Posts tagged ‘home’

July 1, 2017

rabbit in my heads

i followed a little grey
rabbit as it
leapt at the outside
window low while

hanging my curtain
readying the act
talking to China
as they talk back, my show.

i watched the tree
tied for its stiff branches
noticed leaves
all around on the ground, thinking…

going upstairs two dogs lay
startled and wait,
and startled again and came
at me to the gates.

above at the coffee pot hot
readied the night before,
here, much surprise
take it just black, i take it back.

tho my woman startled as
i left the bed
thinking i was child
and i was not, she said.

again but out the high window
a rabbit, same one, came
leapt on red bricks
of a neighbor’s drive.

ere we came to a locked door evening
the green grass straight
mosquito birds and
they wanted us to join,

told them “no, maybe… thanks”
broke the new fence
went around to a
La Crescent unlocked door

and here i stand, mug, ready to teach
watching a rabbit go about
thinking like us all too
it must eat breakfast.

May 14, 2017

get away from it all (mn state parks)

Minnesota state parks do it for me,
like Prozac for some. And less
expensive, and less expensive counseling.
You know you always need to come back
to get better, to pay the doctor,
to make sure the pills are working…
For this i just need a sticker, it’s $25 dollars
and there are no commercials or brochures.
This is better: the ca-chunck of a cold can,
the wetted splash of a distant paddle,
waves calmly lapping my naked feet
in May waters of the St Croix.
here, i think Minnetonka moccasins
should be call Dominican Republic moccasins;
because that’s where they are made, really.
(please see the label for their local status.)
i found my sister’s pot-of-gold lure mimic’d,
twisted it on, threw it out: caught nothing
but a buzz and rocks and sun.
Line gone, line spun, line done.
Watched a lady smell pine sap
her dog lashed to a leash nigh,
she covertly hid her keys on her tire,
as we watched,
and she played Bob Dylan on a ukulele
before the slowly coming dusk.
i watched a child just hang in an ergo baby all day.
i saw the light cut through.
Drank liquids from an orange Nalgene.
Saw the reflection off brown current
cause camera obscura on some island bark,
made my pole dance and my eyes hurt too.
Still i got no fish… not even a bite.
Names cut to rock with metal or twig
in hearts to prove they love, maybe still.
More sap on the pine–i want a whiff too.
i’ll tell you something true.
Once, i wrote a good poem here for a class
that didn’t care. It was about killing bugs. Should have
read the other one comparing me to Picasso–it didn’t matter.
MN state park days are the best to get away.
my shoulders turned a shade of red
and they do label me a shade of white.
Been black and blue, purple, green and yellow too.
my mind thought about what the sign meant
as vessels drifted by, people yelling.
looking for their open sites, theirs.
neosavages, these: European, free, socially aware,
middle-class, their Prius’s and Subarus parked,
tents popped up, foraging in rented canoes,
life vests and manufactured paddles. Pointing like pioneers.
We are still too close to the city i suppose
And the DNR’s new 100 percent reserve policy
on all the good campsites
has them coming in intellectual droves
and this time they bring science not god,
(well at least some.)
Cutting out the day-tripper maybe-stayers in their prime!
Not sure what is worse…
How does a regular guy get away from it all anyway?

April 24, 2017

make your house your home

home sometimes means family.

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December 26, 2016

tree removal, i wonder what they pay

a tree removal company rolled up in two trucks in front of my mother’s house. one with a hydraulic lift to scale the tree, the other with a chipper to change its form. they both sat on ice; my mother talked of salting the drive. we watched from the window, Bella the doodle most concerned. earlier i had noted morning light orange of the highest limbs of trees and a bluff black and white back drop before anyone could be called awake, no stirring. and men jumped from their trucks–muffled steps resounded, figured the positioning, lifted, tied ropes, ran trailers into the snowy ground and began to saw, saw, saw. the owner, anal about his law, came out to discuss the future of each blade and which way trees fall in the city. and then it happened. the fall. no “timber” for timber. silence as a shock wave, through the centre, through the top of the tree sending it swaying in a sickening bow back and then forth. i imagined a whole life ruined for a moment; i imagined the rings of a tree and its age are only revealed after death. nextly. chips and dust and exhaust and noise and cutting and chopping and tossing happened in enough cool to make each exhale seen, almost tangible. some authoritative hollers. aside from that, i wonder, how they do it. i could cut down trees too. i wonder what they pay.

December 26, 2015

Fat and Bloated

Now is when I feel fat & bloated. I want
to juice cleanse and run and move and not sit
and not eat. Mario Kart seems an appropriate
lecture; people yell and scream at a tv screen.

I witness this while others are starving,
while watching A Christmas Story. Sometimes
I want to shoot my eye out. The flow of this
media is like red velvet-lined handcuffs.

Some die with their hands up on a couch.
The world is cruel. Loved ones are spoken of
at the bar. They died a few warm years back.
Peppermint drinks come in coffee mugs and

in-laws come with drunken cheer, my pants
come taut and Facebook blows up with new
engagements. I wonder if they really know.
Some give support and get it. Others don’t.

Respect comes in consumerism and what
you can bring them, and I still worry about
my weight. My youngest sister tells me I
am skinny. Jesus is on the computer screen.

The bar life in downtown is docile, a perfect
place to feel heavy and finish a $7 pitcher
of Spotted Cow; I feel better already. Growing
farther apart, and bigger, and older, and more

prone to upset all those around me. At least
I feel fat and good being myself. And some
start, and others pick winless battles. Now,
what a great time to feel fat and bloated.

November 9, 2015

Vetsch Park

cutting through
the wet knoll,
green and heavy,
here let white
steamed breath.
a blanket of
fallen leaves
under foot with
stones and sand,
droppings of
the night, unknown,
as forms and figures
danced in shadows.
at midday this
lone foraged trail
at Vetsch Park;
start to go, climb to
god’s seeing eye,
climb to Stoney Point,
back to the cross, to
the christmas star,
back around to town,
back around on
this familiar ground.

August 10, 2015

untitled 10/08

The sound of white fan blades, nimble cat’s feet,
and heavy outside traffic
woke with the beeping alarm.

Monday life was on its way,
just before breakfast, shower and shave.

Pieces of inspiration fell off in stretches
and movements onto the wooden floor.

As a backdoor opened to musty wet rugs
and well watered plants,
at a place where occupants had been days away.

Coming to again as rebirth:
a second, a minute, a day, a week, a moment chance;
where we’d thought we’d be now is the past.

We were housed by such movements
of certain contraptions, waking, stirring, just as—
sounds and actions unplanned,

came over and overlapped.

May 16, 2015

an evening apartment

where gin drinks made wet rings upon wooden floors,
as open windows became sirens ringing in my ears.

November 30, 2013

Travelers of the Hometown

With a moderate hangover we wake to unfiltered light.

A sign of the debauchery transpired last night.

 

Weather view tempts those to wander outside.

If they take time and mind to leave confines.

 

Travel,

Family,

And the Local Paper –

 

We barter borrowing the car to visit familiar strangers.

 

Beer,

Coffee,

Bowling,

And a Walk in the Books-

 

Finding matters of interest-vague yet specific,

Travelers of the Hometown, try? …

 

We didn’t even have to look.