Archive for the travelogue Category

we ain’t the good guys…

Posted in Fear, Friendship, History, Insomnia, Learning About Life, Never Been, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travelogue with tags , , , , , , on July 13, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

rumor, perception & reaction

must be something ’bout
the kind of folk collecting as
whispers tolls under bridges
& the plans of outlaws running from
trumped-up charges accruing at
a daily rate. the music is okay,
even with their judgment for shite;
all the guts to follow the
story spilling out on floorboards
shot with holes that usually let
light-beams from stars through
since the ceiling fell in.

not much time to wonder when
bullets are flying over
telephone lines until i
strap on kevlar just so i can
let it ring. might-have-been
tourniquet solutions superate
between feasibility studies passed
along to unseen eyes. so rarely
a study in beauty,
the questions never asked,
another fuckin’ street-side

safe path is to agree that bore-hole
flooring below the flaming telephone
lines & a joke gone wrong are no
place to hide. the sensorialists
will have a field day with the real-
life research; the possibilities are


For those situations that spiral rapidly out of control due to over-reaction. As always, there is a reason it’s called a ‘passion play.’ Quo vadis?

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.

take it…

Posted in afternoon requiem, bumper sticker stories, Fear, Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Learning About Life, Poetry, travel, travelogue with tags , , , , , , on June 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

take it

day-night express runs a few times
before a leftover roustabout from the
deep-sleep detox crew rises & shines.
taste the sanity before tidal flows
rush out; another dirty t-shirt
hoping to rise clean, washed out
anywhere but here.

wind & water conspire under a
brimming horizon. gunfighter sun
peeks over the forest line off
in the distance. nobody shoots back
& the planet spins & occasionally
wobbles while gunfighter sun
stands taller & taller. it’s
like that all over the planet;
happens in reverse too.

i want whatever that guy in the
mirror has. he doesn’t need it
like i do. he takes the hit,
same as me, but i swear he’s
forever getting more out of it
than i can take in at once. he
doesn’t need it like i do.


little syd’s v & o is still on sale!.!.!.

Posted in Cigarette, Friendship, Ha Ha Funny, History, Poetry, travelogue with tags , , , on May 13, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

party for one

it’s fair because i ain’t
gonna know what happened
when i wake up tomorrow morn.
playing stakes high tits-up
eyes closed always goes
about the same; drink until
lil’ syd gets me warm & pass
the shaver. there’s work
to be done & a lot to get
through. i can take this
one down myself.

i don’t have to play pretend.
all my flags are whipping
in high winds as day rotates
into night, as always. first
lick of the inner warmth of
orange malt keeps me coming
back for more,
just like it used to be. even
the cigars taste like wine. coming
& going’s of the rest of the
world keep fooling the fool;
of course it’s a shock when
truth comes clean.
i’ll get over it.

half drunk for the first time since
last time is only coming home
again if you live in a shit-pile.
i just drive mine under the speed
-limit in the left lane. do whatever
you think you can. i’ve got
physics on my side & going through
me will never work.

music too loud & i’m too drunk
to care. whatever else i was
chasing with orange drank is
forgotten in the clouds of
lemon-smoke descending across
the apartment. last i heard,
everything will be all right
tomorrow: that’s less than a half
hour away. i feel i can make
it then die laughing at myself
trying to live up to a
self-administered nickname.


I was so excited to see that big orange bottle staring me down that I barely noticed the price had quadrupled since HS. Amazing what 15 years will do. A toast to the man of the hour; he will ALWAYS be a better man than I, & I look up to him now more than ever. That he can’t be here to reminisce doesn’t mean any of those days are forgotten. Between the good man and the wise man, it really doesn’t leave nearly the mystery you’d think my existence would represent.

never been…

Posted in Poetry, travel, travelogue with tags , , on March 24, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

never been

i’m hearing words from afar, music,
accents on voices licking wedges
of lemon rind. i can’t understand
a thing as the lemon wedge voices
tell limeade stories.

exasperating breathless gestures
finally break through a mocha haze.
mango-banana hands a better value
than my cherry cola tongue. apple-
eyes hanging out above over
coconut grins roll bones around a
circle of lemon-headed devotees.

the song goes on above it all; refrain,
stanza, lyric, instrumentation. newly
remastered identity as a cherry lime
rickey gets me past the pomegranate
guard but i ain’t asking questions here.
music kept loud enough to drown
out papaya dreams i’d yet to dream
about an unrecognizable pineapple
girl i’d never met.

fruit punch schedule kept on the
back pages of a calendar keeps
everything moving. natural sugar
existence annotated by meetups,
events, concerts, tickets, sunday
morning coffee & paper over butter

lemon-heads circle up & the cycle
begins again. been here before,
never been so glad to be back,
cherry cola tongue intact.

instructions from the setting sun…

Posted in Laughter, love n' luck, Monday Poetry Potluck, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travel, travelogue with tags , , , , , on January 23, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

instructions from the setting sun

i swapped part of my hard won sassafras
luck for one green flash salute to the sun
as it faded from view. transfixed under
splendid emerald refractions, i wandered the
market picking through variously flavored
evening-hour solutions priced to move.

sunset argued convincingly for an immediate
administration of unconstrained-salvation. a
visiting pharmacotherapist told me to “take
what ya get.” he didn’t need to tell me twice.
background scenery changed before my eyes
& behind my back. waking up home in bed was
an expectation fulfilled after that long
conversation with the recently departed sun.

homegrown early-morning hallucinations say
i’m late to hit the road. reports of barricades
blocking sections of pavement between here
& there are yet to be confirmed, but i’ve got
faith in detours. just to be safe, i changed the
setting from ‘innocent-angel’ to ‘easy-wicked’
before gettin’ too far down to give a rational
explanation to any of the uninitiated that might
be waitin’ on me along the way.

good reason to take extra time on prep-work;
small talk banter bordering on gibberish won’t
help matters with a schedule to keep. detailed
instructions from the neighborhood star offers
part of an explanation & a promise to return soon.
another sassafras exchange gets me everything
i need assembled for travel. seven tins of madness,
gasoline & a day-ending emerald flash in the sky.

in a few breaths i’ll wake up somewhere else,
wondering where the fuck i am n’ how i got
there while trying to figure out the fastest way
back to Cayo Hueso. i’ve always wanted to see
that green flash when the sun starts playin’ a
half game of hide & seek behind the horizon.


Dedicated to the city of Key West. CoB,O may be long dead and gone but the spirit of Marvin Gardens lives on. Anyone going to MoTM 2011?

abrogated insanity…

Posted in JL Stories, Late Night Silence, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travelogue with tags , , , on December 9, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

transitory reality

after spending 24
hours earning back
my scars through chance
& bad luck, it was
obviously time to
reconsider such
repetitive vagaries.

laughing next to
a space-heater
making all kinds of
promises about
future warmth. i
brushed the
knots out of my
hair & smoked the
days last cigarette.

insanity is just
repetition. this?
this is time spent
on carefully considered
profundities, all
else being equal.

besides; the day
coulda been worse.
easily convinced
by such supple smoke,
i’m almost ready to
believe tomorrow can only
get better. insanity is
repetition you know.


The flip side of laughter being the best medicine. By now my sense of humor is seriously skewed toward dick & fart jokes; well, that and laughing about the irony of chronicling the entire day with something less than total veracity. Gives me something to shoot for tomorrow, maybe even the feeling of progress. So said the girl at the register, and who am I to doubt the 7/11 chick?

travelogue in the afternoon…

Posted in Bill Bryson, J. Maarten Troost, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travelogue with tags , , , , on November 23, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

travelogue in the afternoon

it’s hot inside,
& the only thing
worth stabbing is a
dying cigarette
against the bottom of
a mostly empty ashtray.
i’m watching gray clouds
through the window
take on the color of
cigarette ash: mimicry
across the sky.

spread out amidst
such expansive days,
watching the world
go by in scenes of intense
frenzy with nowhere
to go & nothing
to do. i’d kill to sit
under flickering
lights in some
dingy hotel room
by the beach or
for a lungful
of beach wind;
daydreaming only
gets you so close.

“look at me” says
a memorized voice.
nothing important,
another puzzle piece
fragment already
forgotten moments later.
i’m looking towards
waves lapping cars
in the parking lot
wishing for palm
frond shadows
on sand instead of
dry asphalt capped
under low slate

by the time sounds
of thunder
rip me from
oceanic daydreams,
ashed out skies
begin to spit upon
the car park.
i abandon my window
post as rain
voyeur so i can feel
the raindrops fall. if this
is as close as i’ll
get to wave & tide,
may as well grab
for the replica. i’d
wanted waterfront
this must be it.


Listening to Joe Henry and watching the clouds build towards rain was salvation personified. (Shit, how many times can anyone say that?) It is possible to miss the ocean for the raindrops, as if density was the sole measure of success when it comes to water. Are there any Caribbean islands looking for poets? (It worked for Daniel Wilson, though not for a Caribbean island, rather for Kiribati in the South Pacific. Lucky SOB. (If you haven’t read ‘The Sex Lives of Cannibals’ or ‘Getting Stoned With Savages’ by J Maarten Troost, do yourself a favor and check them out. Both great travel stories and tremendously funny to boot. Is he as good as Bill Bryson? Just as entertaining, but hasn’t written as many books. Besides, Bryson is everywhere. ‘Notes From A Small Island’ is awesome and made me want to hike England until I remembered I was crippled. Anyhow, both are great writers and if you like snarky travelogues, you’ll dig either one. I’m going out to play in the rain, you should come too.