Archive for the love n’ luck Category

marisol gathers dead flowers…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, love n' luck, Marisol, Poetry, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , on November 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“waiting on marisol to return”

omphaloskepsis & marisol is gone.
yesterday i watched her gather
rose petals from flowers i’d
gotten her into a bowl before
placing the bowl on the center
of the table, disembodied flowers
& all. an occasional blast of wind
knocks petals from the bowl,
bleeding marisol’s work over the table
to the surrounding floor.

while she’s gone i’ve gathered
flower petals every time the door
opened, refilling the centerpiece
so she won’t see a single petal on
the floor.

when she returns the room will
have that cheerfulness that is mostly
her & some of me. i haven’t waited
for a first glimpse in years;
i’d sell my soul for a footstep
as long as it ain’t one of mine.

internal arguments against
predestination say we’re
together by choice; easily
enough everything else
flows from there. when she’s
out wandering i can still hear
her verbalizing action & close
proximity.

marisol will soon return to this
rose-petaled home. exaggerated
separation ain’t really her thing;
not with so many flower petals
waiting on her to arrive.

—————————-

I’d explain, but there seems no reason to stick my foot in my mouth again. Written for an audience of one. She’s very important to me.

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down to the bone…

Posted in Learning About Life, love n' luck, Poetry, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , on October 22, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

tendons of a feather

lost the last bits of clarity
of purpose (as intended)
by the skin of luck & forest
blocked light. trees ringing
a lighthouse aren’t
inspired to greater heights;
nothing could be further from
the truth.

samples of atmosphere are puked
onto t-shirts & bumper stickers
sold at discount shit shops
littering beach roads everywhere.
what do they sell in oklahoma?
i’ve never been there & now is
no time to start.

enough hurricanes for any
coastline; too much knowing
after every bad decision comes
a cock-up redemption attempt
boiling down to the desire
toward continued existence.
all tied together like that,
it’s hard to believe
we were ever separate to
begin with.

——————————

Thoughts on comings & goings. Always one or the other it seems.

marisol drives me home…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, love n' luck, Marisol, Poetry, Series with tags , , , on September 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

marisol drives me home

upside down after clock-hands
swap spots; the usual timing
of the extreme, all at once,
all the time.

the ice cream melting in the
streets of fire, where the last
guitar string vibrates to infinity.
last years hits play out on
the road to electronic bliss. i
can handle defeats of the past,
leaving them gutted & bleeding
on some distant corner where
they belong.

marisol smiles in the patches
of sun unbound by shadows & unlocked
forever from confined destiny.
road, field, stream & meadow confer
an early indulgence of raucous
laughter. we brace our claims in
the mirror, each other, ourselves,
all in the same gesture. slipping
inside all i feel is the ride home.

she asks over & over
“is this your definition of love?
do we come in pairs?”

i’m not privy to an answer
to the hip thrust questions.
words are less than useless &
i’m answering in the dark
without knowing what my face
looks like.

people in other cars are heading
home, music plays & all the lights
seep ink or paint or blood to
color the tracks of tires all
heading in the same direction.

infatuation with our infrastructure
leaks out over a parking spot
close enough to the front door.
we almost touch, then we do.
our magnets are cleaner than
our hands. we’re tangled hair on
the pillow when we’re rising
with the sun. the hands
on the clock move again.

——————————————-

For Marisol. I wish I could tell you what it all means beyond the light, but these are words, not flashlights.

marisol dreams & i dream too…

Posted in Cigarette, Friendship, Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, love n' luck, Marisol, Poetry with tags , , , , , , on August 30, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

intensity under marisols constellation

without a need for explanation,
i could already identify a
strange certainty that we’d already
traveled deeper into this dream-
laden evening than the clock would
say or the calendar could prove.
pasting 150 nights to the ceiling
only strengthens my desire
to paste 151 on the same
canvas. marisol simultaneously
shines & reflects her dreams;
i hold on to my front row seat
with no intention of ever
letting go.

assigning numbers to such evening hours
would only distract from
the dreamer & dream. her deep
respirations rhythmically assure
me of a dream i come closest
to fulfilling only when awakened
amidst her light of day with our
familiar moment of recognition.

not even the shaking ground
beneath our feet under threat
of worsening wind & rain,
there is a quiet heartbeat
reminder of a dream, a face,
a voice.

marisol perfects her smile
sleeping off the after-effects of
accidental indifference to
sensational connection. it
keeps us breathing each others air
until we light mismatched cigarettes,
admiring the reddish glow reflected
in each others eyes under our post-
sunset skyscape.

————————————-

Sometimes I dream of you when I’m awake. We’ve been a long time coming darling & you are everything I imagined you to be.

poetry in richmond…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Friendship, Hysterical Romance, JL Stories, Learning About Life, love n' luck, Lyrics, Marisol, Poetry, travelogue, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , , on July 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

poetry in richmond

if what’s being said is true,
luck don’t mean a damn thing &
we can all go home & kiss our
girls. background singers cross
into frame for a few bars
then disappear as the kettle drum
leads us all to desired wisdom.

i can’t help but follow along;
there’s nothing to drink but
the mob knows thirst better than
anything at all.

synthetics are taking a beating
across the board. everyone is
screaming for the real deal &
pulling in three different
directions. i lost my bead on
the kettle drummer so i follow
the crowd. by the time i’ve
reached a dead end, it’s too
late to appreciate anything
but ‘classical gas’ coming
through the speakers &
the beautiful girl learning to
daydream once more in my bed.

looking down at my own claw
marks, i can only wonder about
marisol. deep scratches
taken during the bear
rush, there wasn’t any time
to think. the “i love you’s”
were spoken in the dark before
collapse. dreamed we were
closer than ever; saw myself
through her eyes.

——————————————-

Something a little different this new morning. “Classical Gas” is a reference to the song by Mason Williams, so please don’t sue me Mr. Williams. It’s like they say… volatile, but kind. Love you everyone. Just do.

marisol goes to the beach…

Posted in Early Morning Silence, Hysterical Romance, love n' luck, Marisol, Poetry, sex, travel, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , on June 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

shadows on the sand

shadow photograph

quick serve pink-berry smoothie
on a spring evening trying
like hell to be summer afternoon.
speedball winds blow hair past
eyes until the sky cleared in a
equatorial tribute to
blue crystalline.

it ain’t exactly our secret if
everybody knows; pushing past
your front gate while you claw
at my back only gets us so far.
pushed forward by every
treasured gust of breath leaking
pressure from under the sky;
lack of laid path doesn’t still
our footsteps, four across.

shadows result from interception
of sunlight by the mass of
our bodies. on sand pictures
won’t give up any ghostly
figures traced on shore; it will
catch them in the shutter
speed of a certain instant when
our hands touched while walking
dunes under the clearest
of skies.

———————————

For Marisol. Thinking back to the beach will always be where you can find me.

more than 48…

Posted in Cigarette, Descartes, Hysterical Romance, Insomnia, Late Night Silence, love n' luck, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on May 21, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

more than 48

it was only our 56th day & i knew
i’d hurt her by chance as well
as i knew she’d never admit feeling any
pain. we’re too far gone for any kindness
to soften the harder edges of what
used to be; i’m already bleeding
at the edge of tears knowing i let
a princess down.

i couldn’t take her where we shoulda
been; my car wouldn’t start & i for-
got my wallet in the coldest bedroom,
collecting silence like souvenirs,
(poems are free to the public)
i can’t sleep on this lonely night.

i told the mirror it was bad luck &
piss-poor timing. i shaved off more
than 48 hours of stubble at 3 a.m.
lookin’ for a smile that had disappeared
hoping it would dramatically reveal itself.
i ain’t angry, just disappointed in a
smile i couldn’t coax out of hiding.
been more than 48 hours on high alert,

she has no interest in Cartesian
dilemmas, even if she worries about
it without knowing what she’s worried
about. forget that fucking Gordian
knot; whether alex cut through it
or not, 56 days have passed & the sun
shines down as the earth rotates. all
that’s wrecked will be fixed with
sleep & the days last cigarette
smoked down to the nub.

———————————————————–

Thomas Paine once wrote “These are the times that try mens souls.” I’d always taken him at his word, but lately it would seem to be far more of a metaphysical than metaphorical comment on the trials of life. Ah well, you do the best you can & hope for the best, just like everything else in life. Off to bed; two days in a row is a real killer & tomorrow is already here…