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Kurt Carman Feb 2018
One of my favorite William Bliss Carman poems...even though a Canadian by birth..it goes without saying that I believe all the Carman's are connected. Bliss I love your heart felt words!

EARTH VOICES

I heard the spring wind whisper

Above the brushwood fire,

“The world is made forever

Of transport and desire.



“I am the breath of being,

The primal urge of things;

I am the whirl of star dust,

I am the lift of wings.



“I am the splendid impulse

That comes before the thought,

The joy and exaltation

Wherein the life is caught.



“Across the sleeping furrows

I call the buried seed,

And blade and bud and blossom

Awaken at my need.



“Within the dying ashes

I blow the sacred spark,

And make the hearts of lovers

To leap against the dark.”



II



I heard the spring light whisper

Above the dancing stream,

“The world is made forever

In likeness of a dream.



“I am the law of planets,

I am the guide of man;

The evening and the morning

Are fashioned to my plan.



“I tint the dawn with crimson,

I tinge the sea with blue;

My track is in the desert,

My trail is in the dew.



“I paint the hills with color,

And in my magic dome

I light the star of evening

To steer the traveller home.



“Within the house of being,

I feed the lamp of truth

With tales of ancient wisdom

And prophecies of youth.”



III



I heard the spring rain murmur

Above the roadside flower,

“The world is made forever

In melody and power.



“I keep the rhythmic measure

That marks the steps of time,

And all my toil is fashioned

To symmetry and rhyme.



“I plow the untilled upland,

I ripe the seeding grass,

And fill the leafy forest

With music as I pass.



“I hew the raw, rough granite

To loveliness of line,

And when my work is finished,

Behold, it is divine!



“I am the master-builder

In whom the ages trust.

I lift the lost perfection

To blossom from the dust.”



IV



Then Earth to them made answer,

As with a slow refrain

Born of the blended voices

Of wind and sun and rain,

“This is the law of being

That links the threefold chain:

The life we give to beauty

Returns to us again.”
Poet and essayist (William) Bliss Carman was born in Fredericton, New Brunswick, in 1861. He earned a BA and an MA at the University of New Brunswick and studied at the University of Edinburgh and Harvard University. He settled in New Canaan, Connecticut, in 1909.

Carman’s metered, formal verse explores natural and spiritual themes. He is the author of more than 50 volumes of poetry, including Low Tide on Grand Pré (1893), Over the Wintry Threshold (1913), and Later Poems (1926), as well as four essay collections, including Talks on Poetry and Life (1926). With Lorne Pierce, he edited the anthology Our Canadian Literature: Representative Verse, English, and French (1922). Pierce also edited The Selected Poems of Bliss Carman (1954) and he is the subject of the biography Bliss Carman: Quest and Revolt (1985), by Muriel Miller.

Carman’s honors included membership in the Royal Society of Canada. Carman is buried at Forest Hill Cemetery in Fredericton. The Stanford University Archives holds a selection of his papers.
A carman of lore now
superfluously en route
to enrapture
these egalitarians indebted
to patriots
but clandestine horizon
when jeopardy arises with present  
that unrest succumb to fighting
that surreptitious supplant freedom
with only a vestige of Justice.
Kurt Carman May 2017
There is nothing quite like a Caramel Apple Thumbprint Scone
I bought two tonight, one for the road and one for home.
Sometimes I buy one for me and one for Mum,
Didn’t bother to tell her I ate them both…every… last… crumb.

Tonight on my way home I decide to buy a baker’s dozen
The trouble with that is I ate six and got an upset stomach
Now here I sit upon this throne, tootin’ and thinking all alone
That there’s nothing like a Caramel Apple Thumbprint Scone….hic!

K.E. Carman
2017
Geez I love these **** things
Kurt Carman Feb 2016
Trying to Breathe**

I'm sure when my Mom brought me into this world,
She would have never imagined I would have done something so stupid.
That day 1964 is still clear as hell..blowing clouds of "killa" with my very first smoke.
Kissed my first girl and smoked my first cigarette all on the sameday..Milestone..NOT
Nothing but a cool fool...So Cool.....My *** was frosted over!

This COPD death sentence reeks of a smell you never get rid of.
Shallow strained breathing keeps time with syncopated heart beats.
And if your a smoker my friend I know this message is gonna get your attention.
Let the message sink in and swirl around your head like those clouds of "killa".
And remember this................

"You can't delete racism. It's like a cigarette, you can't stop smoking if you don't want to and you can't delete racism if people don't want to. But I'll continue do everything I can to help!"

-K.E. Carman 2015
I quit smoking in 1998 when I lost my father in law to Lung disease. Not an easy thing to tell someone to let go. Fast forward to 2014 and I go for my yearly physical and two weeks later I'm diagnosed with COPD. If you sow **** your sure as hell gonna reap ****. I've fallen in love with Hello Poetry and all of you who provide me with your words of wisdom. Love you guys!!!
Kurt Carman Apr 2016
On this hillside where the homeless rest
The Song Sparrow bursts into psalm,
Reciting beautiful exclamations to the heavens above
For the forgotten souls that are concealed below.

In this place called Potters Field lay one million souls
Unknowns from 200 years ago....more & more arriving everyday.
Nestled thickets of wild trees hold these memories past and
Shadow the headstones with prayers inscribed.

How could one small place hold so many forgotten souls?
How could we have forgotten those less fortunate than us?
Saint Benedict's tear filled eyes scan the field
As he try's to to make sense of what has happened.

Lift up your eyes New York and make your voices heard.
Don't let their memory fade away.
God holds a special place for these children because....
In the Kingdom of God....
                                 The last shall be first.

K.E Carman 2016
Hope you'll read this NY Times article.........http://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/05/nyregion/allowed-to-visit-her-babys-grave-after-12-years-a-woman-is-told-your-son-isnt-here.html?_r=0

I must tell you that I had to stop often through out the article to wipe the tears from my eyes. I write this poem in memory of little Anthony DeJesus. God has taken your broken body and made you whole again sweet boy!

— The End —