#carlos - Hello Poetry

Dear Carlos: Poet & One Man Band, have heard these words so many times, always bemused, trace~smile appearing, but this time, it hit me like a Blue Mountain extra hot, micro~window-waving cup of java Jamaican, that is me, this was me, always, even before I knew how to poem to music that I had always head-heard, before I understood that these, my songs were soul~pieces escapees, my…legatees I leave them them in puzzle form, surely a piece, or three missing, but no matter, each piece an individual composition, standing alone, but the big picture no one will ever see, understand but that is the poet’s audience, his own one man band, no bandwagon attached, a solitary figure quiet contented with his disconnected discontentment, a lifetime spent in refining, defining…refinishing 2 poem themes crisscrossed cross in my head, interweaving themselves instead of becoming two cells, one split apart, I call this process ruefully reverse me~mitosis, blending that coffee with a quarter cup of white milky, leaving me a caramel colored confection, perfect in unity of trinity, that combined cuppa plus my insides warmed, cozied, the heat combined with the fire inside to write…one more on the “two-to-write list,” in the “draft”y attic chamber, were two titles, twins, now conjoined; the first, an expose of why I choose to write these poems, and the other, why I have a life of few friends, the few chosen ones; the inherent conceptualizations differ but cross the same forests and deserts, hid in my own Northwest Territory, rugged and inhospitable, where to survive, it required accepting lonely solitude, with a ragged welcome, & an honest mirror an unequivocal, no equivocation permit, that telling yourself grand lies was pointless because you were a criminal on trial, prosecutor, defense lawyer, judge and jury of your, ha ha, peers all rolled into one, there will never be a higher court wanting to grant an appeal, what is…well, is; a sad bliss but after decades of trial and many errors, wonderful and awful partnerships; it was modestly perfected, dis-satisfyingly…satisfying this goes on too long, like an intolerable avoidance of answering, there, a phony confessional declarative; the whys un~provided, so fall back on that all encompassing defense of temporary insanity that was locked in those self-same sealed cells, carriers of my tainted DNA, looking like bagels~donuts with holes, no, voids, a central, air pocket of emptiness, with no surface to fill full, or to adhere to, a drifter, an observer, never, a full participant these empty holes, were just fried dough, sugar coated, a fleeting life~lies of no substance, that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to fill with worth, and I’ve written a few moments of kindness, unqualified unreserved loving, but too few to justify my existence to myself! That’s what happens when you judge yourself, no defense strategy can succeed, the fight is fixed, but I write on vaingloriously hoping that there is yet, a flawless poem waiting within, that a one man band, can both play and enjoy… fav poets: Whitman, Hafez, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Pradip and so many countless others on this site…

0

May 5, 2024

May 5, 2024 at 9:46 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Dear Carlos: Poet & One Man Band

Dear Carlos: Poet & One Man Band, have heard these words so many times, always bemused, trace~smile appearing, but this time, it hit me like a Blue Mountain extra hot, micro~window-waving cup of java Jamaican, that is me, this was me, always, even before I knew how to poem to music that I had always head-heard, before I understood that these, my songs were soul~pieces escapees, my…legatees I leave them them in puzzle form, surely a piece, or three missing, but no matter, each piece an individual composition, standing alone, but the big picture no one will ever see, understand but that is the poet’s audience, his own one man band, no bandwagon attached, a solitary figure quiet contented with his disconnected discontentment, a lifetime spent in refining, defining…refinishing 2 poem themes crisscrossed cross in my head, interweaving themselves instead of becoming two cells, one split apart, I call this process ruefully reverse me~mitosis, blending that coffee with a quarter cup of white milky, leaving me a caramel colored confection, perfect in unity of trinity, that combined cuppa plus my insides warmed, cozied, the heat combined with the fire inside to write…one more on the “two-to-write list,” in the “draft”y attic chamber, were two titles, twins, now conjoined; the first, an expose of why I choose to write these poems, and the other, why I have a life of few friends, the few chosen ones; the inherent conceptualizations differ but cross the same forests and deserts, hid in my own Northwest Territory, rugged and inhospitable, where to survive, it required accepting lonely solitude, with a ragged welcome, & an honest mirror an unequivocal, no equivocation permit, that telling yourself grand lies was pointless because you were a criminal on trial, prosecutor, defense lawyer, judge and jury of your, ha ha, peers all rolled into one, there will never be a higher court wanting to grant an appeal, what is…well, is; a sad bliss but after decades of trial and many errors, wonderful and awful partnerships; it was modestly perfected, dis-satisfyingly…satisfying this goes on too long, like an intolerable avoidance of answering, there, a phony confessional declarative; the whys un~provided, so fall back on that all encompassing defense of temporary insanity that was locked in those self-same sealed cells, carriers of my tainted DNA, looking like bagels~donuts with holes, no, voids, a central, air pocket of emptiness, with no surface to fill full, or to adhere to, a drifter, an observer, never, a full participant these empty holes, were just fried dough, sugar coated, a fleeting life~lies of no substance, that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to fill with worth, and I’ve written a few moments of kindness, unqualified unreserved loving, but too few to justify my existence to myself! That’s what happens when you judge yourself, no defense strategy can succeed, the fight is fixed, but I write on vaingloriously hoping that there is yet, a flawless poem waiting within, that a one man band, can both play and enjoy… fav poets: Whitman, Hafez, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Pradip and so many countless others on this site…

51

And just like that, it's over - like it didn't even happen. Traded the rest of his life for a half a gram - went out noddin' like he was nappin'.. My heart cries for the family, Aaron, I miss you, fam. And, if I could, you know I'd buy you back for that half a gram. Just like that, gone forever.. Like he was never here, a sudden change of weather we often see this time of year. My heart cries for your kid, I'll never forget you, man. Why men would rather **** than build, I'll never understand.. Just like that, forgotten.. The girl had gotten sober Bought some birthday presents and ****** and just like that - its over. My heart cries for your baby Carrie's never coming back. I wonder if she wore the bracelet I gave her when she faded into black. Just like that, we're praying.. for God to heal our hurt.. a few words about his life and then we chunked him in the dirt.. I tried to tell you, Bill David.. That girl would get you killed.. Look to God to do the healing You just be the one who's healed.

0

Apr 26, 2020

Apr 26, 2020 at 9:26 PM UTC

JA-Perkins

Just like that..

And just like that, it's over - like it didn't even happen. Traded the rest of his life for a half a gram - went out noddin' like he was nappin'.. My heart cries for the family, Aaron, I miss you, fam. And, if I could, you know I'd buy you back for that half a gram. Just like that, gone forever.. Like he was never here, a sudden change of weather we often see this time of year. My heart cries for your kid, I'll never forget you, man. Why men would rather **** than build, I'll never understand.. Just like that, forgotten.. The girl had gotten sober Bought some birthday presents and ****** and just like that - its over. My heart cries for your baby Carrie's never coming back. I wonder if she wore the bracelet I gave her when she faded into black. Just like that, we're praying.. for God to heal our hurt.. a few words about his life and then we chunked him in the dirt.. I tried to tell you, Bill David.. That girl would get you killed.. Look to God to do the healing You just be the one who's healed.

35

This is just to say when i gave you that poem I had no inkling Of what was to come - all the pain awaiting us The ancestral sin Temptation, assured We were manicured, shared prose Dog-hungry for plums.

0

Apr 19, 2019

Apr 19, 2019 at 10:51 AM UTC

MissyJoyBrown

Cold and Delicious

This is just to say when i gave you that poem I had no inkling Of what was to come - all the pain awaiting us The ancestral sin Temptation, assured We were manicured, shared prose Dog-hungry for plums.

9

So you all know...this is THE alter ego of a friend I burried ....ring ....ring .....ring.... .aw shit...my best friend Carlos just snapped me out of hate

0

Sep 22, 2018

Sep 22, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC

truth-1

Alter ego

So you all know...this is THE alter ego of a friend I burried ....ring ....ring .....ring.... .aw shit...my best friend Carlos just snapped me out of hate

1

1. Jorge still in the night he does not remember why —sounds of her sighs her small ears pressing into the tight space of the day or the tenderness between him and her held in the air the repeated denial of the time set chained to hold their plans were revolting against trysts spent in another’s gaze 2. Sebastian the tenacious sense in arrangement lets slip imitation how I could possess your breath and bear it delicately freeing my stances I strained in celebration at the sanctification that you’d granted to Saint Sebastian in Irene’s blessing will healing hands make poetry or trap the shaking of my languid silver pens taut but not ready 3. Carlos the sweet words brought for the lovers that beats hard each hesitance leaps without fear regarding that their time is now here the shape that your sighs take suggesting as if limits don’t exist

0

Dec 4, 2017

Dec 4, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC

ATBockholdt

Enacting Imitation

1. Jorge still in the night he does not remember why —sounds of her sighs her small ears pressing into the tight space of the day or the tenderness between him and her held in the air the repeated denial of the time set chained to hold their plans were revolting against trysts spent in another’s gaze 2. Sebastian the tenacious sense in arrangement lets slip imitation how I could possess your breath and bear it delicately freeing my stances I strained in celebration at the sanctification that you’d granted to Saint Sebastian in Irene’s blessing will healing hands make poetry or trap the shaking of my languid silver pens taut but not ready 3. Carlos the sweet words brought for the lovers that beats hard each hesitance leaps without fear regarding that their time is now here the shape that your sighs take suggesting as if limits don’t exist

57

You ate them? You ate the ******* plums that were in the fridge? God, you're a selfish *******

0

Oct 22, 2016

Oct 22, 2016 at 1:32 AM UTC

joe-thompson

A Note to William Carlos Williams

You ate them? You ate the ******* plums that were in the fridge? God, you're a selfish *******

4

So much depends upon The open sky cut open by the trees By the rain by the lives that we led Upside down we stood as if for years Waiting to become the person We were meant to be On the back trails of our open heart So much depends upon Listening to Bach in the dark How poets undressed our sympathy In clothes of the absolute So much depends upon The sound of Mandarin like Circumstance, and stillness that never dies These were the cries that we reached Out for, as if we could grasp the light So much depends upon The dreaming of what is possible And prowling around the people Whom we let hurt us in order to Learn more completely how to feel.

0

Oct 15, 2014

Oct 15, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC

wuji-shiu

So much depends

So much depends upon The open sky cut open by the trees By the rain by the lives that we led Upside down we stood as if for years Waiting to become the person We were meant to be On the back trails of our open heart So much depends upon Listening to Bach in the dark How poets undressed our sympathy In clothes of the absolute So much depends upon The sound of Mandarin like Circumstance, and stillness that never dies These were the cries that we reached Out for, as if we could grasp the light So much depends upon The dreaming of what is possible And prowling around the people Whom we let hurt us in order to Learn more completely how to feel.

21