Posts tagged ‘progress’

August 11, 2015

Epiphany at a U Slam Event

To my astonishment
there was none—

people were content
with old formulas
and bad news.

The “best poet I know”
spoke there.

It was a real treat.

***

Knowing that,
I can sleep a lot, a lot easier.
Yawn.

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July 8, 2015

Minneapolis Offers A Melting Pot Literary Scene

Sure, they tell you to
join their literary groups
in order to get your words read,
in order to get your art noticed,
in order to make an impression on
the blossoming local scene.

Well, it’s just that: local,
and it still is, that’s it.

And a person can become
an organization alone.

Few think about a broad world
where 9 billion people might enjoy
everything or nothing that the creative
text you wrote has to offer…

Yeah, I think, gatherings are good for some—
those who need crutches for strong legs,
or those who need stitches for band aids.

Those who need editors
to change their ideas
so they will sell
and morph into comfortable writers.

I need approval
from institutions to feel good
about myself,
imagine that.

That would have to be
my anti-motto, something I truly avoid.

Ha! Such jokes…

Years back no one would read
new cognitive prose,
my free work, no one would talk
about it,
zero recognition—I certainly wasn’t overseas then,
and I still am as called before
a “failed writer”.

Everyone was doing their own thing;
others were not as important,
it was about self—well, selfishness,
but on the side there was
a feigned pack mentality.

The only change they wanted
was the change they made.

Now poets go around
and pretend as though
everyone in the Cities
should get involved,
because what they were doing
back then, individually didn’t work,
so lets band together.

It didn’t pan out for them.
Their dreams came only at REM.

So, now they organize cliques,
they establish large groups into
bad plays on high society hierarchy,
the kind of thing that real
artists have vehemently loathed.

They set their own rules, now,
and their own guidelines—
if you can’t beat them join them—
yeah, good idea.

What a theory,
such lack of heart.

I think in this case
to become a part of it,
to get to the epicenter,
to get to the whole,
to be welcomed into this special circle,
the imaginary self-actualized poet,
non-starving artist,
famous, you-know-me sort of thing,

you would have to admit defeat,
you would have to admit you lost,
and that your initial passions
were complete shit.

You would probably have to change your ways,
attempt to be more like them—
assimilate, like the rest,
figure hip dress, obscure verse,
employ ten-dollar words,
cloned topics—of course gendered,
racial, anthropological, progressive,
and leftist political,
try for universal acceptance, right here.

***

Yawn, I say,
describe a situation,
an actual event:

CC was on 4th street SE at the bus stop,
she had forgotten my name,
her lips were red,
she said she had a new job.

I rode away on a bike
while passing out flyers.

***

I mean, you might as well kill progress,
just so your road is less rocky.
Leave change by the wayside,
never go against the grain.

A conformist mentality
will help you fit in better,
don’t ya know?

Your personality, your ideology discussed
only in past-tense phraseology and terms,
it all must go.

More of the same than Minnesota lakes.

But then you think about
how you were once a unique person,
an artist, that no one read,
no one cared about,
and how it was fun doing what you loved.

People read, they were baffled, confused,
or were turned off—or became aroused.

Now you do it to please others,
while not pleasing yourself,
while pandering to their ways.

They stare, they clap, they record,
they namedrop, to charm the masses, for a club,
to be accepted, to be loved for being
something that they are entirely not.

No way.

See, I imagine that.
I fancy fickle easy artists,
they travel in bands
with big words and little action.

One would have to sell off
their creative soul
to even try to get involved.

I imagine fellatio costs less,
either way they get ahead.

Am I in Hollywood?
It’s so confusing.

May 31, 2015

A Media Inspired Solution to Everything (Modern Movements)

A pair of eyes stare at the “problem”.
A single mind labels, calculates, and retains.
A pair of hands do nothing for meaningful progress.
Another group of “activists” yell: change!, change!, change!

March 20, 2015

Interactive Image (you and me)

Sometimes great minds think alike, think local,
some don’t think at all.

I have to put on deodorant today
in order to become an average human being.

All the while a naked spoon holds a naked cherry in the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden;
now that’s art, now that’s smart, now that’s in a park.

And then we have the Thought Police to condemn what,
to patrol what,
to portray what,
to convey what message?

IDK

How things have happened,
evolution is real.

No one single person is JC or PC or perfectly-,
we just are—you and me.

Categorizing and “knowing” is impossible without error.

See,
labeling those into groups would be easy,
yet we place with sedimented phrases, universal,
adding variance to that idea, disparaging,
then spreading like disease,
ones with history—you and me.

There is no describing,
living is art.

March 4, 2015

View from a Minneapolis Coffeehouse (human zoo)

1
Sitting an hour between classes seemed as days elapsed,
at a Washington Avenue coffeehouse table,
where tall transparent windows
beamed reflective light,
beaconing inquisition: “just look outside”.

2
Taking the hint, lazy eyes gazed to witness a fashion of layers,
dark shades of boots, and clench-fisted gloves,
blankly moving full-through their owner’s stepping saunter;

blurred these creatures came going along the sidewalk’s edge,
tracking herds in asymmetrical circles,
in late-winter’s dressings—
they gave a bob and weave dance,
contrasting against the
silhouetted patrons standing inside in line, motionless.

3
A cigarette had fallen central to the commotion,
and became squashed-to on the wet ground—
accordion-like, a thin pale smoke drifted above and into the street air,
between stoplights and cars,
vanishing with exhaust fumes
and puffed exhalation plumes of each passing pedestrian.

4
Cold feet, slick rubber wheels, and the Green Line’s steel
came around loud moving through,
bounding over the dotted masses of miniature speckled glaciers,
emitting a cacophony of moans, shrieks and squeals
one’s ears could not avoid, even within shut doors.

5
On a stage there stood warm vessels waiting
for huddles of hypothermic;
metro transit arrived late near soon to be ice-melt
and future city gutter streams.

6
I sat sipping hot sepia
with this view, with this wildlife,
wondering how the animals at the zoo
felt about the
children outside
who poked and smudged at their glass view.

Fin

***
Another thought:
June: It seems so far away, I wish it were today.

April 15, 2014

“The Apple Capital”

This town
Under bluffs of a river valley

Ancient trees
Fixed in rich dirt of sediment

Through the
Sandstone foundation of long forgotten
Specters under the sky
Incarnation of this “American Dream”

Their progeny haunt
Stalk
Past the dying brilliance
Of traditional affairs

–The audacity of Business
Gathering
From the land
Of which they do not own
–the view
That warns
The conscious being

A vast distance between states
Two, as splendid
Establishment in the new frontier
Dust to flesh

Once whited maps
Growing with pride
Now what it stood for is merely a novelty

March 24, 2014

Extimate

Change your mind;

Grow-progress

 

Shift in your seat

Move your feet

Better your posture

Be discrete

 

And before you forget

Exist like the rest

 

Bent on sediment

Bent on sediment

Bent on sediment

Present tense.

March 14, 2014

On the Balcony with Love (at the Kitty Cat Club)

On the Balcony with Love

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

Outside of the house

Watching droplets all

They bounce up in the sun

Lit sparkling they fall

 

Sunlight how nice

Made an ass of self

For getting after my girl

On account of my fault

 

Amber transparency

Whiskey glass fixed

In a cold dark corner

Full beer can of tricks

 

Bikers sit in the light

Talking weather and trash

They deliver their product

They careen as they pass

 

Balcony noise raindrops loud

Cars go by, and up, and around

Melt snow liquid moves splashing through

University sign scrawled illuminated blue

 

Machine gun fire streams

They fall from above

Perspiring from the heavens

Yellow orb showing love

 

Sit sip this splendid thought

Read and ponder this springtime hot.

March 10, 2014

(Now) The Land of 10,000,000 Lakes/ Relatively Obscure

(Now) The Land of 10,000,000 Lakes

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

Relatively Obscure;

But Only Now,

This year

 

(Must’ve been the Weather)

 

Thoughts at present

Winter resentment

 

(Had to’ve been a Tasteless Pleasure)

 

Summertime

And

Rhymed lines

 

Blank verse

And

Mini-skirts

 

Beer on a deck

And

Sunburns that hurt

 

Been stuck-inside-life

And

There’s nothing worse

 

Darkest before the light

And

Patience makes all the worth

 

(Blinded by the light-eyesight)

 

Times in the Midwest

With the new season we’ll wear less for dress:

 

Abandon bundles…

Step through Puddles…

 

Avoid Potholes and Passive Aggressive Mumbles.

 

We still (always) look forward to the warm days ahead,

Sunlight makes it easier to leave the bed.  

February 15, 2014

Don’t make plans, make Progress

Blow a hundred hours on the internet
Think about the things we don’t have yet

However, I’m doing just fine with what I’ve got
When I take the time to look at belongings, I realize I’ve got a lot

Reality of what’s right in front of me
I could take the time to walk, but I’d rather flee

I’ve seen a few things in my life span
But I always account for what’s within the trash can

We can learn a lot about self from the books on our shelves
If we take the time to cherish what’s been spelt out

We can count the moments we save time for self
We can accept that as time for mental health

Alles tag
Alles tag

A new obstacle to climb

Alles tag
Alles tag

Another voice filled rhyme

Why sit inside and cry?
Or in the meantime, ask why?

Moments fly by
Then we realize

The good things in life fall from the sky
No one can surmise the actual surprise

***

Quit goddamn planning for things…
Don’t make plans, make progress.