Archive for the Music Category

fortuitous timing…

Posted in afternoon requiem, bumper sticker stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Leonard Cohen, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on September 27, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

probably still is

time given over to the past
for momentary subterfuge
on an afternoon shredded to
pieces by the usual assorted
miscreants & vagrant
ideologues fulfilling
all kinds of bloody-nose
fantasies. it’s all the same
to me; i’ve taken worse
(& seen more of it.)

clouds drift across the landscape
trying to cover the holes in
the sky where they usually hang
stars. maybe its too early for
anything but a snort & drag;
petunia fields won’t hold
a candle to the khandahar poppies
but the afternoon grows more
ambivalent all the same.

dotting through violacea,
playing games past tense on shattered
afternoons like a good boy. i
might have grown up a little;
just more likely not.

———————————

Inspired by Leonard Cohen.

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atrocious gambles on short odds…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Ha Ha Funny, Insomnia, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on August 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

fat chance

thinking back & imagining
what it looked like from the
other side of the ocular divide
brought circumscribed attraction
to the fore.

mighta been an atrocious collapse,
barely prevented by slight
variations of entropy rippling out
from anthropocentric principalities,
a lidocaine memory smeared onto
temporal after-effects so
the whole thing lingers
on past closing time & coin
flips.

i’m playing my part with resig-
nation; there is no other
choice. hassling the victorious
would defy terms of peace,
regardless any competing desire
to reassure the faithless.
last of the first hours slip by
between shallow breath &
deep dreams. temporary exhaustion
finds long sought relief from
open eye syndrome between pillow
top mattresses & blankets.

all will move with local-photon
8 minute re-arrival. vitamin d
hangs in the air amongst amended taxes
& remains of mistakes that seemed
partly right at discovery. money-
good doesn’t getcha what it
used to, but it’ll get you enough
as long as a skosh is enough
for a life of plenty.

——————————————

Dedicated to the missing. Dependability is important, but it ain’t the only thing.

too tired to see…

Posted in Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, Laughter, Marisol, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , , on August 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

functional equivalence

marisol was ditching cinnamon
scented elastic in the lake
as i sat in semi-dark listenin’
to the Bandoleros on the jukebox.
rapid succession punctuation played
out from a spool through another
sunset until it was dark enough to
slow down & relax.

our strings sufficiently slack
for another day, i could make out
five or six chord changes as the
Bandoleros moved through recorded
routine. a partially meaningless
progression of changes came close
enough to impregnate the answer
to a misunderstood question. in
the backround i heard a dead
comedian say “you can have it all;
assuming you’ve got a place to
put it.

marisol entered the room cleansed
of elastic hair-ties but carrying
the same cinnamon scent she’d left
with. i wanted to ask her how she’d
separated the scent from the spice;
i just didn’t know how.

average fella…

Posted in Friendship, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Laughter, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

semolina from the heartland

what could be wind or just
6 billion voices condensed
into a breeze swept into
town this morning along with
the sun barely making any effort
to warm the planet on a string.
poets croon about dead trees,
forgetting it’s still summer,
time of growth. i can’t blame
them; they like the metaphor
too much ever to say no. (i
feel much the same about Semolina’s
close cousin.)

i had a minute or two free to
pick off almost healed-scabs
from when i had to prove
a razor was sharp as needed.
now i can breathe into this
morning & see wheat waving
to nobody in particular.

the penny arcade summer made to
last longer in these parts.
thorton & keen at the local joint
telling jokes & singing songs for
the price of a nickel steak,
little white pedro & his friends
on the radio playing games,
typical summer fare. the durum
seeds were planted way back &
we’re two months from harvest.
all of our worries boil down to
phosphorous deficiency. easy
solution to that.

——————————————

You’re welcome Doc. Not that it makes a difference (with nothing lost & all) but I have a really good excuse for disappearing. Damn. I forgot it; I got a mind for shite lately.

marisol reviews the attendent literature…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, Marisol, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travel, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on May 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

someday

expressively styled by time spent
& a little excess.
no plan to follow
& never too many mornings
waking up to your alarm.

one invitation
was enough to get you here;
looking past unexplainable miracles,
fate or destiny, etc.
that kind of thing
never was my specialty,
even in the years
when nothing was as
probable as everything.

there isn’t any rationale: i
forgot to read your words & licking
the hand holding the pen is my
way of speaking to you while
you move around the room.

everything in time. three minutes
after forever, who will know the
prescience of momentary stillness
just before you take me home?
as you assure me you’ll stay
another night we admire
the inside view from the others
mask. even a kiss that
trumps zirconium conversations.
all questions will arrive;
how & when
is anybody’s guess.

quizzical reflections on
pirate princess radio
with just enough static
to remind us of summer trips.
climbing from bed after
a five year daydream with
frequent pause for
cigarette fantasy-fulfillment
moments; the last of the
immortals reminds us that
sometimes forever is just
a really long time.

————————————————

Nice flip-flops. We know the ending already. The fun part is finding out how we get there. So… how do we get there?.

musbeok…

Posted in Funny Morning Stories, Joe Henry, Learning About Life, Music, Poetry with tags , , , , on May 24, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

nice to meet me

after a shortly interminable drive
i let myself outta my car on
beachline & drove off to grab at
clouds floating on the surf
& turtles lodged in the sand.

much as i’d rather stare seaward
& decide on possible surprise endings,
there’s no time because i know
i’m already omphaloskeptic & bloody
to boot. maybe an accident
nobody saw coming?

musbeok;
vagrant screams are absent in
my windpipe. i didn’t bother to
warn me that you gotta
slice the bad bits off yourself
when there ain’t a soul around
to do it for you.

found a sunburned sonofabitch
callin’ himself by my name
waiting for a
ride back from the beach.
took the first chance to go along
& get along, he threw down
with a few bars from his favorite
song. i sang backup
so he could sing lead.

this asshole knew
all the hits. by the time we’d gone from
sand to dirt, we’d hit most of the
majors & even a few of the minors.
like i said;
musbeok.

————————————————————–

Music saves the day. Thanks Mr. Henry, you saved my ass AGAIN. (For someone I will never meet, I owe you a shitload man. Pay it forward, right?). And no, the poem isn’t ABOUT Joe Henry, it’s about something else completely. JH is just my idol.

marisol visits a reclusive poet…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Cigarette, De Quincey, Hysterical Romance, JL Stories, Marisol, Music, Poetry, sex, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , , , on May 3, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

who do you think i am?

dollar cost averaged into
life; with any luck the music
plays for a few seconds longer
than the dance lasts. that
girl with a pin-up smile topped
with a glowing aura is
running a fever &
needs to sleep it off.

i know that kind of smile;
after the gunfight ‘tween
clinton & those gangs i’m
not surprised she was looking
to escape though nothing is
ever entirely accidental. a man
sees what there is to see
& falls for the scruffy hearts’
club mascot. comes with the
territory. ain’t complaining
’bout my good luck today.

my speedball mentality is a paced
logic without precedence; she’s
sugar-fruit falling from a star tree
in a grove hidden from easy view.
i poured the last ounces of sunshine
from my hip flask into a shot for
both of us. midnight flashed into
brilliant afternoon as marisol
clambered down from the sugar
tree. we practiced healing each
other & settled for lowered
fevers without the aches & pains
of separation. anything else
would have been too much to
ask for under the near-perfection
of midnight afternoon.

————————————-

For Marisol. Hope you feel better.