Archive for bumper sticker stories

enticement to momentary adulation…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Funny Morning Stories, History, Laughter, Philosophy, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , on September 9, 2011 by Caribbean Fool


it got easier when i realized
not every problem requires a
solution; substitute ephemera
watchin’ a cherry smoldering
in a soon to be stolen ashtray
straightens out my evening hours
faster than pacing back forth.

holding my breath in a pocket
without a reason while my faithful
incendiary waits on my hand
to descend & bring the smoke
right up to the pearly gates.

neither of us has the countersign
& the wrong one knows our
schedule. sitting one-to-a-booth
with enough time to notice a
high-watermark stain reaching
for the top of a leased coffee cup,
i wonder if any of us are
washed frequently enough to
get any kind of close to clean.

no solution to the moment.
trying to share some sense
of a saving grace during
consultations with all
involved; it’s easier to
pawn off neverending nights
knowing there’s always
another hiding behind

too much going on to worry
about the coffee tasting
like cigarettes. waiting
on an explanation is out of the
question; even a complaint
would take too long. looking
around the booth, around a
mostly empty restaurant, at
a mostly empty pack of
cigarettes wondering what to
do when the last one burns out.


Got a cigarette?

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

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.

directional madness in a pseudo frame…

Posted in afternoon requiem, bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Extreme Spinal Pain, Friendship, Ha Ha Funny, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on July 13, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

blue surfer shorts

slash the mesh &
turn a swimsuit into
shorts. they’ve been with me
ever since,
over a decade for a
five dollar
lifetime commitment.

the burn marks were
once red cigarette cherries
hanging from my red smiling
lips. sometime while driving
they fell & burnt holes in the
synthetic fiber, if not my
skin or subconscious, &
certainly not my dick.

gentlemanly mis-management
espouses cheerful exhaustion.
you gotta get ready for the next
Big Thing. “always ready”
reply the surf-shorts,
“we’ve been here for years.”
some of that smoke-scent still
whispers stories all drunken &


From a comment a few minutes ago. Good thoughts, but down.

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.

holy shit i think he means it…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, FML, Friendship, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry with tags , , , , , on February 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

just picture this

it was gonna be a good weekend.
scammed myself out of reality ’til
snapped back by a dominatrix
who laughed every time i paused
to catch my breath. whole thing
wasn’t without its pleasures, though
i couldn’t tell you what they were
right this minute. imbroglio as a
means of communication is not

short walk on a hot day from scammed
to fucked; i made it without breakin’
a sweat. dumb as fuck tryin’ to win a
race to the bottom but i did it anyway.
turns out that the i.q. test was way off.
got us both a laugh when the lights came
on & one of us was stuck at the beginning.
suspicions abound that ain’t gonna hold out
much longer. turn the switch darlin’.

i turned the radio up & mopped sweat
off my brow i wasn’t even supposed to
have. for the first time in 15 years i know
the score is tied at zero but we’ve got an
entire game still to play. it’s gonna be
a magic weekend; feels like it even before
it gets goin’.


Forced to do something I didn’t want to do was not how I envisioned the day when I came too. We all started fresh and clean at 4 p.m. Accusations of belligerence are settled. Nobody has a thing to prove; all parties can live with it as is. You don’t get that often; I wonder what it means? Well, lace up the thigh highs & lets dance. Can’t disappoint an invisible audience. (Hittin’ me below the belt like that is kinda fucked up.) No matter for now; there’s rumor of glory & someone must purge the remaining items from view. If you want it done right…

Dedicated to Bobby. Being compared to you makes me wanna puke but was as educational as it could be under the circumstances. Sometimes it ain’t the who but the why. Sorry kid, it’s my fault.

things alice said to me…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Funny Morning Stories, Hysterical Romance, Poetry, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , on February 17, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

love poem #357

depreciating in the corner of a local
bar while watching a welcome sight;
beautiful woman with sparklingly lively
eyes who wouldn’t speak to anyone.
she wouldn’t speak to me either,
but i’d a talent for silent conversation
& if she didn’t talk, she didn’t talk
like a descendant princess waiting on a
train to somewhere else.

finding myself somewhere else lookin’
for a friendly face, silently debating how
far i was s’posed to go to find answers
to the questions i’d been told not to ask.
arriving in a wooden barroom, sittin’
down & watching; seeing this figure
say so much without moving a muscle.
the surrealistic dreamsicle scene all
a demure vision while the crowd
mouthed volumeless words to an
instrumental song.

far from home underneath most of the
planet, i’m ready for games but nothing
serious. my kind of flora & fauna grow
without farmers in this alluvial plain &
even if this princess won’t tell me off
or to get lost, it doesn’t mean my
chances are any better than fifty/fifty.

too broke to buy her a drink, i asked her
questions with my eyes & she answered
with her legs. what i wanted was on the
tip of her tongue until i got close enough
to be overwhelmed. whatever was gonna
happen was still to come as she motioned,
smiled & disappeared from view. just my
luck, she didn’t want any words & i had
nothing to give her in exchange for what
she held onto that i wanted badly enough
to do whatever she wanted done.

nothing new here. sated by the idea even
without putting much faith into it. we ain’t
got time for the academics of it all.


Dedicated with love to a few people with whom I crossed paths on the way to a friendly nod. I owe all y’all, even if nobody is really sure if I’m talking about them…or someone else. Tune in tomorrow to find out. TWTC indeed! Inspired by the girl in line in front of me at the super-market. Ah, the people that drift in & out of our consciousness. It is a trip, if nothing else.

quarters & dimes…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Poetry, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , on January 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

12 bucks in quarters & a coupla dimes

even with all this silver sounding
off in my pocket, i still ain’t got
any calls to make. it doesn’t
make any difference; won’t
stop the all-night laughter or
any of those multi-day voyages
stacking up faster than i
can find places to stick ’em.

i’ve gotten better at gettin’ by
on my own. after all, i’m the
sonofabitch looking like a cartoon
character & a personality along for
the ride. such obsessive rambling;
no choice but to find a way.
what else could i be looking
for ‘cept another cartoon?
holy fuck. i think they’re
takin’ me seriously.

finding a way to ignore all
those yesterday salvation
seekers selling bullshit
stories is easy even if it
takes a while; i need time to
properly adapt, & besides,
ya gotta want it.

i know, i know.
bad timing for big questions.
ambition only extends as far as
tryin’ to laugh with all the crazies
at jokes nobody can hear.
madness in cacophony, rain drops
jumping off clouds & i’m
screaming over peals of thunder
“someone pass that fucking plate

i ain’t even close to bein’ done


Written in reaction to something I overheard at the library paying fines on overdue books. How the fuck does that keep happening? Oh well; it was like 15 cents and I took out more than I brought back. Call it a win; they are in short supply and no, you can’t have this one.

aloha one & all…

Posted in Admin Announcements with tags , , , on January 4, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

Too all the kind visitors; thanks for the high hopes & well wishes. I will be gone most of Tuesday on a writing expedition to the beach. If you happen to be in Ocean City, MD and see a poet working on the wintry beach/boardwalk, come over and say aloha.

Depending on a host of factors out of my control, I’m unsure of when I will be back but will try to post some of the poems that come out of the trip tonight in the late late AM. Again, thanks for all the support & encouragement. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it all. Have a good Tuesday,

The Fool.

quite alright…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Hysterical Romance, Poetry with tags , , on January 3, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

rolled again

she accused me of not caring
about anything except
my next breath.
i tried to tell her she was right
but couldn’t stop breathing
long enough to get
the words out.

i wrote it off
to being tired & off my
feed. the easy exit i really
needed was too
much to ask for,
especially right this
second. sudden dizzy spells
& a warbling road
greet me like old friends
with news of some shared

after a few seconds,
the door slammed & i
was alone. didn’t
take but a few minutes
to puzzle out the why & how,
then a few more to
remember it didn’t
matter either way.

when she tells the story
to her friends later,
she’s gonna crucify me.


Ow. My hand hurts. Inspired by ridicule. Thanks for that one. Douche-bag.

reaching for the purple flower…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, Intervention, One Shot Wednesday, Poetry with tags , , , on December 29, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

devil’s bargain

by 11 a.m. the second
day, i think i’m dead.
metaphorically, but let’s
not get allegorical.

it’s torture, those wonderful
nails live just 4 feet from here.
no fucking guarantees, but
then again, even a short inter-
ruption probably can’t hurt; but
then again, no fuckin’ guaran-