Posts tagged ‘fatherhood’

March 9, 2018

north woods and north shore

i’d like to escape
north woods, northshore
past Duluth, past the ships,
the mini sea
comes into view, comes to mind.
all past-life in the rearview.
empty agendas found blank,
just wake lapping at the shores
where red rocks are shone.
through arched tunnels, further,
Two Harbors, Castle Danger.
a million years in a minute gone by.
how did it happen?
i’d like to escape like lava from crust
to create this Superior lake,
this setting. read it in books as a kid.
the Edmund Fitzgerald and 28.5 barometric pressure.
time’s i can’t take city’s measure.
but these thoughts save me mostly.
nothing but canary lines on the highway: open road.
would go to Lutsen, dad would, drink Hot 100 in a Jacuzzi.
he’s gone too. long gone.
would show the earth’s curve to
flat-earthers to prove them,
as we ate Betty’s pies, or famous pizza,
all the way to Grand Marais.
i don’t know. maybe go
along the snaking Gunflint Trail
to where the road ends, way up there, and
think about finding that square rock
which came into view like some ancient monster on
Lake Sag, i don’t know. Ghosts bobbing in white caps.
still looms in my head when i think
about catching bass or time to put my feet up,
or about my father and what he
would be doing now. i’d escape.
i’d find it. and why not?

Advertisements
December 8, 2017

best thing ever (dadlife)

being a dad is the best thing ever,
every day is the set of Home Alone;
toys every where and not.
laughs like me, cant believe.
leftovers make a secular search for god.
wondering what people do w/o progeny.
here: smiles, hugs, kisses, squeals.
away from family: a wasted life, my ideals.
my identity politic is father, parent–never stop.
is there a movement for me, a protest?
daycare should have been a savings plan.
healthcare should be for free.
i am a parent too: parental leave?
these are minor things for the positive he brings.
always, i get to come home to
the idea of raising a new person.
of giving everything for someone else.
of not caring about what
everyone has to say about bullshit that doesn’t matter,
only a little man who speaks baby
and doesnt judge hard and
can tell all with paralanguage
that he has a poopy or pee-pee or he cant sleep.
(well neither can i, but i cant change it. ;))
or that he loves me. no stranger gives you that.
no group can make you feel.
no great positive review, book of poetry, no other adoration.
no award is worth it in so many ways.
write some modern prose about that if you can.
if you havent i suggest you try.
i dont miss wasted hours in bed anymore.
confused about where. now, i am me, standing.
happy to be here and have a buddy.
happy to wake up and know
that i have to be my best so he can too.
nothing like it in the world.
its something to see.

September 9, 2017

logically you are not even if you say you are on account of your actions and that language’s histories

i wonder if when I,
poets, activists, or protesters
disparage Western concepts, culture, constructs,
in their precious american English
they realize that they are
wading in the deep waters of
conflicted ideology.
(i am not defending or attacking it, just a thought.)
i wonder if they realize how careless they potentially look.
(tho it could be misread or misinterpreted, easily.)
the language of the Oppressor
suites well for an offensive, good thought… Lorde’s

master’s house with master’s tools (as explained):
same with antifa violence–end’s means,
or narrow-mindedness politics, not for me.
some things are only those things in name.
i want actual world peace.
i literally want equality.
i have begged for equal parental leave rights for fathers.
(and sometimes i just want coffee or beer.)
i can’t care though in a world of apathy towards definitions;
maybe you can see what i look like through texts.
there must be a proper algorithm for that.
i write in it,
i teach in it,
i think inside my head in it,
how do you do in it?
language is that prevalent, do you think in second languages?
probably told something
about how i am in it by someone i don’t “know” in it.
but i must re-reflect in it, hypocritically.
do i wear cotton clothing?
most likely my parents did, and their grandparents did…
that crop we should truly burn for its despicable history.
who is this building i live in named after?

Occam’s razor a bit more and start removing those bricks too.
every pattern is another pattern resembled: what did it mean, again, then?
that lovely beach you go to, named for?
he must have friendly-fired at some point, making it somewhat ok.
did the Viking‘s not sack Dublin perhaps
raping and killing and plundering that Emerald Isle?
something about my favorite football team that doesn’t win…
the homeless may sleep for free in that structure’s shadow, cold tho.
i can’t recall because i wasn’t there
but these poets, activists, and protesters,
perhaps, they are backwards really–me too,
with language rooted in vile pasts they (and i) despise,
so fluid its will can change fast daily
just to make some poignant moral point work out for a new sign;
like media statisticians, i can make numbers speak too.
get them to sing like a well-oiled machine at church.
a few words in print, alas, but my Narrative… shit.
i can speak another language.
i have visited new and different lands.
i will never stop reading or changing my mind on anything and everything.
perhaps, if you are a globalist who has
never left the States and who only speaks
one language, mother tongue, how good are your big ideas?
practicing and preaching are two different things.
no big deal though, just saying, reflecting.
so how would you like to say what you think now?

January 14, 2017

first time parent

the creation of blood & flesh;
how it feels to be a new god.

September 9, 2016

understandings of a future father

…if you are pregnant in minnesota
you (i guess) carry twice as much blood;
therefore, occasionally you will find
that mosquitos really do love you.