Posts tagged ‘Publications’

August 16, 2016

what i know.

what i know
about life
is that people
only want
change if
they create it
themselves;
likewise
with poetry,
people only want
words, art, ideas,
-poetry
if they create
it themselves.
i would
cite the editors,
the talking heads,
the publications,
the reviewers,
and their
best of friends
in foggy dawn
on a
hot summer’s day,
i would
but i didn’t
create them.
and that is why they
read
only the best.
ssshhhhhhhhhh…

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June 30, 2016

ratings (unsolicited writers)

and the
tumescence
of our
local bards,
hatred for
love handles’
burn,
a lost day
on
some river
in the sun,
what
could be
worse?

i imagine
a world
where we all
do the
same thing
very well,
and
together,
and friends
of friends
up-top
who “know”
get it.

July 27, 2015

Twin Cities Poets and Publications

The only change they want
is the change they make,

even if it’s the same.

April 12, 2015

Experience the Movement: during AWP 2015

In a tight vanilla pale room
with a tangerine sunset view,
where high association
shared big words
and accomplishments tacitly,
wink to a nod,
rubbing elbows,
touching pinked-white hands—shaking,
close, related, akin,
with more than five dollar’s worth of language present, presented,
of which few perhaps did understand,
it didn’t matter though,
behind modern dark faux wooden frames, Lennon round,
piercing eyes darted—knowing names, big thanks,
as bodies in ironed button up shirts,
suit jackets dusted,
leather shoes shined,
and neutral colored slacks creased,
hair done stiff, fine—slicked back shine,
reading aloud
lines and verses and words;
poems unfamiliar,
as those within oohed and aahed,
at each vocal cord’s articulation,
as attendees and audience members
smiled, drank, laughed, explained, translated, and clapped.
A brave man said with confidence to the glaring crowd: this was the movement,
we were it.
I guess maybe I couldn’t relate;
I felt more like a dried stalk of corn in a Midwestern summertime field,
some monocultures are unescapable.

January 23, 2015

What Waste (Local Print)

On these dead trees,
On this black ink:
It makes a man worried,
It makes a man think.

November 16, 2014

Snowscape

This Snowscape so quiet;

Not a bird,
Not a car,
Not a sound…

Whiteness covers the world,
Layering atop the frozen ground.

August 29, 2014

Minneapolis, The Production.

Filched every best part of art,
of everything.
Singing in the rain
as if a poignant destiny.

Blessings of death
and the mounting of enemies,
over the stone arch bridge
on two rims,
bubbles and scum,
Mississippi muddy brown waters below.

Then we eat, sleep, drink, and move on.

Tattoos and body piercings
Ostentatious Restaurants.
Underground Hip-Hop
and Poetry- the life, so long…

A million extras with a million extra lines; you see the conundrum.
Oh, the Cheeky Bastard.

A problem with me,
probably
Attitude,
something rude.

Perhaps.

Transcendentalists and progressives, pass aggressive.
Just listen to those intellectuals. (How Special)

Bowel movements
have caused more pain
with more tact and significance,
more movement,
and,
yet, who knows the difference?

Faces are wearing half-hearted pleas of forgiveness, wholly realistic.
– Yellow toothed Grimace.

– Some greyed with fluoride.

– Dentists to witness.

On a real morning
in the real rain
with real useless thoughts,
another really real day.

Overcast above skinny jeans,
mind over matter,
beer filled bladder.

-What we’ve gained.
Promising to keep promises
Walking home just to kick dirt
Flat-tire again- spare me your words.

Unable to afford trivial debate; I stand at a deficit.

Nicollet downtown slicked squares
cut from somwheres- elsewheres.

Reading books to stay relevant;
vintage classics, or course,
Conversations alone,
clean-cut brilliance, absurd.

Excuse me Mr. Artist, can you paint a picture?
Anytime.
Can you write a song?
Any tune, with any rhyme.
Can you sell millions upon millions?
Hopes and dreams, divine.
Can you deal with the adoring throngs- fanfare, that is…

Kids beat drums on the streets,
attempt at viral video,
as the beggar creates a compelling story (wife, child, car, broken, needs, hospital)
Let me give a little-

I spend time at the liquor store too.

Questions: Do I invest in this practice?
Or do I keep ignoring?
Investigate the occasion,
I mean, I guess, I live in poverty too…

No snow on the sidewalk,
just shoes.
Heat index and sweat,
rugged, as it proves.

No ice- or melting with salt under foot,
hanging cigarette ash on stiff upper lip.

Pedestrians that give real looks
External cost magazine crooks.

Signs in downtown read: affluence, success, money.
Neon lights of red, yellow, green, blue and orange,
They sparkle and shimmer in cold and warm,
even in the daylight morn, bikers, buses, taxis, sparkle adorn.

Then the director yells: CUT!!!
And the lights go dim on the set of Minneapolis.

June 25, 2014

Poetry for Profit

Poetry for Profit;
The dilettante says.

It just doesn’t happen,
It’s an illusion in the sick minded head.

Corporate sponsors,
Ads which have mislead.

They have a job to do:
They have to pose and fit for trends.

If you do it for monetary reasons,
You won’t genuinely achieve success.

Real artists have bled,
They don’t concern themselves with worrying about the point-spread.

People live fantasy lives all the time
Where they are famous
They are sought-after
They are “the greatest”, labeled by their closest friends.

Where they try their best to be noticed,
But no one cares in the end.

If you write to proclaim “I’m a poet”,
To get paid cash and attain lavish threads,
To fulfill a lifestyle image that’s been played-out,
In order to satiate big dreaming ego-ed heads.

I have news for you:

You could write non-stop for the rest of your life,
But writing won’t always be the hot ticket trend.
So many others have paved the way before you,
While you merely lazed lying in your comfy bed.

***

Try doing your passion for years and years to free your mind, to share thought, to pass the time, unnoticed.

Could you?

Don’t do it for profit, never do art for profit; take a look at the masters, they lived in destitute, some unrecognized in their lifetimes for what they had accomplished.

-Doubtful.

***

Go, go, go-
I know people who have done more with less, they are called my relatives.

June 4, 2014

Local Odds and Ends

Currently my ears are to The Current:
1.) I need to do a membership drive.
2.) I need to tell you what I have to offer.

You may need me.

The someday sun guides these moments,
Skimming and scanning words for entertainment.

Dessa Darling writes of trendy folk
Sitting somewhere in Uptown
In a hyped-up exclusive dive
She frequents all the time.

…How natural.
Feeling somewhat deprived…

Locally famous can get you work—
Haven’t you heard?
Can one person tell us of life?
Exposing us to worth

__Describe what to like,
And what’s cool, new, and authentic! (Right?)

Stories retold
Mundane to old
Fresh to mold
Hot to cold
And I digress,

I do so, but
So it goes.

Who decides the content?
What did they accomplish?

A fine print promise

Only allowing what we should know;
Ads and Marketing pave the road.

Candle to the sun
Eyes attempt escape
Another torn notion
Another empty page

We read on:
We read on.

Their sales people and prospectors betray
Their photo editors have much to display
Constantly political in profitable ways
Constantly cynical; printing what pays

And we run off to a book, to a poem, to a forest, to a river,
To hear nothing but the truth.

April 28, 2014

Hipster Trivia at the 331 Club

Traffic lights outside
Squared off streets we ride
Orange glow comes to eyes
Promoting fun inside

Progression riding electric tracks
Now new Prius mounted bike racks
To tires, to gas; of metal and glass
Varying vehicles pass; blurred mass

Two Towns as one; this Twin Cities
Biked them apart in nights- winds against me

Horseshoes hit pavement in the mist of flown pigeons
Spanned bricks and mortar, riverfronts lain nigh bridges

Talking loudly with crass; assumed trite little facts
Old times we tell ourselves not to look back

At great heights we don’t look for cracks
At the bottom we look up and react

A smile;
Could be the start
Of a beautiful frown,
Or vise versa.
….  Or really dumb words…

To the street to the beach
To the liquor store first
On two feet in the sleet
Bright-sunned winters; make hurt

Not like sun burn
Pinked enough to learn
Thrown thoughts of concern to the birds
Know the fish by the worms, in other words

On the bar with “local celebrities”
I have to ask, “Where are they at?”
So many people who are dead to me
The meaningful discussions they attract

Flash those few a fat front row
Wait for a single beer, find seats for the show
She said she writes for Revolver, things like that
She said just put “hipster” in the title for hits, fact.

You learn something new every day.