Posts tagged ‘publishing’

August 10, 2015

untitled 10/08

The sound of white fan blades, nimble cat’s feet,
and heavy outside traffic
woke with the beeping alarm.

Monday life was on its way,
just before breakfast, shower and shave.

Pieces of inspiration fell off in stretches
and movements onto the wooden floor.

As a backdoor opened to musty wet rugs
and well watered plants,
at a place where occupants had been days away.

Coming to again as rebirth:
a second, a minute, a day, a week, a moment chance;
where we’d thought we’d be now is the past.

We were housed by such movements
of certain contraptions, waking, stirring, just as—
sounds and actions unplanned,

came over and overlapped.

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July 9, 2015

Untitled Response To Crowfoot, Blackfoot (StarTribune, Thursday, July 9th, 2015)

It is the flit of
a blue jay’s wings
at daybreak.

It is a potbellied squirrel, tan beige,
on a bent limb in the
summertime.

It is the faint
sweet smell of ripened honeysuckles
on winds getting lost in
a township forest.

It is a reflection of
such life.

It is.

To:
-Crowfoot, Blackfoot
Warrior and orator.

March 3, 2015

God Save Open Mic (a good place to judge art)

A room full of Artists standing high in watch,
One opens wide a mouth, exit words of thought,
An occurrence of perfect* art, too unmeasurably so;
Those in the crowd would attempt not to know.

*look up this word.

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 30, 2014

The Morning After (Downtown La Crosse)

The morning after,

Early new day;
“Bar hair” and Fishbowls,
Smell of smoke,
Sore throat-

Subtle suggestions: Let’s walk down by the river.
Last night’s concepts seem less conducive to life.

Now,
Light which sneaks
Through venetians blinds.

_even though they are closed.

Painful to eyes-
And then a piss.
Then a brush of teeth,
Under dry lips.

Moving,
Aching,
Wasting,
Stiff tender bits-

The evening before, knowing full well it would come to this.
Downtown: the nightlife, old friends, the drinks, to witness.

February 17, 2014

Stop Now (Uptown Unidentified)

Re-shelve Successful

Doubt

 

Compromised

 

Fail

Small as a Whale

 

Pink Elephant

Stupid Intelligence

 

Smell the Permanent Marker

Average Car Parker

 

Pure Pollution Cloud

Truth Solution Crowd

 

A Tidy Mess

Tortured Unstressed

 

Hyper Rest

Atheist Blessed

 

Blue-Red

Alive-Dead

 

Zombie Nation

Smiling Frustration

 

Obvious, without traces

 

Synthetically Organic

Freeze-Dried Wet Pages

 

Going on for Ages;

Stop Now.

 

***

Uptown Unidentified:

 

New Trendy Clothes,

But the Act is Old

 

Speaking of what you’ve almost sold

As if you’re talking to a fool

 

Stepping with everyone- the everyday crowd,

I bet you make Art too.

September 9, 2013

Working The Desk 1001

Cool cubicle setting, a weathered view of present outside heat,

 

I never thought a job like this,

In a library I sit, comforted around so many resources-a relief.

 

(Not a soul to bark at me to move my feet.)

 

Making a stand at growing my wits.

In between now and accomplishment.

 

To date I check out and stack books.

To the next I watch for an approving look.

 

For what bar codes, laser scanners, and computer records exist.

 

Tomorrow I’ll be somewhere else, doing about the same, checking off a new and different list.

What a vast world there is.

 

I’d say, wow, things have changed.

And some stop at earning a career.

 

***

 

Life Lesson From a Lowly Twenty Something Year Old:

Just as you look down your attention is seized by that which makes you look up.

 

A friendly face makes a machine beep just behind my chair.

Logic explains not to care.

Any questions?

 

Balance the equation,

At present I feel I am getting more than I bargained for;

Pleasantly Surprised with all before my eyes,

Viewing situations from different angles to measure score.

Like always, and as before.

 

Sometimes  you need to know where you stand.

 

August 7, 2013

American Peanut Butter Toast

“Maybe some peanut butter…

Or other stuff if there isn’t enough.”

 

I confusedly spoke standing center kitchen.

The yellow drop-leaf table listened.

 

Likewise, she stood as if she had sort of missed something.

Almost leaning, almost touching stacked upright drying dishes.

 

The Leopold Stickley held ground on four legs, glistening under energy-efficient bulbs, acting convenient witness.

Not speaking by fault.  Wanting not to pick scabs, or pull out prematurely healed stitches.

 

I stood on two legs in my boxers looking for a sitting contraption.

She stood the same as I, watching, waiting for a different reaction.

We all exuded patience-I, my companion, and the inanimate furnishings in our location.

 

Morning time.  Glory be mine.  We are all fine.

These are just different situations.

 

We really are.

All Americana and cohabitation,

And then we were off to work.

June 12, 2013

Overcoming The Future @loftliterary

After the drunken interactions, bike accidents, moving, and ill words, starting the day out with work seemed somewhat refreshing.

 

J.J. sits next to me exhausted, however, happy not to be cleaning out apartments in the summer heat.

 

Dead flowers and ornaments lined the paths we walked, remnants crumpled under feet.

Memories of our lives lined the paths we walked, lost with loss, a tangible defeat.

 

Now we see.

Now we hardly speak.

 

 

Now step to the sea, feel reason.

The past was a lesson, like the passing of seasons.

 

All pressure and then release.

Subtle while discrete.

 

Writing of what we had midday on the black hot paved street.

Evening rain soon washed away the chalk.

Milky puddles were all to be seen.

A natural deed.

 

Mad at the steps for being so hard on the feet.

Straight-line conclusion amidst a fork in the road, an easy path is not taken by those who are bold.

Now I see.