Archive for Jingle’s Thursday Poets Rally

help wanted…

Posted in FML, Jingle's Thursday Poet's Rally, love n' luck, Poetry with tags , , , , on December 13, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

help wanted

sunset in december, after
the best part of the day
has flown off to join with
the nebulous past.
questions that began as
wake-up calls have
all been answered &
split the scene. i’m trying
to learn & sleep
at the same time with
varying degrees of success.

i finally figured it out myself
when i couldn’t keep anything
running on schedule. missing
the usual set of trusted hands
in the aftermath of her self-
actualization. usually i’m spot-on
for that kind of thing; musta
missed it when you said you were
leavin’. help wanted or needed.

caught me off guard, to say
the least. you were the best
Ms. Fix-It i’d ever found &
i’m reeling around the room,
trying to say something
that’ll make it all make sense.
gonna be tough to keep
everything running on time,
soaked to the bone in places
& times you’d barely
broken a sweat.

of course,
you were the best.

————————————————–

Dedicated & inspired by another nameless unidentified source. Damn near impossible to convince anyone of anything these days. Well, you try. What else is there? I’m out for a few hours of R & R, desperately deserved. Like Bruce Cockburn says, ‘you pays your money & you takes your chance. Always did like that line. Off to do some good, old fashioned mischief.

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lusting after something to say…

Posted in Admin Announcements, Jingle's Thursday Poet's Rally, Learning About Life, Poetry, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , on November 18, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

writer’s cockblock

i gotta ask
if anyone in
possession
of any of
those wilder
strains of genius
ever left behind
instructions about
what-to-do
when the path
disappears &
it’s desert in
every direction.
(even going
backwards didn’t
work.)

as near as
icantell;
.
.
.
no.
they
have
not.

sorry,
brothers & sisters;
i think
sometimes
the only solution
is gettin’
unfucked.

i can’t explain
how & why;
none of those
asylum-seekers
amongst us
ever said
anything about
voices
falling
silent.

those fuckers.

laughter
also helps.

———————————————————

Dedicated to anyone suffering from writers block. Cure is different for everybody which is bad news for the self-help crowd. That’s okay by me; just part of what makes finding IT so alternatively exhilarating and frustrating depending upon how you go about the search. I can’t offer any solutions, but I sympathize with those looking to break free. However you might measure wisdom, it usually doesn’t help when both the answer and question are unknown.

Good luck to all, plus, you know, once-a-writer-always-a-writer, so long term we should all be fine. Don’t be so myopic.

Also, TFBP just passed 9K hits. All of us here at Foolish Consolidated Poetic Industries thank anyone who has read anything posted. Sooner or later the planned domain name change will get going after being somewhat lost in the wreckage. Anyhow, all readers are very much appreciated. The march to 100K continues apace. (‘Cause you have to have goals, or so I’m told. I don’t really believe that part. “Hahaha” laughed the silent partner.)

hierogamy…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Hysterical Romance, Jingle's Thursday Poet's Rally, Poetry with tags , , , on October 19, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

hierogamy

we ate lunch
with fingers,
lips ‘n tongues;
chewed & swallowed.
afterwords, we split
the check & left.

where are
we gonna go
next? i’m not
sure i trust
me leavin’ it
all up to you.

still not sure
how deep
that part goes.
(doesn’t change a
damn thing)
i’m following you.

any other direction
is only half-
right & mostly
half-wrong.
besides, it ain’t
really a choice.

you buried
telephone lines under
my eyes
& fastened
the other end
to your hip pocket.

if my prayers
still kneel
at your altar;
what it is
you’re hearing is
open to question.

really; i admire you.
not often am i this
close to someone who
could ask me to jump off
the GW bridge & get
me to think about it.

i’m almost serious.
you can’t find
a girl
like that
just anytime
or anywhere.

——————————————————————-

Questions? Yes, the title is a joke. Yes, the poem is over-romanticized and probably over-stylized but that was just to make a point. No, the poem is not about anybody real. We are, after all, talking about hierogamy here. There is also a Buffett reference in the poem. If you can find it I will give you a raisin.

(Submitted for Jingle’s Thursday Poets Rally Week 31.)

Re-Post for Jingle’s Thursday Poets Rally

Posted in Jingle's Thursday Poet's Rally, Poetry, Scott Kirby with tags , , on September 22, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN/POSTED May 5th, 2010 LINK

Re-posting for Jingle’s Thursday Poet’s Rally
—————————————————————–

holler down

just after three and i’m beyond
caring how good i feel. tying
a stranger’s glove around
my throat, tightly wound makes
breathing difficult, but what should
i expect in this swamp? all by my own
volition chained to hand grenades
swapping vertical for horizontal.
certainly movement;
by now uncontrolled.

i finished kicking around purgatory
in the flash of an off chance phone call.
planned meetings and such,
exchanges. the execution of business.
finally something i know how to do.
today we’re in the business
of feeling better, avoiding
citi bank in the clouds
and pigs on the streets. i swear,
i hadn’t any clue
it would be so simple.
only the logic of De Quincey
is to blame.

acidic aftertaste aside, there’s cuban music
like Scott Kirby heard on his teak-boat trip
for purposes of mood. shifty light,
flashing LED’s, textures for feeling
sentience and invincibility. no need
for a “next move.” this one’s
doing fine by me.

i rescued my friend from behind
thick glass via a strangers
cool grasp. liberation from Descartes
feeding synergy within the experience.
i found a savior because i needed to;
extrapolate the afternoon search for meaning
based on that.

later on i’ll shuffle back
to the sunlight & watch
shadows dance on asphalt.
if the show ain’t inside,
by process of elimination,
it’s gotta be outside.
happiness is such simplicity.
even afternoon saviors
arrive in small bottles.
reinforcements turned the tide.
simple as that.