Posts tagged ‘Poetry’

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

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November 22, 2017

maybe hate is love in disguise

the thing about hating on another’s artwork
is inspiring, i suppose.
i realized this the other day.  that
when someone hated on my artwork it was
more of a show of love.  (it confused tho)
one’s endearing compassion to say.
notice, they noticed and expressed
inspired as it were,
that indelible stated word
so inscrutable, they called my artwork “gay” .
how they used language so well to tell
what was on their expansive mind, so kind.
and in kind i thank them for the brain power passed, twas amassed.
O’ lovely comments like bricks hit w/ light yesterday afternoon
like the bright smile of my great child, or his laugh,
like making it home no deers dead on 52 south.
nothing like it.  dying sliver of a moon on some purple horizon,
no stressful drive, no worry.
things just happened that way, even replies, they say,
sometimes beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
sometimes that beholder is a troll-bot somewhere.
sometimes beauty is a subjective idea.
anonymity is a gem to be polished,
is a life to be assessed by everyone always.
felt good waking up to that notification.
felt good to just think about it in appreciation.

November 17, 2017

paths (something rich)

where do we all go?
where do we all start?
i walked on a bridge early this morning
frigid cold–blurred sluice
and through a hall, stuffy
the men smelled good
or their musk did, anyway, like money–
reminded me of the dead
reminded me of my dad
tried so hard to impress all, everyone
who is that though, really?
nothing can’t know
can’t know nothing, so…
a bridge that tells us how it is, how to feel
tries to teach us clearly
and then tells us to just believe
it’s like this and like that and so on
hypothetically, imagine a bumper sticker:
don’t question the moon landing,
don’t objectively view the coldest November
in the hottest year ever,
some ideas rooted in beliefs–religion,
exactly explaining concepts that aren’t laws
with fluid language changing, unindelible,
to match your mood, now, or movement, then,
i am voting for the perfect robot in 2020…
still very hard to tell
we all can’t be English majors or theorists
where we are all from, just looking
but where we are all going to some day
that’s something rich

November 12, 2017

sunday apex

Beautiful Sunday morning
dark AM morphing from
empty pews’ attrited time
to quiet hymns breathing sigh

November 9, 2017

#2048

…cuts like lemon juice in fresh new wounds,
sun through a glass pane, on moving trains,
winnowed and splintered of some past, tracing paths,
shadows track, as setting chairs–act to react,
they read it then to them whose ears come aroused,
loudly now, then silent humming sounds,
falling as domino, crests, and November maple leaves,
falling on broken knees, scabs, and chipped shoulder blades,
here, found, at the entry way, at dusk, here, i wait.
found, enough to be lost and forgotten. then nothing.
then something about skewed imagery: everyday, everyday.

November 4, 2017

Labels of…

“son, father, brother, husband
White, pink, cis-male, American
Here, there, gone, lost, and guided
Born, destined, confused”, perfect

As i am today i am not tomorrow
Hang your saddened head, it is so

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November 1, 2017

… as the snow flies

i am good right here…
entranced by November snows
in gray hues, just outside,
changing my mind’s moments
like daylight savings.
each flake fat,
each ascent confused,
to wetted ground’s pools below.
good right here, right now–I. I…
waiting, watching through a film of plastic
and time and clime and ah… OK.
spastic motions, prison of chairs.
legs get stiff, what are feet for, again?
biding my time patient, that snow out there.
it’s coming down liberated and seasoned.
Reflecting somewhat jealous.
at some point i have to leave.

October 23, 2017

Everyday social

Find your
Tranquil
State
In silly
Memes.

October 22, 2017

blanket dawn

layered orange crimson and green hue,
cut through rectangle windowframe view.
one sleepy town awakes in fogs and horns
to a night’s black fast escaping morn.

October 21, 2017

52 south in minnesota and some thoughts that i can’t escape like the blood on the highway and the lights up ahead

the dead deer leave their stains on 52 south
longer than the sun hangs in Oktober skies wide pale,
i hope to not create that sort of artwork tonight.
probably someone died in the accident at Coates.
glass, lights, backed up traffic and silence at the crossing.
entrails and scattered viscera, nature and force.
later, i hope this poem doesn’t take a dive on me.
matter and brain matter and matter matted.
where softly playing wind chimes alight and inflatable
Halloween decorations on the lawn greet us, hum.
barefoot in the street talking visas and books and
cars and presents, my mom’s birthday is this weekend.
above some star dies and the cemetery up the hill knows.
at least two beers on the couch, check in at motel home,
at least some pictures. my little man is awake past his bedtime.
teaching language in the morning, then they talk like me.
these strangers aren’t strange, they are nice.
wake in the morning. talk talk talk talk talk talk
talk talk talk talk talk talk. what’s the problem?
i know how she is when she is the way she is, love.
same costume as the last 5 years or so, goodwill find.
there is no surprise like there is no surprise.
an animal jumps in front of the dashboard, it’s a leaf.
there is not change there, no change there, there.
lock and dam no. 7 is an empty street where josh died.
dan will be at jules and wives will be in andere Staaten.
nextday i have coffee and talk to China and think
of the money that i don’t have and need to find somehow.
doesn’t matter, but that fucking deer is dead again now in my head again.