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
gray.
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 understand why
a God would take
the young and leave
the old behind
to grieve in such
agony and pain.
The faded man has seen
grayer skies than he ever
would have imagined or
dreamed of and oh, yes,
he has seen rainbows
and blue skies;
but the gray plastic rose
has sent him tumbling
down the years
to all of the places
that sadness does not reach,
but he finds it lurking now
in every corner and
nothing, no thing, will take
it's place.
In 1976, the faded man
talked to God and
begged him to reconsider.
Ignored by God and
the rest of the universe,
he told them all to go to Hell.
The faded man feels faded
inside and out.
Secretly, he was never really sure
he was really here.
There should be a marker.
The faded man forces himself
down to his knees,
thinking maybe she
can hear him better
the closer he gets.
The faded man has lingered
long past all of the
others who put
the color in his life and
his mind circles round
and round the keen idea
that he might as well
end his fading now.
The faded man once brought home
a dozen yellow plastic roses and
now he wonders if
he should go get one
or a dozen
or a hundred, just
to watch them fade?
What would be the point?
That, of course, leads back to
the question of why and
what is the point of any of it.
The faded man can only hope that
he never stops caring about
the answer.
Mike Carson
7-30-2009
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Goodbye
I. Before and After Dying
Yesterday a wasp landed on the rail to my back deck
and died.
Today a honey bee made a feeble attempt
to enter my car and join me
on the drive to work.
The last gasp in late fall
of bees looking for a warm place
to be before dying.
Believe me, I can relate.
About a month after my dad died,
my mother took me and Gail outside
to show us Sam’s star.
She said it suddenly appeared about
a week after his death and was proof
that he was watching out for her.
I told Gail I was worried about her,
Gail said, “Don’t, she’ll be alright.”
Those of us who have not, but need to
say goodbye;
twist in the breeze like the last
leaf on an oak, desperately clinging
to the known and familiar ways.
A wise man once said, “Make no changes for a year,”
and then he died, leaving his wise woman
in charge of the lost and grieving
left gasping for air in the vast vacuum
that followed his passing
from this presence to the other.
II. Pain
Goodbye hurts,
it hurts down to the marrow
of my bones
which someday will be
pulverized and returned to the sea.
The hurt blackens all
of the colors that used
to live in my life and
readies me for the deep, dark night
that leads somewhere, but
no one here can say for sure where.
No, don’t give me the surety
that you have no right
to give. You don’t really know
anything for sure, just as I.
I know that hurt can change
a rainbow into black and
like all other obstacles we face,
must be overcome before it
takes us down
below the ground.
III. Us
There have been 18,800 days
of me and
7,035 days of us.
When I say goodbye to you,
I say goodbye to us and
most of me.
It was late on a Thursday evening,
early November and I was down at
the gas station helping Sara with her
paperwork and you dropped by to say hello.
You were getting impatient with me by then;
your transfer had gone through and we had already
danced and kissed and you made sure I
had the chance to run my hand down
your leg and it would have happened
that Saturday night if Sara had not got drunk
and picked a fight that Bud had to finish and
we all ended up at the jail half the night,
but with another fun story to tell, but
I never told this one,
did I?
I asked you where you were going as
you started to wander off and you
replied that you were going to
the Holiday Inn to drink schnapps and beer and
I recalled what you had said about
what that leads to on the night I saw
you tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue.
I looked at Sara and calmly asked her
what I should do.
Sara, who besides having a Psych degree,
was in San Fran in the summer of ’67 and
on a farm in upstate New York in the summer of ’69.
From the moment I hired her,
we started teaching each other.
We certainly both got each other immediately.
Sara looked at me and uttered the immortal words;
“Shit or get off the pot.”
I ran into your arms and
all of our tomorrows.
We got schnapps and beer and took it
to my place and sat on the floor and starting watching
LA Law and
never made it anywhere near the
end.
IV. Beauty on the Balcony
On a cool winter’s evening,
long after midnight,
you stood on my balcony
naked to the world
and I waited for
my warm place to be
to return to me.
There are places, words and feelings
that never fade, no
matter how dark
it gets. I remember saying,
“I love you,” and your reply,
“Don’t say it unless you mean it.”
I wanted nothing else but
to share your space for
the rest of my life.
It was just one month later
that we both knew for sure.
shining down on us
“I could turn the air conditioner on…”
“I want to hold you for the rest of my life…”
“So very dark…”
All of our tomorrows
belong to yesterday and
even the moonlight fades to black
after the stars are
hidden away and
the whispers die
in the late autumn breeze.
MJ Carson
11-01-2009
Yesterday a wasp landed on the rail to my back deck
and died.
Today a honey bee made a feeble attempt
to enter my car and join me
on the drive to work.
The last gasp in late fall
of bees looking for a warm place
to be before dying.
Believe me, I can relate.
About a month after my dad died,
my mother took me and Gail outside
to show us Sam’s star.
She said it suddenly appeared about
a week after his death and was proof
that he was watching out for her.
I told Gail I was worried about her,
Gail said, “Don’t, she’ll be alright.”
Those of us who have not, but need to
say goodbye;
twist in the breeze like the last
leaf on an oak, desperately clinging
to the known and familiar ways.
A wise man once said, “Make no changes for a year,”
and then he died, leaving his wise woman
in charge of the lost and grieving
left gasping for air in the vast vacuum
that followed his passing
from this presence to the other.
II. Pain
Goodbye hurts,
it hurts down to the marrow
of my bones
which someday will be
pulverized and returned to the sea.
The hurt blackens all
of the colors that used
to live in my life and
readies me for the deep, dark night
that leads somewhere, but
no one here can say for sure where.
No, don’t give me the surety
that you have no right
to give. You don’t really know
anything for sure, just as I.
I know that hurt can change
a rainbow into black and
like all other obstacles we face,
must be overcome before it
takes us down
below the ground.
III. Us
There have been 18,800 days
of me and
7,035 days of us.
When I say goodbye to you,
I say goodbye to us and
most of me.
It was late on a Thursday evening,
early November and I was down at
the gas station helping Sara with her
paperwork and you dropped by to say hello.
You were getting impatient with me by then;
your transfer had gone through and we had already
danced and kissed and you made sure I
had the chance to run my hand down
your leg and it would have happened
that Saturday night if Sara had not got drunk
and picked a fight that Bud had to finish and
we all ended up at the jail half the night,
but with another fun story to tell, but
I never told this one,
did I?
I asked you where you were going as
you started to wander off and you
replied that you were going to
the Holiday Inn to drink schnapps and beer and
I recalled what you had said about
what that leads to on the night I saw
you tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue.
I looked at Sara and calmly asked her
what I should do.
Sara, who besides having a Psych degree,
was in San Fran in the summer of ’67 and
on a farm in upstate New York in the summer of ’69.
From the moment I hired her,
we started teaching each other.
We certainly both got each other immediately.
Sara looked at me and uttered the immortal words;
“Shit or get off the pot.”
I ran into your arms and
all of our tomorrows.
We got schnapps and beer and took it
to my place and sat on the floor and starting watching
LA Law and
never made it anywhere near the
end.
IV. Beauty on the Balcony
On a cool winter’s evening,
long after midnight,
you stood on my balcony
naked to the world
and I waited for
my warm place to be
to return to me.
There are places, words and feelings
that never fade, no
matter how dark
it gets. I remember saying,
“I love you,” and your reply,
“Don’t say it unless you mean it.”
I wanted nothing else but
to share your space for
the rest of my life.
It was just one month later
that we both knew for sure.
“Will you take this woman…”
The moon and the stars wereshining down on us
“I could turn the air conditioner on…”
“It’s better this way…”
“To have and to hold…”
with a deep yellow glow“I want to hold you for the rest of my life…”
“Promise?”
“I do.”
as we became one“In sickness and in health…”
“Where did the stars go?”“It’ll be alright.”
by candlelight.“So very dark…”
“I’m here, dear.”
“Till death do you part?”
“I can’t feel you anymore…”“I did.”
“Yes, we did!”
“Whisper to me, wet and wild…”All of our tomorrows
belong to yesterday and
even the moonlight fades to black
after the stars are
hidden away and
the whispers die
in the late autumn breeze.
“Goodbye my love.”
MJ Carson
11-01-2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
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
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
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Everthing Fades Away
So sad when
it just whithers away.
Nothing makes sense
anymore...the rational
left wondering why
must sorrow rule.
Feeling blue, for a friend,
I go up the 14 stairs in pain
just to move again and
wash the dishes.
I turn on Page and Plant,
"When The World Was Young..." indeed.
Feeling like lighting a candle
for us all,
I walk into my daughter's room
in search of fire;
finding instead,
two identical packs of colored pens,
identical to the two I got
in my Christmas stocking
two years ago.
She will never use them,
she will, in fact,
die with them unopened
somewhere down the road.
I've been using mine,
one of each color
sit by my chair;
someday they will run dry
and whither.
I guess it is up to me
to give them purpose.
Mike Carson
4-28-2009
it just whithers away.
Nothing makes sense
anymore...the rational
left wondering why
must sorrow rule.
Feeling blue, for a friend,
I go up the 14 stairs in pain
just to move again and
wash the dishes.
I turn on Page and Plant,
"When The World Was Young..." indeed.
Feeling like lighting a candle
for us all,
I walk into my daughter's room
in search of fire;
finding instead,
two identical packs of colored pens,
identical to the two I got
in my Christmas stocking
two years ago.
She will never use them,
she will, in fact,
die with them unopened
somewhere down the road.
I've been using mine,
one of each color
sit by my chair;
someday they will run dry
and whither.
I guess it is up to me
to give them purpose.
Mike Carson
4-28-2009
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Forever Yellow Rose
Rose crush, the velvet underlining
Of a moon lit night
Cold hope left behind
Long after all the tears
Are shed
Yellow blues, constant longing
For warmth wrapped
In white gold rings
Both in their boxes
Hidden away
Forever known now,
Betrayed by
The sad eyes
That peer in vain
Mike Carson
9-17-2008
Of a moon lit night
Cold hope left behind
Long after all the tears
Are shed
Yellow blues, constant longing
For warmth wrapped
In white gold rings
Both in their boxes
Hidden away
Forever known now,
Betrayed by
The sad eyes
That peer in vain
Mike Carson
9-17-2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Virginia Carson Jefferson
I saw it rather clearly on that day
The tears flowing down
From eyes that had seen
99 years of life and death
As I held the same hand that
Held Molly McBride’s over seventy
Years before…seven years before Dad
Was born…you were thirty-four
When he came into your world
27 when Molly went out
And a young 65 when I came in
~
I can see…I can feel…
The girl inside, born in 1893
To the good Doctor P.K. and his Mary…
Did he deliver his own?
Of course he did…
He delivered the whole county
Your brothers Estell and Thurman, who died so young
Sharon and your beloved Sam and Minnie
So very long ago…
I can feel…see the little girl
At seven, waiting on the turn
Of the century
The one you almost made it all
The way through
~
You felt so fragile on that day
As I held you up
And led you over
To see what you never imagined
You would live to see
Your brother’s son lying there
So peaceful and serene
You tell me…in all your darkest hours…
This one you didn’t want to outlive
You tell me…
You can see both of them in me
I tell you…
I can only be me…I hope it is enough
You hold my daughter
And seem to know
They are all here in us
And I see tears of joy
As it was your way
~
This will be
One of the few memories
I will keep from one of the
Worst days of my life
The tears rolling down
Your ninety-nine year old face
Extreme sadness, extreme joy
Life, that’s what you taught me
That’s how you live
To be 102…
Staying young inside
Thank you, great teacher
Great Aunt Virgie
I will sing of you
For all my days
Perhaps I am, after all,
only half-way there
Mike Carson
2-18-2008
The tears flowing down
From eyes that had seen
99 years of life and death
As I held the same hand that
Held Molly McBride’s over seventy
Years before…seven years before Dad
Was born…you were thirty-four
When he came into your world
27 when Molly went out
And a young 65 when I came in
~
I can see…I can feel…
The girl inside, born in 1893
To the good Doctor P.K. and his Mary…
Did he deliver his own?
Of course he did…
He delivered the whole county
Your brothers Estell and Thurman, who died so young
Sharon and your beloved Sam and Minnie
So very long ago…
I can feel…see the little girl
At seven, waiting on the turn
Of the century
The one you almost made it all
The way through
~
You felt so fragile on that day
As I held you up
And led you over
To see what you never imagined
You would live to see
Your brother’s son lying there
So peaceful and serene
You tell me…in all your darkest hours…
This one you didn’t want to outlive
You tell me…
You can see both of them in me
I tell you…
I can only be me…I hope it is enough
You hold my daughter
And seem to know
They are all here in us
And I see tears of joy
As it was your way
~
This will be
One of the few memories
I will keep from one of the
Worst days of my life
The tears rolling down
Your ninety-nine year old face
Extreme sadness, extreme joy
Life, that’s what you taught me
That’s how you live
To be 102…
Staying young inside
Thank you, great teacher
Great Aunt Virgie
I will sing of you
For all my days
Perhaps I am, after all,
only half-way there
Mike Carson
2-18-2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Hidden Away
IN THE WEE HOURS
OF THE NIGHT
I STILL DREAM
OF A GIRL I MET
YEARS AGO
OF THINGS LONG PAST
OF THE DYING EMBER
DEEP WITHIN
WHY WASN'T I TOLD
OF A WORLD WHERE
DREAMS AND THINGS
ARE ALLOWED TO FADE
AND PEOPLE CRUMBLE
LONG BEFORE THEY DIE
~
I KNOW ABOUT BEING DOWN
AND I'VE BEEN UP A
TIME OR TWO
BUT NOW IT'S TIME
TO SEE HOW FAR
THIS BAREFOOT BOY CAN GO
GET OUTTA MY WAY
I'M HEADED FOR THE TOP
JUST ME AND MY
DREAMS AND THINGS
FOREVERMORE, GLORY BOUND
~
IN THE WEE HOURS
I SEE
A WORLD THAT I DESPISE
FULL OF HATE AND THE HATERS
THEY AREN'T CONTENT
TO LET IT BE - THEY MUST
SPREAD IT EVERYWHERE
AND PEOPLE CRUMBLE
LONG BEFORE THEY DIE
~
I COULD TELL YOU
ALL ABOUT HATRED
IT BURNS THE SOUL
AND FRIES THE VERY HEART OF MAN
I LEFT IT BEHIND
YEARS AGO
'CAUSE I'VE SEEN THEM
THEY STAND
RIGHT OVER THE RIDGE AND WAIT
FOR YOU TO LEAVE AND THEN,
AND THEN...
WHEN THERE'S NO ONE AROUND
THEY HIDE THEM AWAY
WHERE WE CAN'T SEE THEM
FOREVERMORE,
GLORY BOUND
~
IN THE WEE HOURS
I SOMETIMES THINK I'LL
LIVE FOREVER AND A DAY
... BUT SOMETIMES I WONDER WHY
I WOULD WANT TO
THERE'S NO FUTURE IN THE PAST
JUST THINGS TO AVOID
LIKE FIRE HYDRANTS OR
BLUE-EYED GIRLS WITH GOLDEN LOCKS
~
NEVER HAVE FELT LIKE
A WINNER
ONE WHO HAS GOT IT MADE
ALWAYS HAD TO MAKE IT
ON MY OWN
NO ONE TO REALLY COUNT ON
JUST ANOTHER LONELY POET
IS THERE ANY OTHER KIND?
~
THOUGHTS
THAT COME TO BEING
IN THE WEE HOURS
HAVE NO TRUE FORM
JUST A SAD AND LONELY MAN
ALONE WITH THE PAST AND
BOB DYLAN AND THE BAND
ANOTHER TALL BOY - LESS FILLING, OF COURSE
AND THOUGHTS - GOD DAMN THESE THOUGHTS
~
GERRY AND JERRY LEFT
CLIFFORD ALONE WITH HIS THOUGHTS
AND NOW CLIFFORD'S HIDDEN AWAY
FOREVERMORE,
GLORY BOUND
I WEEP FOR THEM ALL
I CRY A TEAR FOR
MY HUMAN RACE
I SURE HOPE THERE IS A FUTURE
WITH A LOT LESS HATE
TODAY I TURN MY HEAD AND SIGH
AND DREAM
IN THE WEE
HOURS OF THE NIGHT
M.J.CARSON
9-17-87
OF THE NIGHT
I STILL DREAM
OF A GIRL I MET
YEARS AGO
OF THINGS LONG PAST
OF THE DYING EMBER
DEEP WITHIN
WHY WASN'T I TOLD
OF A WORLD WHERE
DREAMS AND THINGS
ARE ALLOWED TO FADE
AND PEOPLE CRUMBLE
LONG BEFORE THEY DIE
~
I KNOW ABOUT BEING DOWN
AND I'VE BEEN UP A
TIME OR TWO
BUT NOW IT'S TIME
TO SEE HOW FAR
THIS BAREFOOT BOY CAN GO
GET OUTTA MY WAY
I'M HEADED FOR THE TOP
JUST ME AND MY
DREAMS AND THINGS
FOREVERMORE, GLORY BOUND
~
IN THE WEE HOURS
I SEE
A WORLD THAT I DESPISE
FULL OF HATE AND THE HATERS
THEY AREN'T CONTENT
TO LET IT BE - THEY MUST
SPREAD IT EVERYWHERE
AND PEOPLE CRUMBLE
LONG BEFORE THEY DIE
~
I COULD TELL YOU
ALL ABOUT HATRED
IT BURNS THE SOUL
AND FRIES THE VERY HEART OF MAN
I LEFT IT BEHIND
YEARS AGO
'CAUSE I'VE SEEN THEM
THEY STAND
RIGHT OVER THE RIDGE AND WAIT
FOR YOU TO LEAVE AND THEN,
AND THEN...
WHEN THERE'S NO ONE AROUND
THEY HIDE THEM AWAY
WHERE WE CAN'T SEE THEM
FOREVERMORE,
GLORY BOUND
~
IN THE WEE HOURS
I SOMETIMES THINK I'LL
LIVE FOREVER AND A DAY
... BUT SOMETIMES I WONDER WHY
I WOULD WANT TO
THERE'S NO FUTURE IN THE PAST
JUST THINGS TO AVOID
LIKE FIRE HYDRANTS OR
BLUE-EYED GIRLS WITH GOLDEN LOCKS
~
NEVER HAVE FELT LIKE
A WINNER
ONE WHO HAS GOT IT MADE
ALWAYS HAD TO MAKE IT
ON MY OWN
NO ONE TO REALLY COUNT ON
JUST ANOTHER LONELY POET
IS THERE ANY OTHER KIND?
~
THOUGHTS
THAT COME TO BEING
IN THE WEE HOURS
HAVE NO TRUE FORM
JUST A SAD AND LONELY MAN
ALONE WITH THE PAST AND
BOB DYLAN AND THE BAND
ANOTHER TALL BOY - LESS FILLING, OF COURSE
AND THOUGHTS - GOD DAMN THESE THOUGHTS
~
GERRY AND JERRY LEFT
CLIFFORD ALONE WITH HIS THOUGHTS
AND NOW CLIFFORD'S HIDDEN AWAY
FOREVERMORE,
GLORY BOUND
I WEEP FOR THEM ALL
I CRY A TEAR FOR
MY HUMAN RACE
I SURE HOPE THERE IS A FUTURE
WITH A LOT LESS HATE
TODAY I TURN MY HEAD AND SIGH
AND DREAM
IN THE WEE
HOURS OF THE NIGHT
M.J.CARSON
9-17-87
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