

Buy a pack,

Fill a flask,

Count money stacks.

 

(As we keep making trash)

 

Find that others can relate to that.

Buy clothes tight, or get relevant meaningful tats.

 

On to make an impact, or just impact.

 

All for self, this act in fake abstract.

 

The amount of real ARt we lack…

Goddamn, you see what distracts?

 

[They don’t believe their message, so how can we?  Plain Fact.]

 

Forget 5pm, it’s not even noon here…

Bitter, frozen feet on the sidewalk, somehow below the sky crystal clear.

 

To all the geniuses near,

I’ll give you a half-hearted cheers while I drown myself in this beer.

 

I’ve met about a million worth zero…

December 9, 2013

From Books to Blogs; A Story of Evolution

 

From books to blogs like cats and dogs;

We’re surrounded by a million writers with a million words,

Wanting to get read and be heard- absurd.

 

Zombies scare me less.

 

How to Be a Famous Writer:

Start today, don’t delay, and get on your way.

Print press doesn’t pay like they say.

It only takes a few seconds to change your ways.

 

Like Flies on Shit.

 

What’s an artist’s wage?

Cost per page?

Adverts?

 

MPR broadcasts their crying.

You’d think people were dying.

 

Do they even fucking read?

 

I could hardly hold back my laughter.

 

Then we look at progress, and the prospects.

Not finding a silver-lining.

 

No room for wining and dining.

 

You find that surprising?

 

No one’s getting fatter.

 

This hobby wasn’t to fill any part of any wallet.

Act like Author Gods but they haven’t yet penned their ‘Hobbit’.

Just minds and thoughts figuring how those unique (everyone) call it.

They were so close, but they lost it.

 

I want to vomit.

 

I don’t see.

They follow what they want to be.

Flee to the next scheme…

 

But sadly others have been there before; up, down, and in between; twice, three times, maybe four.

Do we need anymore?

 

Can we chart forward progress by going backward?

 

Recline, sit in a chair.

Analyze, document, look, read, compare,

Tense up and think about how life is unfair.

 

Are you prepared?

 

Open Market, Open Mic, there’s an Open Season on the Weekend Artist tonight.

-Awake and aware of the unawares.

-Happily, a positive outlier without a care.

Counter parts rest comfortably under stairs.

 

Understand the standard deviation and mean,

But not meaning to be mean-

 

All part of the artistry in the Minneapolis Scene,

Wipe ass with freshly torn pages.

 

Print press has changed throughout the ages,

And they present new material as if it’s not dated…

 

Faded yellow on a dusty shelf. 

He called it sleeping knowledge.

I think his popularity needs help. 

 

And all of those resources have been wasted.

They don’t factor external cost,

They can’t calculate their displacement*.

 

At least hope and ambition aren’t lost.

 

 

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Displacement_(psychology)

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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?