Posts tagged ‘Movement’

March 28, 2017

how to be a thoughtful globalist in the wake of fake intellectuals

this would make me empassioned, or
impassioned.  i am passionate about this something…
that’s how i get
when neo-globalists
who’ve never left the states
try to fix
other people’s problems
with
their English language exclusively.
the irony of westernization; fixed only by itself. YOU SEE?
and that is what they call backwards and selfish.
tho, there will be no stories of this on the news.
because just get out there and disrupt because.
and they should
call those who
think locally “nationalists” too.
a bunch of loud fools.
you know, somethings don’t translate.
you know, people might have different opinions.
this is how language works.
so when they/you designate
their/your ideas, ideations, and ideologies
as such, i just smh in realtime.
so silly, so stupid, so same.
that is why i am a where-ever-i-am-at-ist,
because i am right there,
i can attempt to understand
what i see and experience around me,
for me, for truth, for better.
maybe even for you…
but honestly, not for you (i don’t care)
or the tv (forget tv), i won’t facebook livestream it
or create a clever sign that
gets thrown away next day in some ironic carbon footprint
(that you too should actually hate)
after the post and the filter and the likes–fretter fakes.
and that is what i am passionate about,
or empassioned about, or impassioned about,
all that is around me
because i can touch it tangible,
as they said, i can feel the real,
i can set the clock next to the bed.
and there is something about language and labels.

February 14, 2017

this poets plight

there are 10,000,000
of the same exact
trying
to do
what you want
to do… the same exact.
so, how do
you prove
what you have to
prove, the you
and what you do?
write about
social justice,
write about your
city, write
about oppression,
write about love,
or if you don’t feel it
fantasize about it;
society gives you truth.
(where is the lens?)
for me,
it’s different:
minimum parental leave,
as a dad,
diapers and breast milk,
little to no money,
full-time work with college debt,
no covered movement,
cis pale male,
no publisher,
i tell people what i think–
no groups,
no promotion to climb a ladder,
just words.
and i make myself happy.
yet still for a poet
like me
my plight isn’t
trendy…
there are bigger memes.
more advertisement to be had.
so forget it.
now, it doesn’t matter.

February 11, 2017

#Resist : the Sierra Club to Planned Parenthood

from an Ikea brand couch
scrolling my social media feed,
i ponder how many trees it takes
to make a modern revolution’s
professionally made protest sign
that says “me” and evokes “you” to react;
here, i give you honest truth–
as i sip my latte, the $10 one from Starbucks,
it tastes okay, but could be better;
to presuppose a certain movement
or ideology is more imperatively just,
i do wager that for all–i know,
which one is better and more necessary
than the rest, for the rest, obviously.
here subtle meanings are left to expire
on my re-purposed dumpster rug,
which really ties the room together;
passed by at its open casket wake,
where later these signs may litter hard pavement,
a place where my American made boots
and skinny black jeans may not go,
only in mind…
and we talk and like and demonstrate.
we are so importantly important,
this is what democracy looks like.
…and really, who bought these signs?

February 11, 2017

skill

these poets have got skill
they ought to make gods
out of straw men
with fists up to disrupt
in groups large enough
not to miss
but for a singular idea;
for the entirety
individuality has left the building
like they say Elvis once did
and
they prefer and
persuade yours’ gone too, verily–
auf wiedersehen, jetzt;
tho irony poses a problem
when
you think about that purpose
without thinking about that principle,
a group think showing
others to not think
for themselves: so don’t; ironically,
for some everything
can be a problem, depending on the message,
similarly with the critic
at a convention of their beat–they just have to;
still there is nothing new under the sun.
but as arms of automated
recycling trucks
reaching out with care
at soon to be new old shit
these poets
could fall like building 7
16 years ago September, to grey dust
by one true statement,
fall like a beggar’s budget
at two buck chuck,
and then break
their wrists patting their own backs
as if they made
that poignant prose
so much their own,
accordingly their every breathe
is arrogance.
let’s call it “skill” anyway.

July 12, 2016

definition

We no longer need reason
To say things are wrong
We no longer need action
To define our meaning

May 18, 2016

the view at coffman union

i’ve seen a million steps along this walk
…and yet still my eyes do fixate for more;
there is something about each placement put
of how it takes a person further than before…

April 20, 2016

Passenger at the Bus Stop along Hennepin

Our center of life
is constant, steady movement.
Passing along I reflect.

March 1, 2016

Tuesday, the second child

Tuesday
the second
child of the week,

so ready,
so awaken.

but nothing to do,
and something.

monday is gone.
Tuesday is here.

and we go at
number 2,

another day
in the week
of others,

we pretend it’s
ours when
it’s really not.

Tuesday the
penultimate,
the real deal,
the very second.

alive, here it is.
next day taken away.

August 12, 2015

College Park in the Past

Shades of the trees toward western skies rest a cool shadow

on a once brilliant face,

where the lacquer for paint

had peeled.

Smack of fuzzed tennis balls hurled in the wind,

zipping with bugs in

a St. Paul end-summer August warm.

Reflections and shadows hung on until it was time

to go back home—

just after supper and just before

candlelight vigils and auto headlamps scans rushed

into closed windows and about vacant streets.

Sitting, watching

the world come to close another day,

morning would be the same except reverse

on those tired night dweller’s eyes.

A can was crushed and we biked back

to SE through mosquitoes.

July 17, 2015

In a Crowd of Clowns

Dead artists & counterfeit idealists
Travel same paths I’ve once roamed.
To judge, to assert, as one were God—
Step off of your high-founded throne.