May 3, 2012
Salt Water In My Bones (London, It’s Been Swell)

London has treated me well the last few months. There is something incredibly freeing to have so much time to yourself when you arrive in a new country. You learn to read yourself better than you could back home.

London has given me time to reflect on my life, where I’ve been and what I see coming down the line. It’s been swell but baby, I’m coming home. London has given me what I’ve needed the last few months, but Vancouver is where I want to plant my roots and settle for a good long spell.

My plan? I finish teaching in the next three weeks, then I’m off to explore Europe for a month before my sister’s wedding in New Hampshire at the end of June. After that, I’m either going to drive or hitchhike across America. Eat at roadside diners, explore small towns and slowly make my way back across the USA and up the coast. My goal is to be back mid-July. 

I wanted to let you know because I’m excited. I will explore and travel for the rest of my life. However, my bones are calling me back to the Pacific. Europe is great, but it’s not home. And the best part of Vancouver? The goddamn beautiful people I’m lucky to call my friends. I’ve met a lot of great folks in Europe, but friends, you take the cake.

Vancouver, I’ll see you in July. For now, I need to pay the rest of Europe a visit.

9:18pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyKpJE4K
(Notes: 5)
  
Filed under: Cail Writing London Calling Vancouver 
December 6, 2011
FRANK She left him with a Hell’s Angel on his lips and sundried tomatoes splattered on the kitchen wall. She was a warcry in silk stockings, driving her point home with a nailgun. Like Martin Luther in the Reformation, she left a note nailed to the front door. He ripped it off and burned it in the fireplace, Spearing it with the poker. The chimney was blocked by a crow’s nest And smoke filled his living room. He ran outside, coughing to all hell. Let it burn, he thought. He was halfway down the block When he thought better of it and turned back. He went to the kitchen and opened the windows He put out the fire with a pot of cool water. Arching his back, he cried out Staring at the ceiling the white stucco weaving cryptic morse code. He went to the bedroom, taking everything she’d failed to grab on her way out the door. Her leather jacket He knifed into ribbons. Her box of photos Got the match. Her purse was punted into the wall Lipsticks and condoms exploding out Like a goddamn sex-piñata. He went back to the living room and ran his hand Through the charred remains of her note. He could still read a name, scribbled over and over. “El Paso,” it read. He went back to the kitchen And poured himself a glass of Jameson, dropped two ice cubes into it. He sipped his drink and repeated the name. El Paso. El Paso. He went to their closet and took down the wooden box With his father’s initials branded on top. He opened it. Empty. She’d taken his revolver. (Published in American Baseball)

FRANK

She left him with a Hell’s Angel on his lips

and sundried tomatoes splattered on the kitchen wall.

She was a warcry in silk stockings,

driving her point home with a nailgun.

Like Martin Luther in the Reformation, she left

a note nailed to the front door.

He ripped it off and burned it in the fireplace,

Spearing it with the poker.

The chimney was blocked by a crow’s nest

And smoke filled his living room.

He ran outside, coughing to all hell.

Let it burn, he thought.

He was halfway down the block

When he thought better of it and turned back.

He went to the kitchen and opened the windows

He put out the fire with a pot of cool water.

Arching his back, he cried out

Staring at the ceiling

the white stucco weaving cryptic morse code.

He went to the bedroom, taking everything she’d failed

to grab on her way out the door.

Her leather jacket

He knifed into ribbons.

Her box of photos

Got the match.

Her purse was punted into the wall

Lipsticks and condoms exploding out

Like a goddamn sex-piñata.

He went back to the living room and ran his hand

Through the charred remains of her note.

He could still read a name, scribbled over and over.

“El Paso,” it read.

He went back to the kitchen

And poured himself a glass of

Jameson, dropped two ice cubes into it.

He sipped his drink and repeated the name.

El Paso.

El Paso.

He went to their closet and took down the wooden box

With his father’s initials branded on top.

He opened it.

Empty.

She’d taken his revolver.

(Published in American Baseball)

(Source: nevver)

8:45pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyCup6_d
(Notes: 442)
  
Filed under: Frank Cail Writing Prose Poetry? 
November 30, 2011

A new month brings a new @DiscorderMag. Pick it up and check out “Discorder’s Favorites” for my two cents on the best albums of 2011.

You can read the new issue here.

9:43pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyCeD053
(Notes: 5)
  
Filed under: Brian Fallon Cail Writing Discorder Elsie Sun Wizard The Horrible Crowes 
November 24, 2011
150 followers! Great stuff, thanks to everyone who reads Cold Bullets. Here’s a new poem for you all. *********** MINOTAUR  The curse of a thousand plagues Death knell to a million men Cursed by Icarus Trapped by Daedalus He walks in black With the scents of those who have passed on before Fallen to His sword and His horns. Nobody knows He has seen His future Through a gypsy glass His beheading and the tales of His death That will last for eras. History will remember Theseus As an avenger But they do not know He had one wish Death. Better to die Than be cursed With a hunger for man’s flesh. He drags his sword against the brick And waits.

150 followers! Great stuff, thanks to everyone who reads Cold Bullets. Here’s a new poem for you all.

***********

MINOTAUR 

The curse of a thousand plagues

Death knell to a million men

Cursed by Icarus

Trapped by Daedalus

He walks in black

With the scents of those who have passed on before

Fallen to His sword

and His horns.

Nobody knows

He has seen His future

Through a gypsy glass

His beheading

and the tales of His death

That will last for eras.

History will remember Theseus

As an avenger

But they do not know He had one wish

Death.

Better to die

Than be cursed

With a hunger for man’s flesh.

He drags his sword against the brick

And waits.

8:29pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyCMjnfc
(Notes: 4)
  
Filed under: Minotaur Poem Cail Writing Labyrinth 
November 1, 2011

Dave Kenny and I will have a brand-new chapbook available at the WOLF MOUNTAIN show this Thursday.

Here’s a preview of the duel covers.

It’s a split chapbook: half Dave, half Cail. It features new work from both of us and a collaborative poem we wrote together.  

It will only be available at the show on Thursday. Limited edition! Hot cakes! All the jazz.

I hope you enjoy it. We had fun making this.

If you can’t make it to the show but would like a copy, just email me.

5:58pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyBNJwx4
(Notes: 1)
  
Filed under: David Edward Kenny Cail Judy Cail Writing Wolf Mountain Chapbooks Books Poems Poetry Badass 
October 26, 2011
“He Only Saw Her Face” Concrete Poem

“He Only Saw Her Face”

Concrete Poem

12:05am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyB6oZRL
(Notes: 1)
  
Filed under: Concrete Poem He Only Saw Her Face Cail Writing 
October 14, 2011
Last but not least, a review of Jon Allan Henry’s new album Quiet Blues.

Last but not least,

a review of Jon Allan Henry’s new album Quiet Blues.

12:37am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyAeJJ1R
(Notes: 1)
  
Filed under: Cail Writing Jon Allan Henry Discorder 
October 14, 2011
GHOST HOUSE, full of highly acclaimed local musicians, fronted by the charismatic Jesse Gander. This was a fun interview. New album The Present Tense in stores now.

GHOST HOUSE, full of highly acclaimed local musicians, fronted by the charismatic Jesse Gander. This was a fun interview.

New album The Present Tense in stores now.

12:35am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyAeIx6f
Filed under: Ghost House Cail Writing Discorder 
October 14, 2011
Not one, but two features from yours truly in this months Discorder music magazine. THE HIGH DROPS, a great band with a fantastic sound. Read here. They’re playing a show at Guys and Dolls on Main St tomorrow, check it out.

Not one, but two features from yours truly in this months Discorder music magazine.

THE HIGH DROPS, a great band with a fantastic sound. Read here.

They’re playing a show at Guys and Dolls on Main St tomorrow, check it out.

12:33am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyAeIb65
Filed under: Cail Writing The High Drops 
October 4, 2011
“Wild Heart” Concrete poem.

“Wild Heart”

Concrete poem.

6:32pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z15lWyAHAs7k
(Notes: 2)
  
Filed under: Concrete poem Cail writing 
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