Archive for Reader Requests

fighting for air…

Posted in Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, Learning About Life, Loveable Losers, Poetry, Reader Requests with tags , , , , , , , on September 26, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

scratch of razor-claw on a concrete wall

i gave up waiting for the
temperature to melt through
my steel belt & sprinted off
into the densiflora instead.
long live pedicularis the ranger;
he holds the antidote to
purple evenings shaded blood red
where hooks & sharpened metal bits
play the part of judge & executioner
without a second thought. i
never sat on the suicide bed myself,
but i’ve heard strange rumblings
that the world is going to end.
i don’t buy it.

the bears may hold the
reign of temporary control;
i’ll give it time knowing
there is every chance the next
knock on the door will bring
a strange face with bonafide
ideas mated to the red-hot end
of blunted stick. i’ll probably get
the point sometime after it ends;
exit stage left.

i touched the razor-wire to see what
it felt like. not
sure if there’s an explanation for
such repetitious experimentation.

————————————–

(authors note)

It takes so little to refill my faith in the great microphone of indeterministic decency. Tangible evidence was the only thing that could save the moment. Thank you. You’ll never know what it’s worth to me. Next refill is on me.

one paper dragon…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Friendship, JL Stories, Laughter, Poetry, Reader Requests, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on March 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

kelly talks paper dragons

green flakes grace her dandelion
invitations & kelly is talkin’ paper
dragons for both of us. purple tails
extend out from apatosaur bodies
with fire streaming from wide spread
jaws. in between all of it is a mink-
pelt spread over a concrete floor.
her conversational warmth speaks
to fervent desire for words, motions,
actions, etc.

minutes pass, tone strengthens into
trust & we talk back of the envelope
calculations. dusky eastern sunlight
is caught in the moment of a smoked
mirror sleight of hand. still no easy
answer; she speaks in disappearing ink
while i miss most of her words looking
for a pen.

smoke extracted from dragons breath
moves through a glass tube for delivery
into a speedball-galactic kind of scene.
details blur & gravitationally bound light
disrupts all of the conventional wisdom.
amidst degraded perception in the dark,
kelly doesn’t know i only wanted to see
the paper dragon; other questions follow
illogical paths to fulfillment of curiosity.

kelly pushes past my questions en route
to closed door territory. i’ve cut myself
too many times on occams fucking blade
to accept anything but re-stitched skin
holding back blood, guts & obvious
answers. somewhere past faith i’d give up
whatever she wanted to tell her
straight up i was lodged in my pocket
& beauty like that wasn’t looking for me.
“you had your reasons but i’ve seen
too many mirrors to accept it prima facie.”

kelly still talks paper dragons while
i have laughter to give away. until she
clues me in, my offer stands. chasing
down a dragon requires backup. gotta
remind her this kid has no excuse for
putting on his most insouciant eyes,
kicking open the door & maybe
gettin’ kelly to talk ’bout some-
thing else. kelly is talkin’ paper
dragons & i wanna know why.

———————————–

Buena suerte you dragon chasers. We will find what we are looking for, regardless of the grist required for the mill. Still, everyone has questions. Not everyone has answers. Dedicated to a friend who asked for a poem. Voila! & sorry I’ve been losing it lately.

you comin’ in?.?.?.

Posted in Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Learning About Life, Music, Poetry, Reader Requests, sex, TWTC with tags , , , , , on December 30, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

standard font

i walked a million miles
waiting on someone
to ask me a
damn question i
couldn’t answer.

most of my tangled
history is whatever
it is, but there’s
no answer when i ring
that bell. no more
scrap-books here.

i’m smilin’ heavy,
cause usually it’s
recognized for what it
ain’t; my stereotypical
freak-out along
checkout counters
at a local porn shop.

girl at the counter
seems smart.
first impressions, right?

“hey darlin’ you
got tomorrow off
& wanna come along
with me? i can show
what i know,
if you’ll ask that
question & lemme
see your puzzle piece.

ask that question,
ring that bell, tell
me this ain’t more than
the tip of blinding
sun-style over substance.

i’ll play fox
or hound; don’t
really matter. it’s all some
fantasy of perfection ‘tll
masks fall off. ask that
question & make ’em
fall
for
you & me.

catch me curious,
you don’t have to wait;
doors are locked so
jump the fuckin’ gate.

——————————————————-

For LBTL on what I can only call a dare. Gimme something else, I like this game. Late night hijinks used to be my best face. I can usually get the girl at the counter to blush; can you throw a smile across a room? What a cynical question; of course you can. Inspired by 2 chance conversations with the girl who works the counter at MVC Late Night Video. She said she was impossible to live with and I thought otherwise and told her so. There are some fascinating folk out there.

Dedicated to someone long gone from my world but still in my heart whenever Stabbing Westward comes on. “Yup yup, fuck Mandy.” She was crazy and fuck me do I love crazy. (no, nobody will understand that quote ‘cept my brother in arms, and he’s not reading yet.)

the cigarette edition…

Posted in Cigarette, Opinion, Poetry, Reader Requests with tags , , , on December 23, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

cigarette papers

five minute
end of day;
gotta be
somewhere
we can stop
thinkin’.

drag & exhale.
never mind
what was,
or
will be.
i’ll show you how to
shove everything
outta sight & mind.

notagodamnthing matters
except smoke coming through
white paper. it ain’t
often things get easier,
i’ll take what i can get.

it’s a dirty habit,
& it’ll probably kill ya,
then again,
what won’t these days?

it doesn’t tip any balance,
‘cept warning labels &
sin taxes. some of us know
it doesn’t matter.
if it does, you’re
spendin’ the last
part of today
doin’ something
else entirely.

& i ain’t thinking
of y’all when
i flare nights
with match & fag.
i ain’t thinkin’
at all.

———————————————-

Dedicated to reader Life:Between The Lines. You wanted a cigarette poem, there you go. Anyone else with a theme they would like a poem on is free to put it in the comments. No promises, but if it catches my fancy, you too can get a poem dedicated to you by the fool, i.e. me. Hope you like it L:BTL. Here’s a link to your blog so people can check out your writing as well.

Life: Between The Lines