Posts tagged ‘Twin Cities Poets’

March 31, 2018

When I Commute from Hamline/Midway in St Paul to the East Bank of Minneapolis at 7:20 in the Morning and back at 5:15 in the Evening, it’s a very personal experience that I will share with you because you are part of it too and everything and you should know

outside, on the street, other drivers can’t drive.
i mean they drive, but badly.
going on University Avenue to CVM by Surly
i realize this frequently, daily, to my surprise…
i want to see all my surroundings at once,
close captioned, in HD, real-time,
over 280, let me explain.
people choose not to use their turn signals,
they choose to not stay in their own lane,
they find illegal parking on the side by Dunn Bros…
when we pay taxes we pay for both sides of the road, i get it.
at West Gate Station, get ready to abruptly stop, always.
Get ready to get looked at hard, in a not nice fashion.
there is no open road freedom.
further, pedestrians look at crosswalks like patrons look at art at the MIA.
here, nothing special to see, white lines, no meaning apparently; awe-inspiring.
i am stuck in Frogger, these are the frogs, i am the cars.
try me, run for the train.
when i sit shotgun i am a shackled dictator repeating:
slow down, babe!
watch out, babe!
OMG, don’t tailgate, please, i know this person loves
causing accidents…its probably
an insurance scam waiting to happen…
see those dent’s, i can tell they are texting and driving 3 cars away.
what a nice person, what a great driver, i substitute curse words.
i like to think about things like that, and potholes.
they make the moon landing less believable, these craters on earth.
both cities, just please fix the fucking roads.
this is in my head i never say it.
only more cordially or through art…
i don’t care about politics because they just talk.
just make it so i can get to somewhere without destroying my vehicle,
at least when i am in the beautiful city of, i am between.
if i wanted to off-road most days i would go to the farm.
still i am offered excuses, told how hard it is, all at once, patience.
as an adult who pays taxes, officially, and who drives a leased Subaru
i can appreciate the idea of better infrastructure
for logical reasons like having nice things, if you can’t agree
that’s not for me…
but again, outside, other drivers can’t drive.
and, now, the construction site that took away our child’s daycare
to make cheaply built expensive high-rise condos
also takes away the single lane
after they took away the double lane a few weeks back.
and i got no condolences, i make nothing off it only lost time.
it’s hard to apologize for wanting better roads
and better drivers on those roads, and people to get off
their phones, and for some dangerous bikers to be careful, to choose a side.
i guess for a safer and better life for all, a better community…
that’s initiative today, just complain about it.
i can’t recall the last time
i didn’t pay for insurance, tabs, plates, gas,
parking, repairs, oil changes, general maintenance, deductibles for insurance
after hitting a twilight rodent; that’s just life tho, my choice, i know.
but other drives, O, it’s so hard to understand them!
and they breeze by and scowl like i have a problem!
(probably it’s me too, we are all to blame.)
and they act like they have never wronged or sinned or failed,
or mistakes don’t happen to them, ever. i think we know better.
that’s America though; we never do wrong. they do, right?
we are all Gentlemen Animals, no different. human animals.
covering so that the Thought Police don’t get to us at some point.
but the Thought Police are Facebook and Twitter and WordPress and GMail…
but other drivers out there, please drive safe you add value.
i don’t know, i love you because unless i am eating
i talk, so i would make a bad spy… and you are great.
i don’t know, i like the view to curtail this complaint or Ode,
it’s beautiful, i race trains and buses and
the sun’s glare from St Paul in the east. i see all people,
and i love them, even as drivers, commuters, they are part of my day and me.
it’s a perfect way to get to where you need to go.
it’s a perfect way to be a part of it.

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February 24, 2014

Just One Person

Front and Center,

Grotesque Smile walking out and towards me, those thoughts in my head.  Nearing Walter, thinking of Lind, walking to Magrath, the evening begins.  I saw and registered just this one person

I was:

Front of the class with Scott Stapp.  The lead singer of Creed, and I, and we stand.  AKA a TA.  This is life at the bus stop waiting in the cold, thinking of thoughts old.  Bold people wearing exposed flesh standing apart.  Ice crusted sidewalk, I look across the street to see a mirror; people just like me.  The worst song on my iPod, shuffles in my ears-God.

I come to.

Probing my audience:  making an obvious point (to some).  Those who aren’t dumb, at least, some.  Thumbs down, this is me, this is how I believe.  Aught’ to be, Show you how I see.  A “U” and “X”- unstressed and stressed-not a stretch.  Not far off, lines and rhymes aloft.  FACT.

We make a somewhat apprehensive white board dance in tight pants.  Look at the sad crowd, relax.

Scansion of poetry: iambic, prosody, diction, expansion; an explanation of situations, objective subjection, an aggressive reaction, which could lay wastage.  Justified.  I fold at the masses, scoff at this interaction.  I feel defeated, but undamaged.  I feel this comedy is tragic.

That’s just Shakespeare talking though.  He might have been one person.

Someone yells from the back of the class, “You are just one person!”  I am apparently one person… Can you believe that?  I can’t.

Then I thought about it-

Other examples of “just one person”:

The President

God

You

Me

Everyone-

You see?

 

Get it?  Said just one person.

November 20, 2013

Fleshed Out Sun

Fleshed Out Sun,

 

Eyes that can find an enemy in anyone.

Lost: kind of like need a star to find a son.

 

Can I wake to crusty eyes, love despised, true lies?

Realize the real guys look not for the prize.

 

More words, commas, and jeering cheers,

And surely meters that really matter here.

 

You give us periods like a bitch so serious,

But near to us, you appear delirious.

 

Stop, halt, wounds filled with salt,

Nothing is your fault-I doubt.

 

I doubt.

 

Your make up is made up of a simple shroud-with you, without.

No wherewithal, gone for five, no one knows you were alive and about…

 

Or maybe even clever…

Ever.