Joshua Carter Dec 2016

Heal...

Beautiful souls build beautiful minds..
one in the same time..
lovely rose that grew from the inception of two blind..
creating fire and water that would bring divinity throughout destiny lies..
the beauty in knowledge that makes you think for yourself..
the world on its shoulders..
get that dirt off..
Matter of fact .. I'll help..
but who am I myself?
Empath ..
healer...
that may never heal myself..

Cecil Miller Feb 2016

You wouldn't welsh on a bet with your bookie,
And you wouldn't go to bed with the mob.
You wouldn't mess with a street gang thug,
No matter if he's crab, or slob.

You wouldn't backstab a man on death row,
Cause you know he just might kill ya.
If you've got the gumption.
You wouldn't have it long,
If you cross Evil Nurse Sheila.

You shouldn't be like the fool who tried
To play games with her heart.
She left him a crushed, empty man.
Well, he was doomed from the start.

Sheila isn't a heroin,
And you'd better not let her hear
You snickering about her at the social club.
You might not have time to fear.

Sheila's makes the headlines
Each time she tries to settle down.
She plans to live a carefree life,
But soon she has to leave town.

Everything she does
Is warped, but in the name of love.
Except when she hates your guts,
When it's Sheila you've run afoul of.

If you've never heard her story.
You'd best take this advise.
If you cross her path just keep walking,
You best not look back twice.

Evil Nurse Sheila's got a heart of stone
That looks like a heart of gold.
If you are responsible for it's tarnish,
There's no hope to which you can hold.

Sheila takes no prisoners.
She don't take any guff.
If she thinks to give you a warning,
You'd better not call her bluff.

You wouldn't want to rouse her wrath,
Because her fury won't be tamed.
She's restless, bold and beautiful.
She cannot be contained.

It seems things have been quiet.
She's been off the grid some time.
If she thinks that you might suspect her,
You may be her next crime.

Sheila Carter was a soap opera villianess played by Kimberlin Beown on the sister soaps The Young and the Restless and The Bold and the Beautiful.
I am extremely pleased that my favorite soap actress, Kimberlin Brown, liked this poem after I shared this link to her facebook page.

fans know Sheila has been featured in the Bold and Beautiful episodes a lot in the last couple of months.
Tark Wain Jul 2015

Do you realize how badly I want to be you
how I would kill to be in your position?
to have the responsibilities
that you are so quick to ignore
you are destined, you are divine
you are the chosen one!
a prophecy passed down for centuries
proclaims you to be a demi-god
and you want to shit that all away
you want to run from all of that
and why? because you think you're not good enough?
WELL YOU'RE NOT
i'll say it
but here you have a chance to do something
something great and necessary.

I would kill to be you.

Tark Wain Jul 2015

There is no God
I abandoned that idea that when he let my ancestors drown in fire
nothing you believe will change that in me
say what you will, just know
there is no god, there is no heaven, there are no angels
there are no prophecies
there are only survivors
and I plan on being one of them

Casey Carter Feb 2015

Grand mamma always told me
Hold your head up proud
And never accept to blend in with the crowd-
Kinna strange the way
I'm parting rivers right now
And how if sitting silent
I'm truly speaking out loud

Long ago and swiftly
Juggling dozens of eggs
Though trying not to split 'em
I tripped up on some pegs
The yoke leaked out
Mixed with the blood
From my head
I didn't whimper yet I knew
My beauty was dead-
But that's how it grows
All you Elaine's and Ed's
Through brazen heat
And tempest sleet
Chewing on led

While inspires cry
And empires fry
That sandstone shifts
And driftwood drifts
Alone I merrily roam
With my for sure's and if's
Never dissuading
The hemispheres
Of my bliss

Woods By Day Bars By Night © 2012, Casey Carter
Casey Carter Feb 2015

I've given birth to many things
Cloudy nights, slanted rays
Set ways, uneven days-
Wet it, let it
Permeate its hues-
Like rock 'n' roll
from the womb of the blues

I got a whiskey-drinkin' woman
She waits for me around the bend
Starts harvesting the plants
Now, whenever I drop in
We both play mute, 'cause we know
Where glowing fingers of the fire
play blown wood, like a piano

I've given birth
to birds and snails
Solar systems
that have failed
Let it pour, let it roar
and pay its dues
Like rock 'n' roll
from the fertile
womb of the blues

Currents © 2013, Casey Carter
Casey Carter Feb 2015

Control
Like love
Is indifferent
To race, color or age

I see upright monkeys
With honed, lunatic, pestilent
Expressions
Around endless corners
living out-
and hosing down somberly-
Frequency dreams
Battery life sputter drains
that whip with sardonic torment-
Beat with blood-bathed smiles
Laughing to slow vertiginous rhythm
in captivating faces

Take, take, take-
To receive such
an empty promise

And I've lost interest
in this silent war
We've constructed
so dizzily

Currents © 2009, Casey Carter
Casey Carter Feb 2015

To see the abnormal in the usual
To spy a quaint sliver of seperation
A stutter of fluidity; fluidity primary
The unknown subjection personified

These idealistic constructions forever permeating
Where currents join in twitching pools, swaying
to let their particles cloister and vibrate with
infusing spasms that dispel and attract-
Creating the magnetism of substance

Blank resound bliss
Drunk on a thousand drops
Vindicated from a thousand poisons
Reborn
at grid dot
Flowing invoice implode
All afterward foreshadowing
Being this precursor

Not an equation to be witnessed with
the surgical pangs of intellect

Arbitrary
Problematic
Instigative
None of this
Something ness

Of the womb sea
Blank resound bliss
without tributaries
though sensing its leaks
After Big Bang of suitor system silt
Wanton to multiply
Rabid and violent
In conquest
of joy and earth

What I bring to light
My depths are dark
Empty is the surface
Empty is my sleep

Currents © 2013, Casey Carter
Casey Carter Feb 2015

In the dawning
Of the morning
All is well
And the pieces
Of the night
have all but fell
While the sea gulls
Pick the oceans'
Shorelines clean
I rise
From a dream
To a dream

(Chorus)
Is that a wave
Or a thought
Is that a universe
Or a shell
What you have bought
You shall sell
And all I see
Has an abstraction
It seems
So I rise
From a dream
To a dream

With the death
Of the day
Sprouts the evening
While the clouds
Flash and spume
I whisper of my love
And my hating
So I seek the caress of the womb

Is that a wave
Or a thought
Is that a universe
Or a shell
What you've bought
Don't think you won't sell
All I see
Has an abstraction
It seems
So I rise
From a dream
To a dream
So I rise
From a dream
To a dream

Currents © 2013, Casey Carter

We pass the
walled incline
of Barbour Park

during the day
a foreboding
patch…an open
air market for
the slave merchants
hustling crack and
shit drippin skag
that's been stepped
on so many times
its a wonder the cut
can still chide a high
out of a wrangled soul

the park’s
modest elevation
is an advantageous
lookout for
runners dealing
dimes while
petty ante
gangstas
daydream
gun blazing glories
of their next big job

not long ago
the park was
refurbed with
an industrial
strength plastic
Jungle Jim,
soon after
the park was
condemned
as a no go
zone for kids,
the litter of
hypodermic
needles and
mounds of
lead spiked
soil, deemed
a public health
risk for youth...
quickly
repurposed
as a crib
for ballers…

back in the
day, the shady
pocket park
lifted Paterson’s
citizenry off
the heated
pavements of
a bustling
thoroughfare

a respite from
the pulsing
tensions of urbanity,
a secular sanctuary,
balancing the urgent
industry of commerce
with the propriety of
residential life

compacting a
brief escape
from the clanging
metronome with
a viewing stand
offering elevation...
a heightened
perspective on
life’s parade
marching
up and down
Broadway…

this urban
oasis planted
at the center
of Silk City’s
grandiloquent
boulevard,
occupies
the most
democratic
equidistant
transit point
between opulent
Eastside mansions
of livin large tycoons
at one end….
and the
industrial district of
The Great Falls,
rising at Broadway’s
western terminus,
assiduously
manufacturing
dollars for the darlings
of fortune and
subsistence for
workers yearning to taste
the crumbs of
prosperity that may fall
from the tables of
opportunity

the park once a
pleasant face of
the landlocked
4th Ward filled
with homage to
a nation's greatest
citizens, Hamilton,
Rosa Parks,
Lafayette,
Madison, Fulton,
Montgomery and
Franklin has
denounced the
virtuous pursuit of
their aspirational
yearnings

now playas
feast on
the mead
of sustenance
harvested from
emaciated streets

commerce has taken
up full residency...
the wards cottage industry
cannibalizing
homes, hoods and
homeboys

as the
4th Ward
grows ugly,
the healthy
matrix of
bustling
street life
breaks down
the peeps
weakened
lay prostate
offer veins
to blood sucking
predators
roaming
distressed
going south
neighborhoods

wise guy
knuckleheads,
get busy
gaming
the system
short changing
themselves and
hustling game
to get by
in the sweet bye
and buy of life

at night
a back lit
Barbour Park
floods with the
yellow haze of
blinking Fair St.
lamp posts
and the pulsing
halations
crowning the
Baptist's
of St. Luke's

sentient figures
shift between
park benches
flitting among the
black torsos
of skeletal trees
blending into
the faded
complexion
of abandoned
swing sets

I swear I see
Hurricane Carter
shadow boxing
dancing
around a gangling
Elm, jabbing
away, lifting
a sweet uppercut
working combos
of left hooks
and right crosses
hoping to drop an
intractable
presence
banging away
at a body politic
forming the walls
of taunting
inequities

Hurricane stays
busy delivering
body blows
to burst
through the
prison bars
surrounding
Barbour Park

Music selection:
Bob Dylan, Hurricane

Paterson
01/30/13
jbm

A fragment from extended poem Silk City PIT.  
Published today to honor the death of Rubin Hurricane Carter.
May he find the freedom in eternal rest that eluded him during his lifetime.

A fragment from extended poem Silk City PIT.  (Part 4: Funky Broadway)
Published today to honor the death of Rubin Hurricane Carter.
May he find the freedom in eternal rest that eluded him during his lifetime.

— The End —