Handpicked Poems

Dead End

Dead end, dead end,

deadeadead dead end.

How did I get to this?

Two left turns,

The street with his house,

All those nights.

A right hand turn,

Past the field,

The woods we grew up in.

Straight for half a mile,

Yellow signs stand out,

Home seems so far away now.

Turn right down Eisenhower Drive,

Near the park,

Those swings, the adventure,

A memory, a feeling.

Clusters of houses on Newberry Circle,

I knew them, I’ve been there,

I spent the night there,

after it all happened.

A few wrong turns,

Bad mistakes,

dead end.

Down to the Last Cell

Every molecule that makes up your cheeks,

All the atoms in your heart,

Each chemical reaction happening in your brain,

The protons and neutrons that embody your eyes, your pure blue eyes,

The individual strains of your hair,

Every freckle or blemish or skin imperfection that you think you have,

The thoughts that clog your mind with sadness and despair,

The cords that emit your lovely voice,

Your skin that conducts heat against mine,

All the muscles that show your sweet smile,

And bone that create you.

You are beautiful down to the last cell.

Loneliness

Hours of silence are filled with

the murmur of daily life.

My desire to get away is overshadowed by the need to hear a human voice;

A reassuring voice of comfort and familiarity.

Stagnation wasn’t supposed to be permanent.

A crow-sized hole sits empty in my chest.

Distant motorcycle engines remind me I’m not the only one but confirm that no one is around.

Even the birds leave me for winter.

The snow mutes the surrounding surreal sound of this alien planet I inhabit.

Why is it I am here but togetherness is no longer apart of me?

The black night of yesterday remains my only friend.

Forbidden thoughts of tomorrow hang low.

My heart beats in quarter notes.

What am I forgetting?

Who have I forgot?

The night is young and pure but no longer a memory.

The sounds I hear from my window

The hum of Winter’s air,

The Night’s envy,

The Day’s regrets,

The distant howl of a motorcycle racing off further down I-77,

The constant, prominent, yet unnoticeable tik of the circular clock from my aunt,

The pure dreadful silence of 2:38 AM,

I can hear the blackness that presses itself to my window,

I can hear it breathe, slowly to go unnoticed,

It feels my presence as I do,

The longing to reach in,

Stars who sing alien hymns,

The cars that drive into the hours of the night from desolate places to evermore unknown locales,

The neurons that create these words that reverberate from the glass,

The sound of the slight wind against the siding is always the same, cold.

The static pitch released from cumulus clouds,

And the friction of a teardrop on skin.

Simplicity

“a thing that is plain, natural, or easy to understand.”

Two sets of fingers interlocked,

The aesthetic roll of purple

flower petals creating art with genomes,

Transfixed gazing of oceanic remorse intertwined with pastures of

sprouting grass blades,

Hellos under the stairs,

Blue streaking waves of yore brushing violently against small rocks,

Velvet under tips of fingers,

However dark night is,

Wind passing through hurdles of hair,

To see the clouds and

Wonder,

An apology,

To recall a memory of yesterday,

Seeing through of the eyes of others,

Footfalls on sand while they walk behind,

Breathing,

The gathering of molecules of water

in the corner of eyes,

Replacing the seeds that will grow,

Turning the other cheek,

Watching as bluebirds dance through harsh winds,

An earthworm inching calmingly

through the rain,

A handshake,

A hug,

But never the Grand Canyon’s Rivers,

For tomorrow rings with simplicity.

IN THE FULLNESS OF TIME

My heart was returned,

Shattered and scarred,

However whole.

Mending a broken heart is harder,

Than tubs of ice cream,

Or pats on the back.

It take surrounding yourself,

With friends and family,

It takes,

Looking in the mirror at yourself,

Handsome and strong,

Even with the tears rolling

down your cheek.

It takes Adventures,

Sleeping under the stars,

Wondering how we got here,

And knowing how far you’ll go.

Eventually, the membrane,

Begins to reattach itself,

The roots connect with the ground,

The tear ducts dry up,

The long nights become,

Peaceful rests for hopes and dreams.

Scenes From The Natural World That Are Not Metaphors For My Life

Patches of grass blades sprouting

from broken pockets of asphalt,

A nuthatch refusing to eat

from a hand,

White buds on the tips of ancient branches

bringing new life to a eighteen-year-old tree,

Plump chipmunks scurrying

under a shrub,

Wind,

How a small drop of water

can lead to a river,

which in turn leads to eroding away

parts of the rock to create the

grandest of canyons,

The stars that are so far apart from one another yet seem so close,

Holes left in dead trees,

Whatever mushroom that is,

The brightness of the sun which is currently

hidden behind grey clouds,

The mysterious origin to the universe,

Atoms breaking down,

Quarks doing their own

Strange and Charm things,

Heat rising between small rocks and sand alongside a highway in Arizona,

A waterfall deep in the jungles of Madagascar,

Pine needles on the forest floor,

The rain drops that land

on car windshields,

Fluffy clouds of pink during the

evening sunset,

Mice being eaten by cats,

Water that changed into vapor falling back down to earth,

Ocean waves that crash against rocks along the Maine shores,

Three smooth stones stacked on stop of one another,

Dirt,

A colony of ants that are only

powerful together,

The Nile River,

Or even the tree who lost

it’s leaves,

It’s life,

It’s whole identity fell,

Not even that.

Untitled 02

An evening shower of rain

has many effects,

It can remind us of

watching storms in the summer,

Dark clouds rolling in before the earth below is assailed by the repetition of

water-bullets,

The continuous static of the droplets can be soothing to some allowing them to depart for slumber and dream of fanciful colors with hidden themes,

Or it can keep them awake with the jarring sound against the window like an alarm clock refusing to yield.

Some of us are caught in the rain,

Letting it’s chill touch pour through our hair,

Against our skull and down our spine.

The blur of an evening shower of rain is humbling,

Reminding us to look at our feet in hopes to remain on proper footing.

Rain can leave welts on our backs forcing us to the ground,

Or it can caress our cheeks in hopes to help lighten the mood.

The thought of rain can inspire fear and anxiety,

Or hope and excitement.

Why do we long for rain when it’s dry but wish for the sun when it’s wet?

Why after two hours of constant streaks against my window,

of two hours of wind whipping rain,

Why does it just halt?

All is left is the emptiness and puddles.

This Is Just To Say

My love hath faded like

the stars that were once

in your eyes that

seemed to have dimmed

Your hair that used to show freedom

now ties itself around my wrists

like shackles of a

loveless man

My apologies remain fruitless

like the words from your mouth

to my ears evermore

I’m sorry holds no meaning

Yardwork

Some days,

I let the grass grow.

I let it grow higher than it should be,

through the rocks,

over the patio,

up the chairs.

But other days,

I wake up early,

when the air is still chilly,

the dew is still settled,

and the sun is just peeking over the neighbor's house,

and I open my shed,

pour a little gas into the mower,

set it in line,

and I cut the grass,

so that it fits neatly in my yard.

I edge the corners and make sure everything is perfect.

I like to see my yard tamed,

no longer a metaphor,

just cut grass.

Dear Friend,

It has been a month or so,

since I saw you last.

It has been even longer since

we played those songs in your car

that we hear too much.

Those songs still ricochet

around my skull,

like a coin in the dryer.

My friend it has been too long

since we drove for hours

lost,

around our old school,

through parking lots,

between the trees of a foreign wood,

and back home again.

It has been too long since

I’ve heard your laugh,

you’re deep,

bellowing laugh

that brings a sharp smile

to my face.

Not a day goes by where

I don’t see the picture of us

in my room.

Not a day goes by where

I don’t wish you here,

just to walk,

talk,

or even

sit down at a fire.

I would go through hell

just to see you again.

Don’t pity me for this.

Just know,

you are missed.

your best friend,

Carter

Without justice

Why can some of us

walk around the street,

hands in our pockets,

hoods up,

minding our own business,

and nothing will happen?

People will walk by,

nod,

perhaps even a simple greeting.

But for others of us,

in the same situation,

get looked at,

people move around us,

maybe even a slur gets thrown in,

or the cops get called.

Just for walking.

Why does the simple

spelling of a name,

determine whether or not,

you get a minimum wage job?

The same application,

but the damn name itself,

is enough to bring hate.

How can some of us,

stuff our bellies,

expand our stomachs,

throw away leftovers,

while others of us

sit on the street,

begging for loose change

just to buy a damn snack

so we don’t starve today?

How can some of us

hold so many commas

in our bank account,

while others don’t eat today,

so our kids can and

the lights will stay on?

How can some of us,

hold so much money that

our children’s,

children’s,

children’s,

children,

can’t even spend it all,

while some of us work three jobs,

don’t sleep some nights,

hunger ringing in our ears,

just to make sure we have a place

to come home to?

How does a gathering of people,

with signs that say,

“Look at me, am I less than you?”

spark a fire that burns

the walls of candor down?

How does a simple saying

that someone’s life matters,

bring so much hate?

How can we live in the Land of the Free,

yet turn others just like us,

down at the entrance to the Free World,

a new beginning?

How can we say that our family

is more important than theirs?

How can we say

a face,

a name,

a skin color,

a hairstyle,

a language,

a culture

is criminal?

I don’t pretend to know the answers,

but it’s time we look for the solutions.

Untitled 05

There’s something about

walking down the sidewalk,

of a familiar street,

the cold air that seems

to sting your finger tips,

with the rhythm that

bounces off the ground,

step step step,

the distant howl of

lone engines,

the creeks and chirps

of unidentifiable

insects and frogs,

even the hum that

the stars give way to,

or the sight of a broken

street lamp that shines

against a dark landscape,

the thoughts of adventure

that run deep within the

columns of my mind,

and the feeling of home

just a few feet away,

that makes me...

Feel

You

My life was

meaningless

before I met you,

I was shrouded

in darkness

before your angelic light

pierced the night.

I was blind before,

but now,

now I see and you are

the first person I have seen.

I was once deaf,

no sound could penetrate my skull,

now your beautiful voice

echoes through my mind.

Once I was empty and deprived of touch,

but now your hands caress

my body with care

like hands holding a baby dove.

My once insipid lips

now taste you every night and every day.

Even sweet scents were foreign to me,

however your bewitching fragrance

haunts my soul.

Once I was lost,

now I am found

in the arms of yore.

Scars

You still linger in my mind, you know?

Every once in awhile

your pain will reach my brain.

I will simply run my fingers over

the spot you once were.

I still feel your scar.

The spot isn’t visible

to the untrained eye,

but I know where you used to be.

I can still feel

the rough skin,

the tough patch,

the marks that used to ache,

the pieces that would chip away.

I can’t say I miss you,

because I don’t,

I can only say

I remember the times

when you were there.

You made my life harder,

but that’s just how it used to be.

And now you’re gone,

but you still linger through my mind.

Dusting

As the songbirds flee to warmer climates,

the juncos arrive in all their glory and splendor.

With them,

comes the cold.

Even the familiar landscape

is changed to a new surreal

and dreamlike locale.

A gentle dusting of snow

brushes peacefully over the once

playful grounds.

From this,

we retreat into our homes,

our warm and cozy homes,

to watch as juncos scrape the snow back

to pick at oily black sunflower seeds

hidden below.

We watch as the days get shorter

and the nights grow longer.

We listen as the distance hum

slowly fades within the muffled snow.

We feel as the seasons change,

that we in ourselves change too.

The inner workings of our souls

cease to yearn of extraordinary times

and move past our profligate desires

to a more humble and content lifestyle.

Train Tracks

Repetitious lines of wood,

of steel,

stretch for miles on end.

As heat,

begins to rise along the rails,

the ground,

begins to shake as a mass moves.

With a flash,

the metal snake moves farther

down the line

with the solidarity of the fact that

the tracks decide

where it ends up and the only control

the conductor

has is the simple act of when and how fast.

Yet, this act,

this almost too simple of an act,

is present within

each of our lives as we lack the control to change

the tracks

that are placed in lines of wood,

of steel,

that stretch out for miles on end.

We quietly

surrender to the irony of staying on track

and move only

when we are told and follow how fast to move.

Two years

are wasted before one might realize.

Breaths are

wasted before one can no longer breathe.

Nights are forgone

yet not forgotten before the derailment can

be reversed.

Softly, we retrace the tracks to a different time,

of when all

our worries belonged to tracks of wood,

of steel,

That stretched for miles on end.

Simulated Reality:

//the pretended state or quality of having existence//

Blue waves with the falsehood of orange

crash precariously against a jagged rock face,

Trees of willow and locust

are coated with ambient light of the setting sun,

Bulbs of brillant flames shine from millions of miles

away in the form of holes that puncture the night sky,

The heavens are quiet now,

only the oceanic breeze makes the slightest impression,

At last, you are by my side.

Your hair outshines the sleeping sun,

Your eyes pierce the night more extravagantly

than that of any astronomical body,

Your laugh sweeps the wind away.

This is my design.

The Glass Window

As I fledged,

I soared.

I flew from the nest

for miles and miles,

no object was too big to over come.

My dreams began to fall into place,

hard-work began to pay off in the form

of successes, friendship, money,

and an once of happiness.

Happiness is a fickle thing.

Life was smooth sailing,

until I struck a glass window.

I was paralyzed in fear,

in pain,

for moments before the blur

that engulfed my senses wore.

On the other side of the glass,

I saw what I was flying towards:

an unfamiliar city

that was nothing but inviting,

an empty dorm filled with possibility

and transcendental wonder,

loves that would be birthed

from the flames of the past,

walks in the dark

under street lamps,

beautiful foliage resting

precariously under bare trees,

poems being written in lawn chairs

on The Quad,

ambiguous laughter erupting

from the lounge of our new home,

early morning workouts

with comrades of new and old,

but lastly,

a sense of missing home

that hath not come.

Retrospection at 2 AM

Chords off a piano

Echo into the dark chasm

That is my bedroom.

My eyes slowly adjust

To the surreal blackness

That engulfs my every sense.

A slight sliver of light

Peers creepily through my window

And rests itself precariously against the wall.

It acts as a scar on the mind itself

Of what it is like to lack even the

Most simplest form of order or uniform.

As my eyes begin to see more

And more of my past,

Of my failures,

My defeats,

Mistakes...

The successes begin to disappear

And lose value.

Yes, I have regrets,

But none of this scale or magnitude.

None that hold such a weight

That my shoulders waver in defeat.

Why should a few actions or events

Outweigh a myriad of happiness?

Why do my eyes tune to the dark?

I would rather be blinded by ignorance

Than to see these fleeting moments

Anymore.

Outside, a waxing moon rises in the sky

As my body loses consciousness.

Slowly, with no feeling at all,

My body drifts into a sleepless slumber.

Once

You were here once,

In this very spot,

I lie where your body fell,

The warmth has since left,

As you did me,

Still I know,

A part of your soul still lies here,

Once I leave this spot,

I know a part of my soul will lie here too,

And they will lie together,

As eternity presses on,

and on,

and on...

and on...