Archive for Monday Poetry Potluck

enjoy the flowers…

Posted in Cigarette, Extreme Spinal Pain, Friendship, Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, Learning About Life, Monday Poetry Potluck, Opinion, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on February 13, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

queen sized bed

usually i gotta pretend i didn’t
hear a thing. cut loose from
warm hands (as such) there’s
no need for pretense. i’ve got
music playing softly, enough
heat to fill a queen size bed
& featherstone smiles imbibed
at an astonishing rate.

whatever this is, i can’t rec-
commend it enough. flight
achieved at little or no cost.
everyone excels at something;
arguments over temporality
ain’t gonna get us anywhere.
some people won’t accept
anything they can’t see with
their own eyes.

more for me.

during a cigarette break
between retro-gestion, a
matching pair of mostly
closed eyes congratulate
each other on dreamless sleep.
sprawled out & fixated on a
blurry spot just out of my field
of vision, not caring about the
fate of the universe because
i’ve beaten back an entire
evening on the only planet
i’ll ever touch.

how much territory must be
conquered before i can form
my own empire? tell me tomo-
row; not even nightmares &
spinal pain could keep me
from a reservation with my
mattress. assuming i can
get off the floor, i’m
puttin’ today in the win
column before it starts.


Bein’ TWTC is the only reason this one made it out. Thought a lot about recent events both here & around the world. Us extraneous folk are listening to music and readying for closed-eye examination of something a muse said about a ridiculous teleological argument that good luck can be quantified. These pieces don’t fit. Wonder where they are supposed to be…?

Inspired by a partially true story with minor changes for dramatic effect. Great license was taken at every opportunity, so consider it more ‘partial’ than ‘true.’ Dedicated to a painted friend who really likes to pull my leg.

enter the fool (part 2)…

Posted in Enter The Fool, Fear, Insomnia, Laughter, Monday Poetry Potluck, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on February 7, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

Part 2

no more apologies

first timer tricks are hiding up sleeves,
or sharin’ pockets with aces n’ deuces.
outside, muffled voices lose themselves
in discussion. talk falls back on current
events; irreducible complexity & six day
exhaustion. in temporary unity raw fear
is surreptitiously replaced with transient
faith in vagabond ponytail philosophy.

days later n; heard i’d been missin’ a while.
only thing i remember are insistent sunset
binges though sunrise turns me on as much
as that beautiful dancer. received wisdom
taken home in a spare pocket highlights
lessons to be learned. even under daytime
starlight i mistake change for progress.

still not sure ’bout what’s lost.


Feels like forever. TWTC & exhausted to boot. That was really bad news yesterday. Guess they can’t all be winners Billy Bob…

enter the fool (part one)…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Enter The Fool, Monday Poetry Potluck, Poetry, Series, sex with tags , , , , , on January 30, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

in defense of the lascivious

most impressive thing i’ve ever
seen was coming across two
parallel lines copulating in a dimly
lit carpark. i was also impressed
by visions of a perpendicular orgasm,
though less so; i know what touch
can do to overtly sensitive skin.

reverse engineered solutions to
such problems require a place
from which to reverse. times call
for baiting more than fresh breath.
a dirty secret spills from an unnamed
orifice. no question he’s lost it;

only if he ever had it.


Sometimes words can do the trick. Even when this proves not to be true, not all of us so quickly disregard tongue. This is part one of a new series of short poems. The last of the Black Smoke Chronicles will be up later this week.

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?

tin angels came out of hiding…

Posted in Bukowski, Insomnia, Monday Poetry Potluck, Poetry with tags , , on December 12, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

sunday’s angels

it had to be sunday.
by the time we’d found
something approaching
consciousness, four days
had been sucked from
the vortex through the black-
hole & out the other side.

indeterminate origins
of a morning like this;
back after 72 hours
as if it was the new normal.
it wasn’t, but
old habits die hard.

new scars give off the
impression that something
happened before brain
caught up with my body.
a dark t-shirt over
& a long sleeve
undershirt hides the
obvious problem,
but we’re gonna need
something stronger to
regain control over
the dominion of the
foggy morning.

this ain’t waiting;
’cause i don’t wait.
pullin’ strings, hoping
something comes
out right. four days come
& gone; hope pinned to
some potent
sunday medicine to
combat whatever’s
going on. fear can be
a great motivator;
so can hope.


Learning the difference between waking up after a nightmare & waking up after a dream is an important skill to master. Same old tricks everywhere. Waking up to a day like this is a mean spirited joke. Fits my cruel sense of humor well.



Inspired by a crazy weekend that still has a ways to go. Thanks for the rescue, I cannot tell you how badly I needed that.

kickbacks & bribery schemes…

Posted in De Quincey, Learning About Life, love n' luck, Monday Poetry Potluck, Poetry with tags , , , , on November 16, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

tryin’ too hard

i’m gonna
reserve my right
to pass out
carte blanche;
fold it in half,
stick it in my pocket
anticipating peripatetic
desperation later.

razor clacking on
mirrors make
too much peculiar
noise; amidst the tiny
hours, gets hard to keep
lines straight;
can’t concentrate, can
barely see.

obviously, rugs sit
convincingly underfoot,
walls never tire of
holding up the roof,
everything is familiar; yet
nonconvertible currency
of memories is worth
anything i got.
some days
they even breathe
on my behalf.

limping larger
circles changes
the scale of
everything &
goes nowhere. i’m
dragging along
half my legs to sounds
of static leakin’
from a broken radio.

waiting on phone calls
long past any
likelihood of triggering
a ring; hiding
in static is a
convenient excuse…
too easy.

air conditioned-silence
is cool;
everything goes
according to plan
even when it doesn’t.
uncomfortable clacking
ceases amidst
exceptionally coincidental
romance. cloudy
moon skies,
beautiful wind.

in my dream,
it’s smooth sailing
for ships at sea &
drivers at night. anticipating
peripatetic desperation,
all is well for now &
must be pressed as
far as it’ll go,
far as we can.
later, when i wake,
i’ll figure the rest
out. nothing new


(second draft, original can be found here) I am of the opinion there is something else trying to elbow it’s way out of this, but I thought it was good enough to post as a second draft in the hope someone can spot anything that doesn’t make sense within the framework of the poem. Well, guess we shall find out. Time for some rainy night errands to Sev’s for Haribo gummi bears & maybe some beef jerky. Submitted to Monday Poetry Potluck. Great people, check out the link on the left to read some great poetry. Truly dedicated poetry community. Good people from all over the poetry blogworld.

BTW – Anyone who lives in Europe or anywhere else where you are lucky enough to get real sugar Haribo as opposed to crappy disgusting corn syrup sweetened gummi products do not know how lucky you are. I was lucky enough to get some as a gift and they were the best gummi candy EVER.)

Plus, Haribo makes like a thousand shapes of gummi candy and they are almost all good. The best however, can be found here: If you can eat five pounds of that and not have your bowels turn into a Spackle factory, then you are a tougher hombre than I.

Well, this is quite the tangent. Oh Thank Heaven ™ I know where I need to go. Good Sev’s has a bunch of flavors/shapes and is open 24 hours, which is great when you need gummi bears at 2 in the morning. I need gummi bears at two hundred hours! (When this turns into an all-nighter, you’ll know why. I did Whups again. Every time…. lol.)