Posts tagged ‘ice’

March 6, 2018

03/06/2018 snow removal for the corner lot and the ideology that comes with better my community for my community through action

woke to
delayed buses
old tweets
hopefully not-cancelled daycare
strong coffee
necessary boots
thoughts of snapping
heavy fucking parka
and a pre-broken back
to shovel us out.
that’s my life.
no choice really.
checking my something…
the weather up here,
and we think we can change it.
probably we don’t.
it changes us.
in so many ways:
my skin is pocked
eyes are dry and red
throat sore, pain in head,
even when cleared.
tell me who owns who
and i’ll show you your facebook updates
and i’ll show you to donate to your cause
and follow that money, former and latter.
people do good and bad things.
surely, those ideas are paid for.
these are cost free!
why do you wake and stay woke?
there is shoveling to be done just there.
i have to go outside
and deal so no one trips
and falls and
sues. no one trips at this residence
and falls and sues on salted ice.
i disagree with MPR on the matter.
they don’t salt my walk.
i don’t salt theirs.
that works out for both of us.
the cameras will tell of the driven snows and blocked streets
and they talk of fairness.
blizzard winds, clear my sidewalk
so i don’t have to. diapers to change.
English language to teach in foreign lands from my basement.
that sounds fair to me.
go out and get lost in it, i will.
go out and another round at this love.

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December 16, 2014

a city shell (and individuals)

Fleeting acquaintance which grew like trash
As each fickle feigned word exchange passed,
Few thoughts ring true while coming through
Comprise this changing layered bunch of you.

January 15, 2014

Something we won’t see, or Late Winter Warmth

Something we won’t see, or Late Winter Warmth,

 

A Winter Libretto:

 

A reverse-coned icicle hangs dripping

Stalactites warm on the outside; frozen solid within.

 

Bringing a liquid heartbeat sound below-

 

Drip, beat, drip

Drip, beat, drip

 

Until gravity plucks this fragile form

Fleeting-

 

Spinning-

 

Crashing- it to the red brick ground.

 

Broken to bits, transparent

Pieces scattered about

No shape of the passing account.

 

Clear chemical solid cubes now.

 

Lying there broken

 

With these, no resemblance he could find to the picture in his mind

He looked to the sky to spy another sharp point growing in time.

January 8, 2014

Polar Vortex Complex

Deep down in my bones I could feel the bitter cold

Unlike the weather I tried to remain positive

I could feel I wasn’t alone on this ill-tempered day.

 

The other commuters were as bold

Walking alone proved treacherous

I noticed this as I made my way.

 

Fixed we stood.

 

None took bare fingers to examine smart phones

So pained by the wind one could hear its distant moan

This had turned into a city full of steam and smoke and coats.

 

KVJ says, “So it goes.”  “So it goes.”  “So it goes…”

 

Warm thoughts what we could

Long minutes existed in time unknown

This as we waited in a bus shelter along the road on this dangerously weathered spinning stone.

 

… Here’s the 3B coming, right?

 

I can’t see, lenses create ice

Early day twilight wearing these damned sights

All eyes and no view, please help me make it through.

 

It must be dark as night on this frigid January morning

It was forecasted with forewarning

They said, ‘Stay inside.’ -like run and hide.

 

We have the Polar Vortex Complex

This is not Global Warming*.

 

This is a place where all inside have lost their minds because of ‘things’ being boring.

 

Thoughts, then I look on

Blurred Metro Transit lights?

 

Praying it’s not gone.

 

I am not even halfway there yet

A walk I fast regret.

 

Lungs feel tight, I start at fright.

 

Walking, my vision fogged and I forgot the art of breathing

Ice crystals formed on my lashes not for the better of seeing.

 

-Seething, I’d not like to die like this, on a near vacant campus

I begged, pleaded, and asked the UMPD for a small ride, I did not gain advantage.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Five minutes later my temperature changed

The outside temperature stayed the same.  (Below Something-nearing -50)

 

I thought, has my nose frozen yet, has carbon-monoxide damaged my brain?

Blackened and blotched flesh-stained.

 

All was but rearranged, all my ideas of sustain

All my big plans were being choked at the throat

I try manage at maintain.

 

Things we think about in a bundle

In this frost-bit jungle, the coldest city I have come to know.

 

Minneapolis,

Little cold apple, come as they go

Most, (at least), some will stay home.

 

Temperature of this place we live in

All things we’ve been given.

 

I must have blindly run off somewhere

Panic gulp puffs of smoke catching air as I passed

Mad dash hypothermic maniac, today I am back intact.

 

 

*Hyperbole

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July 12, 2013

Ice Cream In UPTOWN @SebastianJoes

At Sebastian Joe’s-omnipresent red walls, sweet-toothed smiles, leather furnishings, and tattered posters.

 

Uptown has never tasted better. 

 

Local papers mixed propaganda, spread-out reading material in innocuous fashion, fast-forwarding, forecasting a coming truth-I swear to GOD, this is proof.

 

Local hipsters and self-proclaimed art critics gathered round with passion. 

 

Old man Grab your Cannon!

 

-This sort of ART MUST BE DOCUMENTED FOR HISTORIC PURPOSES.

 

The ancient way hear tell of things-candies and treats, as if we got them now as no reward at all.

 

My grandfather always spoke of the funnies.

Told me stories until I became bored.

 

Ice cream and cold hands. 

 

Conversations and clouds; there is white in between blue skies.

We make promises on whatever’s on our mind-just killing time.

 

The ambrosia melts in a moment, but it tastes just as well-don’t it?

 

We travel bags and bikes.

Hassle at a stoplight.

 

And the traffic flows slowly down Hennepin Avenue, while I watch as the seconds on my watch tick by.

 

I think of the past as people slurp, lick, swallow, and enjoy anything on cone or stick.

 

No plans, I sit at a table with a crumpled napkin, an empty cup, and a white plastic spoon.

Just taking in an afternoon.

February 6, 2013

Big-Small City Blues (Minneapolis Frigid)

You can find us foraging on the harshest of days.

To a Jet-Setter’s dismay, we amaze.

 

:  Daily occurrence

 

Layered like onion with attire and attitude.

Acting rude to those cordial tourists who seem to just pass through.

 

Seeking truth, priority of enormous proportions, propensity.

 

You can find us biking in any weather; seen worse, seen better.

Times like today, think about bringing an extra sweater.

 

(Some sit and lay.)

 

Maybe a shovel if your neighbor’s in trouble.

Finding a sidewalk with a walkable pathway, can be a puzzle.

Thinking outside of the bubble; we are not all shut-ins.

 

The hardiest travel gear gets soaking wet, dried, and molded.

The 18 will honk if you miss the starting gun on a green light, Metro Transit states symbolically: you’ve been scolded.

Such plight!

 

I remember a few months back, 120 degree heat index seemed funny.

Right?

I remember a few days back, negative 30 and sunny.

Right?

 

Seen sight; the visibility is impossible tonight.

I might be late.

You might feel the wind-chill’s bite.

 

I can’t see myself on my bike, can you?

Sit in and look at words again.

 

Refreshed by a novel movie and touching flesh, nostalgia we all forget.

Under all that puff.

 

Happenings; futures, pasts, present, time we’ve spent dwelling in resentment on the climate.

This doesn’t happen outside.

 

Look at the skies; there is always something to complain about.

 

Trapped inside; a cupboard small-life-style-apartment-renting-type-typical logic.

In the sun we used to frolic.

 

Snow builds up at the door, but when it snows the temperatures soar, or at least we think so.

A cool breeze pushes at the window.

 

Humming and buzzing of snowplows and traffic wake me from my slumber.

Trapped under multiple layers of blankets and a duvet cover.

 

In between Christmas and Valentine’s Day I am at a constant funeral:

The air is noticeably staler on the interior, seeing those more closely in tight quarters.  Emotions become more pronounced.  All judgement is irrelevant.  The reality of the situation becomes clear; one of us has to disappear in the whiteout, the others must stay.  Yet, eyes remain sunken as longer become the sun-rays.  

Counting days; contorted, frayed, frazzled, and astray.

 

We traverse the busiest roads; dangerous travel to make minimal loot.

Tie the boot.

Spoon the soup.

 

Look out on to the street-slop on your feet.

 

Something’s amiss, a chain slip, a tire flat, shoot!

Gloveless hands on handle bars, the thought seems aloof.

Vitamin C for juice.

 

Sit rigid in your chair-1,000 yard stare.

 

What’s in it, what’s given?

Proof that we enjoy the region.  Proof that we enjoy the seasons.

Gaining insight from book shelves; persistent, driven, emboldening self.

 

Commonplace; we all complain, but when we do naught but talk of change we remain the same.

The same.

The same.

 

Disgruntled and contented; seeming like an oxymoron.

Suggestions simply get a passive aggressive response, and move on, stay where you belong.

Or moan and move on.

Moan and move on.

 

No!

No, not me.

And no other soul in this big-small city.

 

We stay for another day, Minneapolis is full of play and easy ways, except for today…