Archive for Early Morning Silence

9 a.m. wakeup call…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, Extreme Spinal Pain, Funny Morning Stories, JL Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry with tags , , , , , on September 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

sewer-diving

is it cliche to watch a
strange woman dive into a sewer
& rise up with diamond watches
on both wrists? i don’t know
enough to judge the scene
as anything except more of
the ludicrous mixture of
luck, doctor-drugs & realizing
somebody has to win.

besides, they can’t all make you
sick when morning arrives
with kanna colored glasses making
everything appear safe as
sepia; no sharp edges or
sudden turns. bounds of the maze
all go to the same place, just
a more tortured meaning of path.

of course it ends the way it begins.
no respectable artist would
ever make any other choice.

demolition & recovery…

Posted in JL Stories, Learning About Life, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , on August 4, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

clear cut leftovers

i need the sensorialist to
drop by & reteach those lessons
on how to duck the alternating
flame of time, future &
past & especially present.
with the phones shut down,
it’s getting difficult to reach
out & touch the right someone;
course membership used to have
its privileges.

lacking instruction in regards
to disintegrated fortunes,
the rebuilding phase can begin.
first step being the easiest
(only for a sense of accomplishment)
& by some manner of luck or
maybe inconsequential coincidence
the adherent sensorialist shows
up with a plan. today he’s
dressed a little like travis bickle
except for a peace sign on his
belt & no mohawk. soon he’ll
talk; for the first few minutes
of silence, he just listens.

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.

as the dragonfly…

Posted in Early Morning Silence, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, Learning About Life, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travel with tags , , , , , on June 30, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

vocal mix

there was old advice
playing on the stereo &
leaking out through
summer-set windows
while i was staring at
waters edge, watching
wannabe frogs get eaten
before they’re any use
to a french chef.

waking up off-schedule,
a broken-memory late-
night scene loses hold to
a new world, slightly
leftward of historical
precedent. catching as
catch-can, drowsy dragon-
fly can’t fly straight
during the month-long
drought when words
failed to show. slightly
certain mythology comes-
to-life in supplication.

old advice assuages a
symptomatic mind from the
underlying condition. at
best it’s good enough to
try & touch any immortals
happening to walk by.
happenstance counts as
much as controlled sub-
stances these days.

—————————-

thinking of the time…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, JL Stories, Learning About Life, Opinion, Poetry with tags , , , , , on June 22, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“playin’ possum”

lightning threatened,
steeped behind furnace quality
heat. i was
sweating serrated ninja stars
& scared of what probably
wouldn’t happen post flood,
music & all.

normality is an everyday
commitment. well
intentioned cloud cover
joins us on the surface of
the sphere; important pitches
will be thrown, just not
the kind that’ll put the game
out of reach one way
or the other.
not yet anyway.

i haven’t got any proper
identification & nobody
believes a word i say.
metaphysical capitalism turns
all the stories about ridin’ the
pine into something fiercely heroic
& occasionally beautiful.
the whole picture is one of
disillusionment with aesthetics.

feed the prayers to the
hungry, divine the water
from the rock; following along
a shoreline half of something
& partially somewhere else,
the only constant is my repetitious
drags on cigarettes that all
taste the same & arrive in
the same box.

sometimes the smoke makes
pictures in the wind. some-
times not, & it dissipates easily
either way. free agent
destiny inks a secret deal;
somehow we raised up with
all the righteousness we could
assemble & smiled under weak light
from a cigarette lighter giving
everything it had to pass
along the flame.

it was time to move.

———————————————–

Just something I’ve been toying with for a while. More later, for now off to impersonate Nick Drake & see where the day takes me. I would guess big box store, but there is always hope. To the cigarette man, and of course mt

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.

maybe i was there?.?.?.

Posted in Early Morning Silence, Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, Learning About Life, Loveable Losers, Philosophy, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , , on June 5, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

one ’till seven

deep elementary like artificial
amethyst crystal. strange vowel
combination’s identify a prime
possibility of speaking all the
right words with letters all wrong
& oddly pronounced.

put all my cash into something
i’d thought you’d say only to
hear back that you’d already spoken;
if we knew where darkness ended
i’d tell everyone i figured out
where the light began. lapsed
dualism is an aristocratic belief,
the rest of us know it’s just easy.
around here, that’s the same as
being done.

—————————————–

Before anyone asks, it’s about getting older, dumber, & stranger as the days drift by while the answer you seek seems to continually drift farther away in time, space, and locality. It’s not even close to fair, but then, what is these days? Enjoy the laughter, it sounds so much more real than the tears. Wonder if that holds true down the line? Que sara, sara…

quasar the vermillion dust (part 1)…

Posted in Poetry, Quasar The Vermillion Dust, Series, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , , , on May 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“as in as was”

knife & a candle or maybe
a bic lighter glowing or
causing the glow. i gave up
trying to figure it out a long
time ago & you should too.
even if i had a dorsal fin
& sharp teeth & cruised
the beach looking for dinner
(as is said by some)
i doubt you’d get more than
a groan from the piss-puddle
jumpers. what can you say
but tough crowd?

fins & teeth to the side; i’m
hungry but for the moment
i’m settling down to listen to
JH trying to crawl out of Wain-
wrights Strange Weirdos. yeah,
symbolism & all that is a
regular motherfucker these days;
tell me all about it.

i’d chat more with the mirror,
but like i said, i’m hungry &
the line gets longer while we
talk. supersonically staying in
one place won’t get me there
any faster. i’m not sure if that
growl was from stomach or eyes,
so far past equivalency of
the moment.

i’ll chew, lick & swallow until
satiation. same as always,
at least when asked.

———————————————————

New series using coincidence as a thematic property. No new form, just irony as it shows itself to me while I wander. Hope you might enjoy it.

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…

happy holidays y’all…

Posted in Admin Announcements, Early Morning Silence, Friendship, Funny Morning Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , , , on April 20, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

a general good morning

i’m not here to compete
with anyone over anything.
why bother? i’d rather be
playing swing-set games
past my expiration date
whenever it’s time to grow
up or find something else
to do for kicks.

one too many early hour slap-
dash pinners seeking a kind
effect; pulling a knife & spiking
my own punchbowl with bad
luck & proclivities for soft
baked pretzels knotted into
unpretzel shapes already
smoldering in the oven.

aces flick-a-trick brings a
little light into the room. temper-
ate zone behavior because
everything is different when
i can see it all laid out in
front of me; a toy map to
practice on where i can
fuck it all up without any
repercussion. my eyes are
half-open & i can kinda see.

plungers already done yeoman
work pushing the night past
another day. since i’m not
wearing black until damn good
& ready, i can pretend master
peri-sensibility like i had class,
like i was going to rick’s to
drink with sasha, dreaming of
a future whose most notable
quality is recognizability to
the past. everyone lives here
now-a-days…

we don’t always throw
bricks at windows &
each other; ya
gotta save something
for special occasions.

——————————–

Inspired by my poet friends. I’d list out y’all but there are too many, and besides, who inspired what line matters only to the rail-thin set of razor’s darlings. We, not being they, do not concern ourselves with such things. I’ve been missing in action for a while, for which I apologize to anyone who has read this poetry blog & deserves a visit back. I’d make a claim of irresponsibility, but you knew that already.

Special thanks to the 10th Muse (way better of a poet than #’s 9 or 11) for my first opportunity to read live (in public no less) Friday, April 22nd in Richmond. Go read her kick ass poetry @ Arspoetica and if you find yourself in Richmond, VA this Friday, look it up. I guess I should get new earrings.