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

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 son

watched Ed Sullivan introduce The Beatles

to an adoring American audience, who in later years

admitted that yes, they were pretty good, and who was in fact

the same man who watched

Ronald Reagan explain American football to John

in the booth with Frank and Howard and Dandy Don

on Monday Night in 1973,

again during one of our regularly scheduled sessions.



Our lives didn’t revolve around football,

but it was our good common ground and Monday Night

became the pinnacle of the ritual.

It came pre-loaded with the best games

and biggest names,

a prime time jewel.



It was Monday Night that got us

a second color TV for mom’s bedroom.

Monday Night was the prime time

for father and son to bond. We didn’t miss

much of the first six years and when I returned home from the Navy,

we eased back into it whenever possible.



I did, however, take Monday Night to a higher level

while in San Diego, an NFL city

with a hot team in the late ‘70s.

National City had a bar where you could:

play Asteroids, drink beer and watch girls strip or

shoot pool, drink beer and watch girls strip or

watch the game on a big screen projected TV

(very rare in 1978), drink beer and watch girls strip or

go out back and supplement your beer drinking

with something a little stronger and then come in

and watch girls strip.

We went there for the big TV screen, of course.

On Monday Night, in California, the party started early and

finished late, but while in California I

didn’t have a car and

never drove anywhere.



I bought Big Blue from a friend of dad’s,

she was a 1973 Chevy Impala

and built like a tank, but much faster.

Big Blue and I set the world on fire

for five years until December 1st, 1986,

the Monday Night we both

went down in flames.



I worked and went to school with David,

he was from New Jersey and

his main claim to fame was

having his collarbone broken by Bill Bates.

Bill (not Bates, he played for Dallas)

hung with us frequently,

he had tried out for the Kansas City Royals and

was studying sports broadcasting.

Most of our activities were

sports and beer related;

we formed a city league softball team,

we went to UT football and basketball games,

played Sports Illustrated dice baseball,

and just basically got together

when we could.

The Giants were playing the 49’ers.

The Giants were on a roll and in fact,

won it all that year. They had Phil Simms and

Lawrence Taylor. The 49’ers had Joe and Jerry,

no last names needed.

This was a big Monday Night session,

this required a big screen.



Not as rare in 1986, Mr. Gaddi’s

had a big screen,

pizza and

pitchers of beer and

a party on Monday Night.

It was a good close game

up until Mark Bravo dragged

7 would be tacklers 20 yards down the field

on a simple play down the middle.

There was no stopping the Giant train then.

Mr. Gaddi’s closed up at eleven, but

the game played on.

Roger’s Place was two blocks away and

had a TV and pitchers of beer,

the train was back on track.



Roger’s Place closed at midnight and

the Giants won the game, but the train

was still rolling…

this was a mistake that found a place to happen.



Doodle’s shared the parking lot

with Roger’s Place.

Doodle’s was a full bar where

one could get lucky or

very unlucky.

It looked good to us at 12 am,

what could go wrong?



Two for one from 12 to 2?

Tequila sunrises, two at a time,

“This train is bound for glory, this train…”

Two hours of

heavy flirting and

laughing and

crying and

drunk dialing ex-girlfriends

(we used quarters back then) later and

it was 2 am,

time for the train to pull in to the station.

We said our good byes

and all headed for

the back roads to home.



I bet you are thinking you

know how this ends, but there

were no blue flashing lights or

great tragedy.

The moral perhaps as subtle

as a sledgehammer, but

this is actually a mystery,

one I have tried to unravel

for the last 23 years.



I made it safe and sound

back to my subdivision

and had only to maneuver 4 blocks

to arrive safe at home.

At the top of the hill

the road went straight down,

perhaps 4 football fields in length,

ending in a hard left

before an abrupt dead end

and after a gentle left at the bottom of the hill.

My Jenson speakers were blaring

“Highway To Hell” and

I floored it and

never let go and

never came close

to making even the gentle left turn,

driving straight through some rose bushes,

a mailbox,

a beautifully manicured lawn of

Kentucky Bluegrass

and being stopped only

by a fire hydrant.

In Hollywood they gush 20 feet,

in real life they bubble up

some water that wouldn’t

put out a campfire.

In Hollywood they take you off to jail and

madcap adventure ensues,

my night in jail was rather sobering

and boring.



I was three months away

from graduation and applying

for jobs in transportation.

I got off easy, but that was delusion.

The only job I got was managing

a gas station.

I lost my chance to make sure

the trains were running on time

in the blink of eye and

the inexplicable

press of a foot

on Monday Night or

early Tuesday morning,

if you prefer.



Big Blue was never the same again,

neither was Monday Night and

truthfully,

that was the night

the party ended.



Mike Carson

5-27-2009

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

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