Posts tagged ‘poetry reading’

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.

Advertisements
July 13, 2014

Sociopolitical

Sociopolitical,
as lipstick and licorice;
kiss with the tongue,
hard feelings then diminish.

We won’t mention that again.

She said she’s always fine,
the next week she died.

I have the text to prove it.

-Found her along a country roadside
with holes and blood and mud.
The Sunday newspaper said it as
a matter of fact- Just. Like. That.

We had this one class together…
-Fremdsprachen, Deutsch.

Who writes that shit anyway?
It can’t be real-

Those papers…

A life that lacks is labeled as that.
A life on track is labeled as that.

Hands tied, for gosh sakes!
Bright white lines,
Coldest milk shake,
I was on Valium so I don’t remember that day- anyway.

Then the poetry reading was over…
So was everything else-

No apprehension
No hesitation.

What’s tension?
We mention:

Now-a-days,
A lifetime away,
Full of choices
Did you hear them voices?

And you thought for a walk.
And you thought for a talk.
And you made art with chalk
that did not last so long.

-Some cloudy milk transparency.

But that was all you did,
then you slept-

after the sun had left.

***

Also, danke schön Pakistan.
Story: A patron puts one hundred-dollar bills inside of the books he returns only to promote reading.

December 9, 2013

From Books to Blogs; A Story of Evolution

 

From books to blogs like cats and dogs;

We’re surrounded by a million writers with a million words,

Wanting to get read and be heard- absurd.

 

Zombies scare me less.

 

How to Be a Famous Writer:

Start today, don’t delay, and get on your way.

Print press doesn’t pay like they say.

It only takes a few seconds to change your ways.

 

Like Flies on Shit.

 

What’s an artist’s wage?

Cost per page?

Adverts?

 

MPR broadcasts their crying.

You’d think people were dying.

 

Do they even fucking read?

 

I could hardly hold back my laughter.

 

Then we look at progress, and the prospects.

Not finding a silver-lining.

 

No room for wining and dining.

 

You find that surprising?

 

No one’s getting fatter.

 

This hobby wasn’t to fill any part of any wallet.

Act like Author Gods but they haven’t yet penned their ‘Hobbit’.

Just minds and thoughts figuring how those unique (everyone) call it.

They were so close, but they lost it.

 

I want to vomit.

 

I don’t see.

They follow what they want to be.

Flee to the next scheme…

 

But sadly others have been there before; up, down, and in between; twice, three times, maybe four.

Do we need anymore?

 

Can we chart forward progress by going backward?

 

Recline, sit in a chair.

Analyze, document, look, read, compare,

Tense up and think about how life is unfair.

 

Are you prepared?

 

Open Market, Open Mic, there’s an Open Season on the Weekend Artist tonight.

-Awake and aware of the unawares.

-Happily, a positive outlier without a care.

Counter parts rest comfortably under stairs.

 

Understand the standard deviation and mean,

But not meaning to be mean-

 

All part of the artistry in the Minneapolis Scene,

Wipe ass with freshly torn pages.

 

Print press has changed throughout the ages,

And they present new material as if it’s not dated…

 

Faded yellow on a dusty shelf. 

He called it sleeping knowledge.

I think his popularity needs help. 

 

And all of those resources have been wasted.

They don’t factor external cost,

They can’t calculate their displacement*.

 

At least hope and ambition aren’t lost.

 

 

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Displacement_(psychology)

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
December 8, 2013

She (We Met Up Again Tonight)

In tight black jeans that fit me perfectly;

White pills distract with connect the dots.

 

Downtown pale steam-filled air hangs overhead;

Presently cold defines hot.

 

-3 PBR’s and 2 American Spirits später.

 

I wait for my girl to get back home.

 

Suddenly, standing patient at The Light Rail station:

-Seems like ages,

-So many changes.

Our ears and lips occupied our phones.

 

Sit seat to the airport in heat, up, afoot, breath absorbed, as I walk forward thru open doors all alone.

-One step at a time in leather boots brown.

-Hurriedly getting aboard.

 

Looking around, there’s not much for people tonight.

A Monday, a frigid display of days to come, an opposite glance of the summer moments we’ve come to love.

-Ubiquitous dim light.

 

This ding-ding-ding sound as the dated capsule closes, and lurches forward.

 

Exploring diverse sorts,

Touching tender sores to feel more,

Rich to poor-it matters not anymore.

-Much amore.

 

Thoughts race:

Will she be late?

Will she forget the date?

Has she run off to explore?

 

Peace to war,

Snooze to bore,

We meet open arms to embrace, a feel-good support.

 

-Playing with you, fair friend.

Momentary heavy thoughts fill my head.

 

People complain about the relationships they’re in.

That is because they are not really in one.

They have not the strength to come to terms and begin one.

 

Self-respect means being honest with oneself, truly-without a doubt.

An old math teacher once told me, “If it works, it’s gotta be right.” *

We met up again tonight.

 

*Mr. Limberg