The Road Diaries

by Kevin Carrel Footer Subscribe

Small, Overwhelming Pieces of Beauty

I went to a gypsy fortune teller and she told me that I would end up alone and destitute. She read it in my palms, confirmed it in her crystal ball and anxiously verified it by tea leaves. As she was reaching for her tarot cards, I stopped her. Enough, I said. It's...

read more

Slow Poems That Last Years

She said, “My life is a slow poem that has lasted years.” I nodded but the gesture was lost over the telephone line. I thought, There are poems of words and poems of acts. Our lives are longish poems of acts. Silently but irrevocably, without our knowing how, the...

read more

Touch me

I stood alone – Don't we all? – Waiting for you to touch me I wandered alone Down endless aisles Yearning for a destiny, any destiny I whispered alone In a vacant chamber Longing to hear someone sing I dreamed alone Conjuring lovers Whose bodies dissolved in the night...

read more

The Lone Harmonica

I received several letters this week addressed to my harmonica. It seems the recent account of our adventures together (“Travels with Harmonica”) had the unintended effect of thrusting him from my pocket out into the limelight. An unusually shy and private instrument,...

read more

Travels with Harmonica

The first time I stuck a harmonica in my pocket and headed for the open road, I was twenty-two. I hitchhiked from Oakland to New Orleans. It was the start of a long list of harmonica-inspired voyages which featured me chasing the perfume of poetry and sin across the...

read more

Tolstoy at the Fifty-yard Line

The first time I stuck a harmonica in my pocket and headed for the open road, I was twenty-two. I hitchhiked from Oakland to New Orleans. It was the start of a long list of harmonica-inspired voyages which featured me chasing the perfume of poetry and sin across the...

read more

One Step at a Time

Looking back, I find it strange – and charming – that I always thought I could be as eccentric as I chose and still belong. In junior high school, like everyone else in my hometown, I would go to the Friday Night Football games. But to make it more substantive, I...

read more

World Breakdown

I write to you summoning all the reservoirs of honesty I can gather. (Sometimes, I confess, they are not much.) Honesty for me is not something willful or controlled. The greatest lies are those we tell when the truth is something we cannot even pronounce in silence....

read more

Besieged by Happiness

Standing in the midst of a crumbling world, I hear rubble and broken glass. The world is cracking right down its very midriff like a great sheet of arctic ice. A cold gash splits everything in two. You from me. My life from my body. Our dreams from the reality we...

read more

Spelling out the Words (for You)

While dancing Friday night at the La Marshall milonga I was besieged by happiness. It was a full frontal assault armed with boiling elixirs. They surprised me, disarmed me and over-powered me mid-dance. I gave up without a fight. This sequence of events is common to...

read more
Share This