Posts tagged ‘pay’

February 26, 2016

For-Profit Poets (What Bugs Me)

i wonder if the gnat in the shower mist
understands that money changes art.
the very idea of creating something for
pay transforms the something you create.

as if you aren’t going at it for self,
but now going at it for millions. this comedian
bug in our bathtub garden had the sense of
humor to remind me the importance of not

knowing, of not assuming, of not trying to be
the best in any situation, because there is only
self happiness inspired by the true muse.
and nothing more. and those words changed

for the pennies they paid, and some poets
would rather fill their bank accounts than self
actualize. and especially not talk about it.
notice it in similar words and formulas and

themes around these twin towns. i’ve seen
art on the green line, art on the transit, art
at the office desk top in non-profit form that
gave more to the world, so much more.

and i’ve begged and asked of some time to
merely experience, and some think they
have a chance at competition that proves
nothing more than some of us like just this.

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December 26, 2015

Fat and Bloated

Now is when I feel fat & bloated. I want
to juice cleanse and run and move and not sit
and not eat. Mario Kart seems an appropriate
lecture; people yell and scream at a tv screen.

I witness this while others are starving,
while watching A Christmas Story. Sometimes
I want to shoot my eye out. The flow of this
media is like red velvet-lined handcuffs.

Some die with their hands up on a couch.
The world is cruel. Loved ones are spoken of
at the bar. They died a few warm years back.
Peppermint drinks come in coffee mugs and

in-laws come with drunken cheer, my pants
come taut and Facebook blows up with new
engagements. I wonder if they really know.
Some give support and get it. Others don’t.

Respect comes in consumerism and what
you can bring them, and I still worry about
my weight. My youngest sister tells me I
am skinny. Jesus is on the computer screen.

The bar life in downtown is docile, a perfect
place to feel heavy and finish a $7 pitcher
of Spotted Cow; I feel better already. Growing
farther apart, and bigger, and older, and more

prone to upset all those around me. At least
I feel fat and good being myself. And some
start, and others pick winless battles. Now,
what a great time to feel fat and bloated.

October 7, 2015

member drives that murder my ears

a week in, my radio becomes desperate,
it needs money–needs, it needs me to
do my part. i usually just listen and
i don’t need to do anything. i sit on
the floor for stretches, smelling the bacon,
as the toast goes in. a two car crash doesn’t
look good, a bicyclist was involved,
near Ham Lake, it sounded tragic.
now they want to give me something.
i want to win, the odds go up, the moment
is exciting, this is important, become
a member! yesterday, in class, the call
came in, i was busy. i knew what it
was all about. again, hang out on twitter,
yesterday is gone, this prize is yours, now,
just donate. don’t they get money from
the government as a public entity?
they don’t discuss this. member drives
always kill me because i write language
for free, i don’t ask for money, it’s a public
service too, it’s beautiful. this channel makes
me want to start my own member drive,
makes me want to change the station.

June 24, 2015

Adjusted Advantage

The world can seem so small
when assessed from the confines
of a one bedroom apartment.
A space tight, sticky, stuffy,
and near unbearably drab.
For a person to go outside and look,
to see all there is to see—to expand the expanse,
to imagine what one might attain
in the span of a lifetime,
at the change of a thought,
on the prospect of a whim, at the drop of a dime.
A perspective can be released
from its rigid boxy cage to stretch sore wings
and to grasp the once unthinkable,
for merely a chance thought,
and for adjusted sight, mercy!

October 14, 2014

The Cost of Education

Onion yellow pages prove the condition
of every Norton Edition I’ve been given;
there is a rubber-band taut around that,
to keep their edges from bending back.

Expensive lot of the campus book store,
with every Professor prescribing more.
I ponder the decision of this fine selection.
Asleep eyes open; scanning at attention.

Who writes these lines that I must remind*?
-With so much content leaving little time.
Fixed to a station, sitting rigid on a chair,
even short breaths find it hard to suck in air.

American Lit. comes but twice on weekdays.
I could’ve used the library in so many ways.
Next semester I’ll scrape, steal, and borrow
So that future bank visits won’t end in sorrow.

Aside from that, it’s the price we pay for our education;
Now, we must be mindful of the freedoms of other nations.

*Recall
*
Germany = Free Tuition

July 31, 2014

Days between Books

Time is of the essence
We have now and others don’t
The mail comes in
Heavy, in boxes
Full of books
People count on efficiency
Moments matter
This is now
Time never ends, but when it does
Patrons to service
Phone calls to make
Papers to print
The life, the day, the dollar, the request
Another recall
Another beep
Another list
Projects and process
Building this knowledge
No one regrets
Nothing to fret
Days and what we do
Define me and you
The only proof lies in a check
Electronic deposit, hardly noticed notion
Who does anyway?
This is incredibly easy to forget.

April 26, 2013

A Workingman’s Wage

A Workingman’s Wage,

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

Yes, I make a workingman’s wage-enough to keep working, enough to pay and play.

 

Enough to keep thinking.

Enough to keep food on the table.

 

Enough to keep drinking.

Enough to keep life a bit unstable.

 

Enough to keep a roof over head and my girl in my bed.

Enough to open and close my door.

 

Who needs anything more?

 

I work the day for a workingman’s wage; I count the days until I get paid.

This is a workingman’s way.

May 17, 2012

The Unimaginable Event

*Hey Little Man!

How can you stand it?

Knowing, maybe not owning, the fact that I’ve planned this.

Lost control and now you sit damaged, Goddammit.

Exhausted and ravaged; lungs expanded and contracted.

Breathing, physically feeling disadvantaged.

Off course and underprepared, nothing, yet, about you is shrouded, stares glared.

Hey Little Man!

Lost all hope, pififul use of pity, did she get with thee?

Highly doubted.

Did she miss me?

She sits with me, you see?

She knows, she tells, she looks with eyes misty.

Challenging the witty, can’t even mention those who can’t hold a candle.

Blow. 

Hey Little Man!

Your girl is in love with life and freedom and, most of all, happiness.

She loves it half to death, and its real, care to wage a bet?

We lounge on clouds all week holding hands, secretly in our heads, peacefully, I suggest.

I won’t get on one knee.  I am silent as she chats you up on the phone. Finger to her lips, she says shhhhhhhhh.  Hands on her hips, she doesn’t mind, the feeling is mutual.  We don’t mind; a Nihilist’s attraction.  

Hey Little Man!

You are not little in stature, only emotionally, bulbous and plastered, physically underkept; natural disaster.

Fucking realistically, I apologize sort of for vocabulary brutality, but it is a reality that cannot be changed, such is the gravity of situation.

Fate.

Trashing those about you to elevate your ideals and appearance, maybe, I beg not, self-worth.

And you call them friends.

And they call you names.

Your high quality gene make-up is hanging forever on the Clearance rack, clear it to the back.

Me:  On track, and out of line, I guess.

You‘ve taken good care of your body.”  -Casino Royale

What about your mind?

Hey Little Man!

It is clear to see, I take the hint, I don’t want to be what exists in your stint.

I see you; purposefully wasted, date belated, presence faded.

And I still write.

And I still drink.

And I still do yoga.

And I still stay fit.

And I still meditate.

And I still expand my mind.

And I could go on.

And I am still here.

Know your enemy, you are my nemisis.

Where does that leave us?

And what with?

Inflict damage mentally and physically to the enemy; discouraging them softly with kindness and attrition. 

Hey Little Man!

Bastard to love.

Running to and fro, giving up everything to appear high above those you know.

Small mystery, you couldn’t accurately describe me precisely to my excitement and advantage.

Hint:  White-sort of red, 5’9ish , around 175, drunk and violent, with equanimity behind the eyelids.

(But if you want more description check out my other blogs:  dirtyterry.wordpress.com, Mindinversion.net, if you can manage.)

Small-time someone, I guess, from some big city vs. rural kid from a village sitting pretty with your sissy or your misses.  

It really depends on the day.

Hey Little Man!

The facade is over, the charade is up, the noose is out; loose til taught with your flesh’s touch.

Caring too much about the trivial I pardon to beg, and all this was found out when your girl made me ***s.

Carrying no hatred, aggression, or ill will.

No lie.

Pay attention.

I just thought of you and I know you think of me still, get the message?

“And I’m jumping in your bitch if she had a prayer.” -Lil Wayne

The most dangerous thing in the world is something you don’t understand, something that is so curiously out of your grasp.

Something so fixating and still, that is ubiquitous and never out of existence.

You think, you sit, you stare.

You lose yourself, you lose track of yourself and there is no real time to face the facts.

Figure out the facts and the details, be honest with yourself and worry about you and yours.

Stop focusing on others when there is so much to fix with yourself.

Truly.

Make yourself better and you will be making everyone else better.

I try.

*the events, people described, and times within this story are completely fictitious and made up, so let it go.

Poof!

***

I still sit up in the night to sleep talk.  She told me I stare into the dark corner.  I am pretty determined.