Posts tagged ‘South’

July 13, 2015

Confederate Flags, Cotton, & The Vikings; Modern Symbolism

I sort of understand
The confederate flag supporters—

I don’t agree with them,
But idiots are idiots;

I root for a losing team as well.

It’s insane.

The Minnesota Vikings are
Historically a losing team
That everyone loves,
Their organization represents
Our humble and beautiful state
In near billion dollar facilities
And tax incentives.

Now I wonder,
These two groups are similar,
The Southern States and the Vikings (The NFL Team),
In that they did/do not often win—or never did,

Same, yeah…
Different, yeah…

Use your imagination…

They are similar
Except for the fact that
the Vikings (seafarers) never kept slaves (presumably),
They just raped, plundered, and pillaged
Whole cultures and peoples (See: Ireland),
Taking power and rule,

By way of attacks.

I don’t think everyone knows this,
Or thinks about this
When they fly their purple and yellow flag,
Or when they don
Their cherished team’s memorabilia,

But we certainly care about things.

It’s always an interesting game of money and distraction,
And who can yell the loudest on what interests them the most.

Now, I don’t know who to root for anymore,
There isn’t really anything that doesn’t represent something else…

To everyone else.

***
And what about cotton, the cash crop of slavery?
You and I wear it on ourselves daily.
The symbol doesn’t need to be obnoxious,
Star-spangled, red, white, or even blue to be offensive.

There is hate in just about everything,
And love, if you look hard enough.

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May 10, 2015

It was Highland in a Nutshell

It was wet cans of PBR from a Coleman cooler
and pulls of Bulleit whisky warm
on a Friday night.

It was green Jalapeño poppers wrapped in fatty bacon
next to glistening short-cut rib rows
in a twilight kitchen.

It was pickup trucks frolicking in rusted skirts
over deep grass fields,
while hunters gathered fungi at the midday shade.

It was alabaster ashes of last evening’s fire
smoldering, becoming ghost stale
near metal pasture gates left wide open.

It was small brown trout caught in cold streams
bleeding, below an Amherst hillside
melting in the last light of a springtime Saturday.

It was Driftless region bluff’s strong straight-wind
carrying Johnny Cash’s “Sunday Morning Coming Down”
into folding valleys asunder from a driver’s side window.

It was a weekend’s mosaic of moments,
laced in and strung up together,
of oscillating seconds and intrinsic perspective.

Oh, it was…

May 6, 2015

I used to live here, Whittier South

And those injured and suffering went along
Carrying bandaged faith and sore teeth,
smelling of sour mashed sweat,
rubbing tender eyes,

as empty cans and bottles littered
the Whittier South yard where they sauntered.

Harmless props save for the thought.
It was a weekend to remember forgotten.

Sunlight carried split-skull interactions,
churned ladles in their tender stomachs.

If only these plastic chairs could talk they would be perfect witnesses,
chucked into red-ash fire
at the utterance of a word.

Feet kicked aluminum to metal sound,
and “see over there—there’s the compost.”

Now, can I have a beer?
Can I have a piss?

April 10, 2015

Minneapolis Streets

Hennepin
Central
Franklin
Nicollet

March 23, 2015

we are the same

You, me; us we—forward or backward,
together we are the same.

Parts of a carnal body, whole—
built of dust, thoughts, and air;
no scar is without a measure,
no action still unmoved,
shell of human being outside,
ghost of us within.

We are compelling a kind,
eyes peer to see;
from Franklin and Nicollet to NE,
Middle America to Middle East.

Still, forward or backward, we are the same.

August 12, 2014

Man Man at Triple Rock

Observant trend scene,
Heavy tattoo engrained,
Faux-tough and minor mean,
Façade, true, is claimed.

Street: Riverside, easy ride:
Perspective existing local,
Patched bags for small fries;
Real hipsters for yokels.

Through Cultures and Vultures,
Much Music and Trash-
Relative status shown vouchers,
Can’t see; bright lights we lack.

Stand in short lines outside.
Killing self with thin cigarettes;
Realize these lies through eyes,
One puff at a time, we forget-

Dive into undulating pool of people
Scuffed tennis shoes tied loose,
Sweat smell we breathe through-
Sip expensive cheap rail booze.

Catch the Route 2 Bus to be,
This night-life part of the city.
***
Motto: seen you there before, but never met, as in meet.
Standing dirty wet floor below feet until it’s time to leave.

August 30, 2013

My Contemporaries

My Contemporaries

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

Stolen stories about how I tell people I’m a writer.

I don’t, I’m not.

I just type a lot.

 

This took place at the VFW, this took place on social media, and this whole idea took place in my mind.

He said she said.

Of course I’m fine.

 

To my contemporaries,

You hardly write, you always talk, and what is there to do about it?

Nothing.

Your work exists in the rain like chalk.

 

Frame of mind, you are blind.

Idly wasting time, waste of time.

 

The only thing we have in common is proximity on a map.

You have released thoughts from their trap.

Your handshakes, salutations, and self-descriptions fall flat.

 

Is there more to you?

More to do?

We can only assume.

 

As long as you are around I know there is someone better fit for the job.

Making us all look good.

 

Cheers,

TS_

 

After Thought:

 

Facebook Famous,

Got it covered like a condom.

 

Not paying to publish.

Not wasting paper.

Not advertising falsities.

Not entertaining bullshit.

 

The only way to exist.

 

I just wrote all of this.

I haven’t spoken a single word.

Ain’t that a bitch?

 

Don’t believe everything you say, speak, read, or see.

Most people lie.

I formulate drafts when I sit.

 

***

How’d you get famous?

You know it’s not word of mouth when you’re speaking about yourself, right?

August 18, 2013

Crossing Nevada

We left that city aching in stitches.

 

As we drove-

No place to go.

 

We were together-

That’s all to know.

 

My side hurt, squinted eyes.

The car moved forward into the fading light, only drifting dust followed.

May 21, 2013

More Coffee

Doing what I never thought I could do, realizing you can do anything you set your mind to.

 

Start the coffee:

Turn on the water, clear the pot.

Scoop the grounds.

What’s found?

 

Look outside, think it through:

Weigh the options.

Look to the outcome.

Look to improve.

 

More coffee, how about you?

 

Never stop-never settle.

Progressive not sedentary, did I say it clearly?

 

More coffee, and be positive the next time you are near me.

November 11, 2012

Oppressive Options (Now They want to be like Me)

Fans are setting goals in respect to my situation, and talking about words on occasion.  I am in good company; everyone that surrounds.  Complexion not mentioned, hardly ever, always abound.  Those who avoid regressive expression and let it out.  We are found.  We are now.  

Like DKR, Like my roommate.  Like we do.  Like in the BroHaus.  Over and Out.

 

However, I sit and think.  I think and drink on economy, prosperity, reality, and dreams.  How realistic they seem, and how to make ends of means.  I believe.

I guess I believe…

 

I turn pink because I can’t relate.

I read more, instigate, initiate.

 

Not to hate, not to hate.

I’ll extrapolate.

 

Dodge dates, girls wonder why I show late.

Or not at all.

 

Count your blessings.

There are 99 bottles of beer on this wall.

 

Not my fault; I was taught by condition to absolve and revolve.

 

Keep straight forward, on a mission.

Watch out for number one, and wash the dishes.

 

Breakfast in the kitchen; Guinness Extra Stout and Gravity Drip Coffee, eggs, lime, rice, and beans.  Be lean, stay clean, read Minneapolisscene.

 

Write like that, like this here.

Right here, right now.

To exist, not missed, somehow, and still get around.

 

Not so fast, chill out, sit down.

 

So clearly mirror what you are near that you disappear.

Steer clear of fear.

Drink much with peers.

 

Appreciate those you hold dear, and the lack of competition.

 

Wishing like they are fishing for a compliments.

Bitching, that’s how I vent.

Commonsense.

 

And they hold it in.

 

Get asked why I am so happy.

Probably because my smile says fuck you, and inside I want to flee.

Exactly, exactly!

 

Just to be free.

Just to be something like me.

 

So many options and no definitive answers.

 

But freedom and choice cause oppression and tension.

Just go with your gut, end of the lesson.

 

And in my other blog I talk about fucking, and she says its substantial.

Beat that Dane-imal.

She gave me a handjob and called me an Asshole.

 

The day was uneventful, so I slept through it.

 

***

 

Identity crisis, thoughts divided.

Self-minded, ever self-minded.

 

I love you Dane,

Good luck on your goal to out write me.

P.S.  Sorry for drinking all of your SnowShoe Grog Schnapps.  I’ll get you S’more Schnapps soon.

TS-