Posts tagged ‘modern poetry’

May 17, 2018

through the motions

clouds caught in a jigsaw fashion
over the maple tree rise, beyond the fence
along the way, red wagon trail pulling.
i think of daycare fraud and student debt and animal crackers.
i guess i don’t know really.
i think i can’t say things so i forget.
a million blades of grass cut, pollen & dust.
water bottles refilled to save water bottles.
for convenience, not ad hoc ideology.
coffee of yesterday in today’s to-dos.
sun hot, wet and warm pre-storm;
maelstrom malaise, sorted parts going lost.
i see officials officially not officiating.
i restored the compost for repast.
they invited me to lunch but i pass.
shadowy secrets figuratively are literally not really there.
grapefruits are very hard and sticky to peal.
i ate my juice and some sliced toast with my son.
saw language appear in a mouth of not two.
saw laze appear in the days not through.
unbelievable, like the sun like in 2002.
dad was alive and well telling me he was invincible.
i have not yet visited his grave since he occupied it.
i couldn’t believe my eyes anyway.
woke up from a daydream staring hard, hardly awake.
stuck in a room where lights go out and walls are bleak.
put on the speaker phone and
made a date for some building with a money name,
made time i didn’t have it wasn’t mine.
thought about not writing for some reason.
thought about why it mattered.

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May 6, 2018

a trip to the zoo (and Disclaimer)

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***

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.

April 4, 2018

shells of us

judging a book’s cover, imagine my face imaging.
infinite sides to a story, to a story’s story, but i know.
my flesh tells a tale, probably, as yours does too.
drawn in the blood of i forget them, never met, who cares i guess.
Passover at Easter, some pink ham in me again, belching.
nothing like anything. nothing like i just exist.
broken short nails, overgrown cuticles and shining bald spots.
adult acne keeps me younger than you might think i am.
alphabet soup of words keeps me sane.
reflections of thin air, in thin air scares, wisps.
clowns were in that movie of course, dark rooms, found footage.
still, i see apostles for anything relevant: novel sorts.
new, spring, green, now, on top of the every-thing, any-thing that is
trending hashtag section of their Twitter feeds.
until tomorrow’s Godzilla prowls painting a new-thing to hate,
until the next big no-thing, the next day.
then you do what they say, like clockwork spinning good, wait.
and you want to be different, unique.
then you tell them how much you can relate.
i guess they covered this on the cover. forget this poem.

November 23, 2017

beer brats

meat in a                                           pot
drown                        in                                         beer
boil for                                      ten                   minutes
talk                            about things
almost               boils over
medium heat
on a                                                                  frying pan
brown,           not blacken           the sides
middle

still raw
pale                                               as ghosts
cut                      through
kraut          and ketchup
after,                                                            sesame buns
plates, grease
and that is how you
cook              beer brats

October 6, 2016

for all the best

i am sugar donuts
and black coffee
and wind chimes
softly,

inquiry in verse,
and what’s
in the hearse?

i am 5:45 AM male
alarm clock abuse,
small minded climates,
readying my self
for which worst
choice to choose.

for all the best.
for all the better.
for all whatever.

August 19, 2015

She Packs for The Train to Wisconsin

On such a late night sitting and full,
Contents of a stir-fry made of tofu;
She packs for Wisconsin: days away.
Still I sit & watch and wait & laze.

August 18, 2015

gnats in the wine

chewing it over—for what it’s worth;
last night’s me in southeast, and
the now going—nothing if not present,
on along como. proof in breath,
change the set. focus, and
then content with content.
the blinker light orange clicks,
the cracked window let’s cool air in.
if morning is broken, how shall we fix it?
fixating on what’s been given—so gifted.
and that taste in your mouth, and
that frown on your face—those things can be
given away. over 280 at about 30 and
it’s barely 7:40. midday convo mid-moment;
spit-balling my life, just a thought: let’s talk.
then everything will be all right.

August 14, 2015

American Mammal

A bright sun crawls over
a hot sunroof to meet
the working day,
as bulbs on a computer screen flash,
amass the made up page.
Men and women slip
underneath, characteristics
become unaccounted for.
Unknowing they go, thinking alone,
believing in bold font & sharp tones—
subjective as fact, living each & every
day for a quick read, drink, and a sweet snack.
Then they are taken, as every other,
to a grand pasture, heaven.
Set out free on their own accord—
until a fence is met.
How quickly their heavy chains they forget,
how relaxed their time was spent.

They are mammals all the same,
animals until their dying day.

August 4, 2015

Bridges of Northeast

Abandoned train bridges make for the best retreats,
Under empty blue skies which remain always there.
Cotton wood branches waved leaves as a busy fleet,
Fading summer months made all those about aware.

July 29, 2015

A Moment of Silence for Cecil the Lion

Texts of love were left drawn
on post-it’s at the kitchen table—
outside Southeast was dark green
light blue and a soft cream, where cars played
musical chairs with endangered spaces.
A “truly real” JFK documentary flashed
on an antique dusted Macbook screen
as dead lions were tracked—bloody, slaughtered,
on airstreams of a dim kitchen scene;
talking heads were barking so loud,
along with representatives and agencies;
they described him as going out
like the late and tragic Francis Macomber,
like a stiff drink for Hemingway’s hands,
on a hot African Safari-esque day.
In the hot seat with cold feet, dew points
gone with yesterday’s sweltering heat.
Where, the frightened tenants overhead
were bumbling, dragging, moving,
as winds blew over the porch chimes, sharp,
an inordinate happy metallic song—
a cat jumped at the natural commotion.
Oblivious, like don’t you know?
What the fuck, and where’s my lunch?
A man oversaw over honey mixed coffee,
Hard eggs, and chicken-scratch lines.
Happy and broke, happy bloke,
and happy to be in a Midwest City, alive.
In a room with one warm thought:
I am not world infamous yet,
I am not like Dr. Walter Palmer.