Posts tagged ‘free verse’

March 6, 2016

i took Sunday full

O’ fatty bacon ends
and dirty dishes, and
sunlight on the
blue kitchen floor.

here we talk aloud
about running the
nation as if it’s
even a possibility.

i like the way flesh
smells in the air,
when the cast iron
is heating its oils.

outside a bell chimes
in soft March winds,
the sound: my relatives,
the sound sustains.

it was eaten all up
the while, the same.
it was good, and
i took Sunday full.

and i would write
about real, jokingly.

and i would listen
to podcasts, hopefully.

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March 1, 2016

Tuesday, the second child

Tuesday
the second
child of the week,

so ready,
so awaken.

but nothing to do,
and something.

monday is gone.
Tuesday is here.

and we go at
number 2,

another day
in the week
of others,

we pretend it’s
ours when
it’s really not.

Tuesday the
penultimate,
the real deal,
the very second.

alive, here it is.
next day taken away.

February 27, 2016

…to dust again

it’s really just
time: fast
swift and long

it is.

ask the river,
ask the sun in the sky,
ask human minds.

there is nothing
more than
the ticking clock

and the
haste of its
meaning.

never does
Gregorian become
gregarian.

and then
there is not.

there is a stone
and a box.

there is some
writing
on thinning
pages.

i wonder how
these rocks
gathered.

found their way
under my feet.

do they know
i stand fading
into sand
also, too?

and to dust again

time on
time,
on you.

February 17, 2016

different as you (ne commute)

a small video
starts up,
so i start
my day.

any day
feels a little
better,
created
new life.

past spires
and beige
brick
history.

& a landlord
could
shut the
heat

at this
warming
time in
the season.

& someday
is here,
not gone
as many;

artists still
starve,
and keys
keep ticking.

to write
it all down,
different
as you.

no complaints.
no complaints.

and stoplight.
and go.

January 9, 2016

Realism in 4 Sentences

the 1st sentence:
you make it
what it truly is.
and then two:
nothing else
in this big-small
city matters,
not even the
bold peripheral
blatherings: blah,
blah, blah, blah…
or (3): the incessant
boring doldrums
of certain choice
modern artistry.
last (4) sentence:
when will your
actions reflect
this sentiment?

January 3, 2016

(being lazy) all through the city

being lazy is my favorite thing to do.
i bike to West Photo to get 35mm film.
i drop money at the bank to pay rent.
i go on Nicollet to get fitted for a suit.
being lazy is great, as it pervades me.
i sit at The Local in downtown and talk.
i notice the bartender and server going.
i tell a joke & move thru tore up streets.
being lazy is my favorite thing to do.
i think i am doing this task so well.
i walk to magazine boxes placing art.
i write poems and prose and no one cares.
i think of how Monday there is change.
i think of how tonight is really tomorrow.
i meet local celebrities and have a chat.
i forget names and don’t mention it.
i get a discount for being a smartass.
i try not to find excuses for being me.
i try not to hear excuses for being you.
being lazy is my favorite thing to do.
i drink water instead of vodka bloodies.
i walk out on the ice and drink a beer.
i take photos of a sunset over trees.
i love the blue sky which lights me pale.
being lazy is my favorite thing to do.
being this lazy takes up so much time.

January 2, 2016

The Benefits of a Shut-In

Rather inside it’s less cold than out,
I see the temperature at 15 degrees F.

Rather on my couch than anywhere else.
Here is life through a tube, with myself.

Rather go to church for the community.
Rather walk down the block for the feel.

Rather think about how I’d rather not
get into an argument with local fools.

December 24, 2015

the cat and knowing pt 1.

Watching a backyard view;
there she wants to go.

Seeing this sight unfamiliar,
there she wants to live.

December 4, 2015

we love

we love between
the facial hair stabbings
and stolen cane plants.

we love between
the outside world separatists
yelling “unity”

and the inside agitator’s ignorance.
we love between
a wide geography traveled distance

and unremarkable ones we are shut in.
we love between
dry hands and stained duvets,

purity years ago, and the
light of a Christian morning
staring back at you from a pulpit.

we love like that,
no between, unequivocally–alive:
kiss, trust, and a made breakfast.

we love.

November 28, 2015

If Wishes Didn’t Exist

I wish so much that I could change it,
just as much as everyone else.
The way you want something
and you really can’t have it.
Like to be independently wealthy,
or have the perfect dream job.
Only because in impossible ways
these entities don’t exist.
That sort of fading obsession
eventually becomes you—you are it.

In the morning from a deep sleep
the thought travels lifetimes
between two eyes, bounds up over
synapse, carries to perspire.
It is in you. And although it is there,
the momentary chill of outside air
seeing a banded local paper folded,
resting, stirs shivers, takes you away.

Some aspects are unavoidable,
some are just there to be taken.
Here is the La Crosse Tribune and
its pointed, objective, new words.
Picking up the rag, I head back inside.
I pull the band loose with fingers
and go at the emboldened headlines.
Thinking: how useless is a wish?
Thinking: it doesn’t really matter.