Posts tagged ‘love’

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.

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November 26, 2017

list of life and lists

a work                                                     of art in progress
such                              a sort of sorts
too much                                  of some things, nothings
a few       more beers, more cheers at the rail
of mice                           and men–books
a river                                    runs thr            ough it–fictions
lighting            the lights Riverside Park
dogs                  killing rabbits   in the backyard
in the                           morning                as
coffee          drips down, down, down, yum…
here the elevation                                     of the bluffs
is high                    as the heavens  call it home, come back,  call it home
a whole city below aglow,  November cold, no snow
sacred, blessed, meaningful flag waving above
bald eagles soaring on pause, floating: not sure what it sees
shining, driftless center like me
movement, more movement between
a city with its shit together
(they collect the leaves and
they have nice streets and it shows)
running in circles, no pot holes
talking the same, politics and pain
narratives of truthful ideas
narratives of appeal (so real)
exhausted we climb on
exhausted we climb on Eagle Bluff Trail
crumpled leaves and sweet sap
and a tree dying on top of an Impreza, I think
cafe jazzing my way through it all

November 22, 2017

maybe hate is love in disguise

the thing about hating on another’s artwork
is inspiring, i suppose.
i realized this the other day.  that
when someone hated on my artwork it was
more of a show of love.  (it confused tho)
one’s endearing compassion to say.
notice, they noticed and expressed
inspired as it were,
that indelible stated word
so inscrutable, they called my artwork “gay” .
how they used language so well to tell
what was on their expansive mind, so kind.
and in kind i thank them for the brain power passed, twas amassed.
O’ lovely comments like bricks hit w/ light yesterday afternoon
like the bright smile of my great child, or his laugh,
like making it home no deers dead on 52 south.
nothing like it.  dying sliver of a moon on some purple horizon,
no stressful drive, no worry.
things just happened that way, even replies, they say,
sometimes beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
sometimes that beholder is a troll-bot somewhere.
sometimes beauty is a subjective idea.
anonymity is a gem to be polished,
is a life to be assessed by everyone always.
felt good waking up to that notification.
felt good to just think about it in appreciation.

November 17, 2017

paths (something rich)

where do we all go?
where do we all start?
i walked on a bridge early this morning
frigid cold–blurred sluice
and through a hall, stuffy
the men smelled good
or their musk did, anyway, like money–
reminded me of the dead
reminded me of my dad
tried so hard to impress all, everyone
who is that though, really?
nothing can’t know
can’t know nothing, so…
a bridge that tells us how it is, how to feel
tries to teach us clearly
and then tells us to just believe
it’s like this and like that and so on
hypothetically, imagine a bumper sticker:
don’t question the moon landing,
don’t objectively view the coldest November
in the hottest year ever,
some ideas rooted in beliefs–religion,
exactly explaining concepts that aren’t laws
with fluid language changing, unindelible,
to match your mood, now, or movement, then,
i am voting for the perfect robot in 2020…
still very hard to tell
we all can’t be English majors or theorists
where we are all from, just looking
but where we are all going to some day
that’s something rich

November 12, 2017

sunday apex

Beautiful Sunday morning
dark AM morphing from
empty pews’ attrited time
to quiet hymns breathing sigh

October 22, 2017

blanket dawn

layered orange crimson and green hue,
cut through rectangle windowframe view.
one sleepy town awakes in fogs and horns
to a night’s black fast escaping morn.

October 21, 2017

52 south in minnesota and some thoughts that i can’t escape like the blood on the highway and the lights up ahead

the dead deer leave their stains on 52 south
longer than the sun hangs in Oktober skies wide pale,
i hope to not create that sort of artwork tonight.
probably someone died in the accident at Coates.
glass, lights, backed up traffic and silence at the crossing.
entrails and scattered viscera, nature and force.
later, i hope this poem doesn’t take a dive on me.
matter and brain matter and matter matted.
where softly playing wind chimes alight and inflatable
Halloween decorations on the lawn greet us, hum.
barefoot in the street talking visas and books and
cars and presents, my mom’s birthday is this weekend.
above some star dies and the cemetery up the hill knows.
at least two beers on the couch, check in at motel home,
at least some pictures. my little man is awake past his bedtime.
teaching language in the morning, then they talk like me.
these strangers aren’t strange, they are nice.
wake in the morning. talk talk talk talk talk talk
talk talk talk talk talk talk. what’s the problem?
i know how she is when she is the way she is, love.
same costume as the last 5 years or so, goodwill find.
there is no surprise like there is no surprise.
an animal jumps in front of the dashboard, it’s a leaf.
there is not change there, no change there, there.
lock and dam no. 7 is an empty street where josh died.
dan will be at jules and wives will be in andere Staaten.
nextday i have coffee and talk to China and think
of the money that i don’t have and need to find somehow.
doesn’t matter, but that fucking deer is dead again now in my head again.

October 18, 2017

you go for it too, the end

our supposed sapience
this rabbit hole venture
grandeur, alluredly postured,
vested interest paying,
found wholly bound,
tied tight in pragmatic gestures,
molded, wired twill, just there. and not.
and the poses for those trite tripe elations
on adolescent medias ubiquitous,
for social aspirations, affirmation,
fleeting, vanishing in yesterday’s yesterday.
once a thought gone for
a thousand other good thoughts gone,
nothing to where i stand nowly.
these buildings were here, they saw too.
that bridge was here on Washington Ave.
this coffee hot was not.
Nor your laugh sharp, piercing…
your ideas are great, just imagine.
your politics are not his or hers or the self-appointed’s.
something like that.
something like this.
like the sheer wind cutting under blue hue.
stained words on paper.
hard text on a page.
a fortnight’s digested and expelled intentions.
will fill a box nicely one day.
morgues aren’t like in the television shows.
you will see it soon too.
then you won’t, verily.
and i just thought i would
tell you about it in this type.
because some day i can’t.

October 1, 2017

our cat is a dreamer

my wife’s cat
is a dreamer,
every day at the back door
she waits to make her escape.
she’s not fixed and doesn’t have tags.
she’s a thrifty ad hoc anti-vaxxer.
motivated by nature and toms perhaps.
meowing and purring,
her only feline actions,
pawing at it, batting like the Twins near some threshold.
she needs to get out very soon, clearly.
sometimes with hands full
when we get home after a hard day’s work
she takes the open opportunity
to let loose timidly…
goddamn, stinky cat!!!
Get her, get her, get her… 
we will say, some chorus
no Clover! get back in, girl, get in there!
Get back in there, now!
we love her very much, like leftover pizza.
shoeing her in and shutting the door behind us.
she has some dreams–big ones, innate,
i tell you,
she goes for it every time, so fast.
true persistence, tenacity, super human.

September 21, 2017

reflections of you

i figure a mirror,
start treating others
how you are treated
and if they get mad
so what? …
open the windows on morning light,
we find there is none,
and stalkers walking by,
close them fastly sharp,
i see the sidewalks empty
these chipped frames have no subjects,
eat my pancakes in scarfs.
tell ears that i am political
with taking care of our child,
tell her watch and see.
actions sound better than words to me,
but the words that form them… i don’t know.
i figure a mirror, watch me be you.
watch me learn from you.
did you write this lesson, or is it improvised?
do you like how it feels?
do you like how I deal the cards?
no matter, like the mirror
i just stand and reflect, inverted, obscured,
catch you as you go by when
you turn on the lights to glow
and even when you don’t.