Posts tagged ‘Works’

July 25, 2015

Poetry Critics

Critics of today couldn’t take
away the feeling of the act.

No matter how hard they try,
no matter the American sentimentalism.

Or, the labels tossed
around as exactly absolute.

No matter what authority
or agency they promote.

It feels so good.
It feels so alive.

It feels like creation.
Pressing buttons to get a reaction,

from the black and white
and the dots and lines,

people see and they say.
Your cloudy mind turned

to someone’s bright-light inspiration.
It is nothing to not do; it is something

to believe in your actions.
No matter where you are:

on Hennepin or Hawaii, in Uptown
or on a bike in Southeast.

Critics of today do it too,
they just use other’s work for their muse.

In other words they describe yours,
without they would be nothing.

With, they have a job, or something…
Again, that is as good as to not do.

December 16, 2014

Marley’s Dance

Foggy covetous invalids,
leant on glistening balustrades,
with gossamer hangings; bent
blades of grass, enacting a fool’s
calypso in cover of darkness, at
that exact moment, for all gleaming
eyes to witness, as winds stirred
through an open door below.

October 18, 2014

Success isn’t a Surprise

What we do,
and fate,
shapes the lives
that we make.

March 17, 2013

Note Club

A List of shit in my Pocket-


Trying to be the oldest person alive.

If you’re not doing something you’re doing nothing right.


June Bugs, May Flies, life happens, people try.



Bring:  2 button-ups, a pair of pants, 2 pairs of socks, and a pair of contacts.

-And $500.00 personal burial money.


I dishwash, I hardly drink.  I speak then I think.

I don’t smoke weed, my logic’s not flawed.

I am just in love.  This is like Disney Land.

I hardly try.

I like it raw.


Into The Toilet,

Into The Trash,

By Terry Scott Niebeling, on mplsscene, on WordPress.

Kiss my ass.


Snow falling like flowers from a mantle place.

In these photos I will always be at my mother’s house.



She’s Post Irony, I’m Post Awesome.

Alpha male, alpha fail.

My shit’s fresh, your shit’s stale.

My words are like flowers, they blossom, petals flail.


I come part broken-hearted outspoken mixed-feelings absolution skin-peeling hot-emotion, that’s a portion of how I am feeling, so let’s get an abortion.

I am all transpire and little chance by happenstance.

More poetry, fiction, prose, and words than those who don’t try, so take a walk, so don’t talk, or try to fly, or get lost.

Who knows?


And I tell them…

How a business falls apart:


-Employee/MGMT Relations



-Glory with no Responsibility (MGMT)


How a Fight Club starts:

Get T.P.


Plant on Bonham’s son on drums.


The unemployment line will be easily found, its easily one of the longest lines in town.

Where will they go when one goes down?

Will they budge ahead or crowd around?

We are all hungry.


Other works; some plight.

We don’t need jobs as much as we need respect.


Empty Batteries.

I have done everything.

I run on everything.

And there is a piece of paper that says I have an Associates Degree on something.

I threw it all away and have nothing.

I am set free, how lovely.

More Notes:

Underlining the red words of God.  She sits head stuck to the pages.  A red, blue, and white striped shirt clings taught to her chest; all American everything, and Christianity sits in her lap.  She packs her belongings and exits near Lake St.  What an interesting subject to watch while enjoying mass-transit. 

From False-Positive with Aids and back.

The Okcupid upgrade guarantees you at least 12 more mediocre fucks than expected.

Set up a Jeffrey Dahmer profile on