Poetry Blog Post New Entry

The 17th August The 17th

Posted by Mike Carson on August 17, 2009 at 12:09 PM Comments comments (3)

Raging spirit,

furious words flung at

a brick wall,

only to reverberate

in silence.


It has been seventeen years

since your light went out.

Each year there are fewer

and fewer who

knew the glow.


We never played that game of golf,

but then again,

you never...

Read Full Post »

What Was Earned

Posted by Mike Carson on August 8, 2009 at 11:18 AM Comments comments (3)

What Was Earned



What if this was the last poem

I would ever write or

worse, the last

you would ever read?

What is it I could say

to make it endworthy?


I have always loved certain movie quotes:

"We're going to need a bigger boat..."

"Round up the usual suspects"

"I love the smell of napalm in the morning..."

"Saigon, shit, I'm still only in Saigon..."

but my new favorite:


Read Full Post »

Life on Monday Night

Posted by Mike Carson on August 7, 2009 at 11:03 AM Comments comments (2)

Life on Monday Night


It was Howard Cosell that told me

John Lennon was dead,

during the course of one of our

regular Monday Night sessions and

both of us wept at the senselessness

of such an act.

Even my father, my regular Monday Night session mate

from the beginning in 1970,

was moved. This was the same man who had sat in his chair

and scoffed in 1964 as his hormonal 12 year old daughters

and his amused 6 year old...

Read Full Post »

Visiting Old Friends in the Middle of theNight

Posted by Mike Carson on August 6, 2009 at 12:42 PM Comments comments (3)

Visiting Old Friends in the Middle of theNight


Two thirty in the morning

and I cannot sleep.

Seeking solace I visit

an old friend…Galway Kinnell

“The Last Hiding Places of Snow.”

Stepping out onto the patio,

sensing the world asleep,

I hear the moon call out to me:


I am here

…where I always was

Read Full Post »

The Faded Man

Posted by Mike Carson on July 31, 2009 at 1:12 PM Comments comments (2)

Plastic yellow roses don't

hold their color under

the skies of July.


Absurd colors swirl madly

into the black center as

the faded man searches for

something, anything that isn't



There's no marker.


In 1972, the faded man watched

his father console

his father

on the night his cousin died and

the faded man's father's father

couldn't ...

Read Full Post »