Archive for October, 2010


Posted in Leonard Cohen, Philosophy, Poetry, Unanswered Questions with tags , , on October 31, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


i was lucky.
there are places,
voices, really.
it can take
ages to find,
but even dime-
store wisdom
has its place.

it can take a
miracle to find,
or simple
laziness or
they have answers
if you are
willing to accept

listening to
a voice;
going to
some far-off place.
distinct voices
in crowds
of leisurely
wandering cacophony.

deep contentment
if not lasting.
lost in the
shuffle of
desires is every
so often
i was

i was
lucky; i found
all his poems
already bound
up. i had
to force my
eyes open
to hear
everything i felt;
words rushed
i held on.

i was lucky.
how luck is
made from
a willingness
to listen
i still
do not know.

lucky enough
for me,
i was listening
when he spoke.


Inspired by ‘Stranger Country’ by L. Cohen.

you don’t even wanna know…

Posted in afternoon requiem, bumper sticker stories, Dr. Hook, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , on October 30, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

Some people have really important things to do. Luckily, those dumb fucks aren’t me, freeing me up nicely to run off for some indeterminate amount of time in one of those classic frenzies. If it wasn’t fun, I seriously doubt I’d bother, but being both fun and easy is a combination this kid doesn’t pass up. It never fails to amaze me how stringing together alternating periods of existence can create the impression of progress. I’d smoke an extra cigarette to emphasize the point, but as with all good benders, a mysterious phone call with the promise of continuance just rang me down.

With no time to snatch any poetic license now, it just means more later. (Lately, that seems to be the theme. You try so damn hard at times to set up on Baltic Avenue only to end up on one of those yellow, or even green spaces. (Fuck Park Place and Broadway, for reasons hardly needing to be stated.) I’d apologize, but we aren’t there yet, and I’m slow planing into an idea that ends in the same place it started but with a few new stories to tell. Someone asked me where I get my shit from, and the sad truth is that where ever it is, I gotta go back for a while for a refill. Well, oblique is better than no refraction at all. Does that makes sense?

I’d also like to say it would seem Dr. Hook does not translate well. That is OK, except those bastards aren’t even coming to this fucking continent to play. Well, that is a question for Lady Godiva or Acapulco Goldie or Marie Laveau. Get about as much of an answer from them anyway. Go find the poison shop. There is work to be done, and that bastard Trowell keeps poking at me to do something disingenuous. There is a mechanic to see about some engineering questions, but I think I’m OK to ride. Between all of them, daylight is burning and I need to check on the availability of the cosmic dust from the ladies of Cassiopeia. With any kind of luck at all, we are in for it now.

Work, work, work, I know. I feel like I have some responsibility to duck, and you have to go while the getting is good. Right now it’s great to be able to spread out, one way or another, confront the dragons and let the demons in to have some fun. I think I get why people fight those battles alone, but backup has arrived, and it looks like they sent the pro’s from Dover. That’s like a half step ABOVE sending the Wolf. It feels so good to be able to ditch out, if only for a few seconds, minutes, hours, days, whatever. Better get an extra hair tie. This is going to take us all the way to Texas just to confirm what we saw from the Moon.

Off collecting poems. Back later.

personality profile…

Posted in Frank Zappa, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , on October 29, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

personality profile

i read other
poets like an eagle
devours carrion.

they write
of important
matters; they bleed
or cry or cum
or smile or live
or die
over such
important matters.
or famine
or justice (or lack thereof)
or romance
in the look of an
imagined stranger
or spite an unrequited
and that is

the mirror will
explain why i
can’t do that. there
is no grist in that mill;
stars twinkle because
a billion year old beam of light
is bound to flicker
somewhere between
here and there.
explanations are not
cruelty but freedom;
i cannot write of
such large things.

what do you see
when you look out on this
world? do you see
superficial magic
or can you connect
what you’ve been taught
in & out of class
into explanations
of what you see?

i am not deaf to
the beauty of my
own angels sensuality
any more than i can
be blind listening to
Frank Zappa play guitar.
it just isn’t in me
to share that depth
of beauty inherent
in both. this could
be a glorious place
to live;
but it isn’t in me
to write or even
speak of beauty
as more
than a very-

sadder jokes
out there still;
i know of
tears shed in death-camps
all over time & space.
there is enough brutality
& hatred to drive
a man crazy in the face
of such hugeness.
i can’t
destroy enough
of anything
to save anyone.

looking up at a
i can’t affect,
let alone change;
i sit & watch.
eat when you can.
fuck when you can.
love when you can.
cry or shit when you need to,
laugh as much as you can;
i just can’t
write of such
large things.

i can devour
the carrion,
but i can’t create it.


I think I finally understand what Clint Eastwood meant when he said “A man’s got to know his limitations.” (That’s a ‘Magnum Force’ reference, but you get the idea.) I was trying to explain why I can’t do one thing and I did another. Apologies for the length. Just the normal Friday daydreams.

where i’m from…

Posted in Late Night Silence, love n' luck, Poetry, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , on October 25, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

where i’m from

i heard
of pure
high mountain
chains & lived
& cascades.

what i know
is friendly white-
trash romance mixed
into pretensions
of an upper-middle
class child-
hood (such
bullshit terminology)
tells you
everything ’bout
where i’m from.

so there are
& people,
facing opposite
oceans lapping
opposite shores
of the same tectonic

i got my
homemade jean
shorts trapped
’round my hips,
& seven sisters,
all the pleiadians,
(fakery factory
symbolic of middle-
class nothingness)
in my ears.

mountains don’t
usually crash
into each other
fast enough to smush
my two halves
into anything
days i’m fake
white trash &
other days i’m
a bullshit middle class
that means

i can give you
a fair impression
of either.

proven much
but the quantity
of bullshit
is roughly equal
on both sides
of the divide.

we can go anywhere.


Dedicated to my sister cities Ellensburg, WA & Blacksburg, VA. Neither one is home (or where I’m actually from) but both towns made a big imprint on me for reasons having almost nothing to do with geography. Add in a few questions remaining to be answered about my past (at times I know as little as you about that subject) and here we are. Gets me thinking every time.

take it for the team…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Friendship, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , on October 23, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


parked my car
uphill with
a broken-
grinning back
from the emergency break
some of his
teeth are
gone ’cause he
take a punch.

still crusts
corners of his jaw;
now he bares a
brown corn-syrup grin
with my blood
knowing all about
that time i lost
my temper & knocked
his teeth out.

how it happened
doesn’t register
if it ever did.
all the steeper
now require a
to cover his
silent accusation
that it
was all
for nothing.

he’s just
not smart enough
to know
why it wasn’t.
same as every
empty broken
plastic or bone.

jokes on us all…

Posted in Funny Morning Stories, Michael Pollan, Peter Singer, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , on October 23, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


the greatest cosmic
of all time
is that any
choice we make,
where ever &
we make them;
will ever
change our
shared fate.

the second greatest
cosmic joke
is this pile of
corn derivatives
& petroleum distillates
shaped into
a pepperoni pizza.
food is food?
if it ain’t a
Palm steak with
Peter Singer
staring me down,
tastes more
like what it is
than what it isn’t,
& i blame you.


Dedicated to Michael Pollan, author of ‘The Omnivores Dilemma’ which everyone should take a peak at and most should read. I know I’m late to the party on this one, but shit, it was a really good book. And thorough. (yes, that was another lame reference but I’m in a really good mood.)

missing (LGASS part 4)…

Posted in Letting Go At Slow Speed, Poetry with tags , on October 22, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


come closer.
ground to sky &
i can hear
the creek gurgling;
i’m hallucinating
summers afternoon
at midnight.
goosebumps give
away the

come closer.
i pulled
my hat
way down;
either hiding
from the dark
sitting still
in a daylike
night depending
on what
you know.

come closer.
there should
be music
to boil over
but never really
getting there;
artificial light
won’t mask the
gurgling creek.


come closer.
alone in falsely
lit two ayem
silence is no
way to
together. i
could help
you slay
your dragons &
you’d help me
my demons.

i know you can’t
hear me.
i know you won’t
come closer.

you fight alone;

guess i
should do
the same.

i was
askin’ because
i had
to know
for sure.

good luck
to us both.


That took a million damn edits and it still sounds like shit. Don’t care, posting it anyway to get LGASS completed and on to whatever comes next. I’m gonna go watch Casablanca and hopefully dream of Ingrid Bergman in 1942.

fifty-fifty is an unfair proposition…

Posted in De Quincey, Funny Morning Stories, JL Stories, Poetry with tags , , , on October 21, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

wasted again

you know
are going
you say
how good
you feel.

Hadn’t done a JL poem in a long time (only people who’ll know the exact meaning of that phrase are the 3 people who read the now deleted post describing in exquisite detail complete with real names some rather odd circumstance.) Memory fails as always to comply with events actual progression, but nothing new there. That is what it’s all about, after all. (And seriously, nobody got the Buffett reference in that other poem? Wow. The raisin offer is now null and void as I have eaten all the raisins.)

back in blacksburg…

Posted in Friendship, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , on October 21, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

back in blacksburg

it’s cold here tonight.

wasn’t a conversation; but
nice enough
knowing an old friend
is alive & singing
while god plays
guitar. some things
never change &
even when they do,
they don’t.

so much
way back when;
hourly visits with Jeebs &
cooking lessons
(my lasagna is still

baseball ’till those
fuckers on the west
coast put the
last out away.

later, between basement
visits at the t-shirt factory
(probably manned by
robots these days)
& Birmingham rock star
road trips made
another phone call
or letter mean less
than nothing. (i was
always glad that worked
out right for you.)

all-night drive
to florida;
key west is wrecked
& we made it out alive.

distances &
in-between times are
infinitely longer;
doesn’t change
a thing.

there is word
from an old friend;
she’s alive
& on stage.

it ain’t too cold here


For a friend. Inspired by a comment a few days back.


Posted in afternoon requiem, Hysterical Romance, Jingle's Thursday Poet's Rally, Poetry with tags , , , on October 19, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


we ate lunch
with fingers,
lips ‘n tongues;
chewed & swallowed.
afterwords, we split
the check & left.

where are
we gonna go
next? i’m not
sure i trust
me leavin’ it
all up to you.

still not sure
how deep
that part goes.
(doesn’t change a
damn thing)
i’m following you.

any other direction
is only half-
right & mostly
besides, it ain’t
really a choice.

you buried
telephone lines under
my eyes
& fastened
the other end
to your hip pocket.

if my prayers
still kneel
at your altar;
what it is
you’re hearing is
open to question.

really; i admire you.
not often am i this
close to someone who
could ask me to jump off
the GW bridge & get
me to think about it.

i’m almost serious.
you can’t find
a girl
like that
just anytime
or anywhere.


Questions? Yes, the title is a joke. Yes, the poem is over-romanticized and probably over-stylized but that was just to make a point. No, the poem is not about anybody real. We are, after all, talking about hierogamy here. There is also a Buffett reference in the poem. If you can find it I will give you a raisin.

(Submitted for Jingle’s Thursday Poets Rally Week 31.)