Posts tagged ‘midwest’

May 6, 2018

a trip to the zoo (and Disclaimer)

Disclaimer: I DO NOT make money off of the advertisements you see on my WordPress page. I find them rather annoying and ridiculous.  Perhaps, WordPress makes money off of these advertisements and charges $30 to have them removed.  Weirdly, I create the art on this website and they make the money off of that art. 

Accordingly, the poetry I share with you here is free. I make nothing off of my writing in or on this poetry blog. Here is where you come in! If you read and enjoy my poetry, or any of my writings, please take the time to donate and contribute to the art that you enjoy.  It helps make my unique poetry free to all.  paypal.me/TSNiebeling

***

through the zoo.
wheelchairs, strollers, phones;
pedestrians, families, staff on phones;
everyone on phones, capturing
videos of things not on their phones:
glass, zebra, giraffe, fish, primates, et al.
interesting, i think about
the monkeys the most, moving, trapped…
do they want to be here?
do i want to be here?
watching them?
do they want to be on that person’s Facebook
or Instagram, do they like likes as well?
i don’t know.
i am gentleman animal, a zoo apart.
i know that in crowds tho,
i can’t get by
or go away easily with the stroller i push.
always: risk assessment.
please, human, i don’t want to be trampled.
i suppose our flaws define our paranoia, uselessly.
#dadlife, right now.
our animal minds change for our progeny.
food, housing, money, college, college debt, mortgage, retire.
that’s why the monkey shares its food.
it knows better to have a credit card.
why the monkey doesn’t kill it, rather starve to protect.
why the monkey… well, it’s there.
in buildings smelling of hot dogs and donkey shit.
we toil hard through the weekend days in the sun.
the tiger grazes.
the lioness croons, then culls a mate.
people care about how they look virtually, online.
in lines they wait for cotton candy, t-shirts or popcorn.
i am down at the zoo, down-gazing.
i want to get out to the field.
applying sunscreen, getting hungry.
time to walk out to freedom.
and i do.
but i feel bad for those
left there when it’s dark: the sloth and the mouse.
i guess i am not sure entirely
but someone with us left a donation at the door.
now’s you turn to do the same.

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April 18, 2018

eye forget

Individual on a library chair cross-legged, slanted posture, defined by my hue too. glued to this book of content unknown, under clouds too. hoping as you. not fearful of that, so they say. spread open again, flesh book, i grin. same name. no change. i don’t even remember me then. i wont begin to explain. this amnesiac has too much hunny, too little time, nothing to rhyme… vinegar for mind. we all do at times. as valued by how scarce it is; here is a free poem. no wonder im broke. on this chair seeing knowledge is the most valuable resource; cant sell those wares. bare. anyway. one day my eulogy or headstone will say: he was good at Twitter, people liked his stuff on Facebook. all prone. but not with that. it’s important. that media won elections and stole our souls. butt eye forget two.

March 18, 2018

Mainstream Minded

perhaps, those off-minded thoughts
to not think like a herb of cattle
while tying shoes just right,
loading cars in tight,
catching trains on time;
daycare money, 40 hours,
to the weekend, to my life,
where those minds don’t exist, perhaps?
are they just wrong?
are they unpopular? YES. What’s left?
talking words–mind your words closely.
freedom of speech and fear of it.
paying many the bills
paying large the rent; too high.
barely a sinking ship just sinking, again, and again, over.
paying it forward always.
the sun sets and comes up again, my friend.
i worry about my worries, no time for any cares.
i don’t trust the news. or what it says.
i eat when i can if i can eat when i can eat, if i can.
same for the bathroom mostly.
but worry about your likes.
worry about your likeness and who like its.
appearing like others appearing like others.
your movement won’t fix your debt.
your movement won’t pay your rent.
and my union offers me credit cards now
because credit scores say you like to pay interest.
so where do my payments go to anyway?
and where is that interest anyway?
will i get parental leave soon, as a human person?
and i can’t afford to pay my master’s for life.
the lender is that person for everyone.
you see where i am going?
and they use you too, so go get a sign and yell about it.
and they tell you how to think about it.
but don’t say it too loudly.
i still have to catch the bus.
don’t hold your head high, they may not like that pose.
just be and stew and chopped liver.

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?

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.

March 1, 2018

nightmare surveillance

never understanding the full extent
we are going for a moment noticed–a millisecond
to live and die in that very instant happy

February 17, 2018

375

cold, and the famous old man statue
conjures me with a grimace of polished rust.
walking the circle on St Paul campus, I see
naked trees, they are hung up with rope;
scholars going somewhere on them to the the sunshine.
just above the snow and ice and frost and knots.
cutting my buzzed sheen head, skimming my glance.
a glare off the white. constant this time, lunch…
and we just spoke softly of bugs and his Vietnam
and Hodson in letters, inquests, and ways to
go about taking care of others’ dogs.
and making dog food and fixing end boards.
cold, there, cold outside. had a coffee too.
just walking around the circle, such is life.

January 26, 2018

waiting for the green line train at west bank station in the snow and cold and heat around 4:36 p.m.

the smell of a late afternoon lunch
enough, enough for snow to melt
imagining debt without a time clock
or vise versa–in some time only fixated…
dusting between keys on a keyboard, jet black
creating something like this, and that, unnoticed unawares
moby-dick for meaning of meaningful meaning
they tell me i have books to pick up
some stand on the shelves like straight soldiers
some crack like and egg in my hand at breakfast
they tell me have a good weekend & we just got over the flu
google will better my photo of West Bank, only soon
words won’t come so easy after that tune
some things just look better in digital format
i will wait for the train, again, here
amongst people who wait for the train, again, here
praising not having to wait for her, once were
wondering what’s in that guys hand, that guys bag
no one puts things on the floor anymore
picking up my little man
waiting for another to arrive–O’ plans: we had
and he asked me what i was eating as if it were bad
i told him what and who made it, of course
man my stomach was starting to feel good just then
thought this before the train came.

January 18, 2018

I wonder how much #WordPress makes for these advertisements…

we are the coffee pot high marks,
cold shower goose pimples,
cold shell outdoors,
adverts between posts
machines making money, the most,
and living on piqued hopes.
i wonder where they come from?
reality attuned–or askew?
skilled in many topics,
including topics like you,
including flying to the moon,
including AC in June.
but that’s logic anyway.
still no idea really.
can’t care: too many mouths to feed.
too many days not fishing,
too many walks in the weeds.
i still see my dad in me.
haven’t visited that stone though.
like elvis, tupac, and biggie.
somewhere exotic, secret home, alone, you know.
i am cheap coffee grounds, again.
barely breakfast, usually little lunch.
no inheritance.
words between ads that don’t pay me.
but i pull for that company.
thanks wordpress.
thanks, now i care.

January 6, 2018

Famous poet

You can write poems for a million years and go unnoticed for having no group of publishers’ friends to push you, no narrative the same as allowed and believed.  You got to be like an ad and sell. The greatest story ever told on rabbit ears.  Prefer free.  But you can make biscuits and soup from nothing like words pulled from the mind, parleed to draw blind contours of shadows shaped and hue and season and time and light at a frozen window. Clocks never die. Hands stiky from grapefruit, something you hate to peal. But good, anyway. And we are a million-years-old forgotten before we are remembered growing trees in our stomachs to produce because we don’t piece their puzzle properly. No names or pictures or whatever they have.