The 17th August The 17th

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 were that
tossing baseballs in the side yard
type of father.

You were the type that
drew corrections to the builder's plans
for our first house and
then re-plumbed the hot water yourself
after the idiot builder put it
in the attic and it burst
taking out the ceil heat.

You made them pay for it,
but did the work yourself
to make sure it was done right.
I watched your every move and
I decided somewhere along the way
to be an engineer, but I didn't
cope with life quite well enough and
I know I disappointed you as
well as so many others along the way,
but in the end I think;
you really understood.

Here I sit flinging words
at a brick wall.

You were a provider;
you provided strength and
humor,
the amount of
love and affection you could spare,
a home and hearth and
the power of words.

You taught me to
keep flinging the words until
the walls fall down.

17 years,
I started this journey at 17.

34 years,
two times seventeen and you were gone.

51 years,
I guess going for four
won't be so bad,
as long as I keep
writing the walls down.

I still rage about
the loss of light, but
I can see that by your
own standards;
you lived carpe diem
every day.

Drink up,
live well,
love well,
die well.
This I think,
you taught me well.


Mike Carson
8-17-2009

It’s Easy To Hide Inside A Dream

There is no hiding place for the poet
I dodged the issue for thirty long years
Running from that stage fright, don't you know it
Forever putting excuses to my fears
~
I dodged the issue for thirty long years
While living a life so worth the living
Forever putting excuses to my fears
My own soul to keep, that now I'm giving
~
While living a life so worth the living
When I'm holding the treasure in my hands
My own soul to keep, that now I'm giving
Well worn particles of time's golden sands
~
When I'm holding the treasure in my hands
I can see the world with eyes wide open
Well worn particles of time's golden sands
Bound for that which I was always hoping
~
I can see the world with eyes wide open
Running from that stage fright, don't you know it
Bound for that which I was always hoping
There is no hiding place for the poet
~
Mjcarson

Drowning

I saw you

in the deep waters

of life

going down

for the third time

I, your knight

with all his armor

dived in to save you

pushed you clear and

soon was drowning

treading water

faithfully

in your service

and you came

to me

and

removed

the cold steel

that was rusting

in the open waters of life

whispered in my ear

"come hither

swim, dear, swim!"

~

mjcarson

6-25-2007

~

Survival

It’s raining as I stare out
at the five lane…
flipping my cigarette
I walk back into
solitary confinement
just in time to hear “Down In A Hole”
and I pick up my pen
to tell some more lies
about how fine life is
you know…all about
that brass ring I grabbed
all the while ignoring
the white knuckle grasp
I have on sanity

Have I done anything at all?
Did I move them?
Really groove ‘em
Leave them anything they could quote?
“If I wrote a song you could sing to your children,
will you remember my name…remember it then?”
“I knew I could make those people dance…”

we were there once upon a twilight evening,
blessed just to be alive…
If I could sing it to you,”
would it make a difference?

I could write a happy poem and
that would not change
the truth
of the stars
hiding
behind the clouds
nor the fact that we’ll all be
hidden away some day
by the men who wait right over the ridge
to put us in the warm earth
regardless of whether we changed the world
or just ripped it off
no matter how we
lived or died
this ends

There were two white gold rings
bought at Service Merchandise
in 1989
one lies under a hillside
beside a church in Inskip
the other
got too tight
quite a ways too tight…
I had to hide it away
what I never did with my love
but I am not sure that I ever learned
how to show it very well

When the time is done
and it is time to reflect
What did you add here?

Could you point it out to all?
or would you even need to

My life lives
in words
on a page

There’s a void between
what is and should be


but from all
the sources do
I rely
music owns my soul
I can’t hide it

I write because I can’t sing
I voice with my pen
because you can’t hear me
I’ve heard the debate
about how many muscles it takes to smile, but
that only matters to those
that have them all

It’s stopped raining now
and Jim Croce sings
“I Got A Name”
perfect
I walk outside for another smoke
and peer in vain
for the stars

Mike Carson
11-25-2008