"carlson" poems
*I cried
Until the night died
And morning came to rise*
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC
I know it was your time
And I know it had to be
But He took you too soon;
You meant so much to me.
I miss you.
I've been trying to remember,
and trying to forget
The memories we made together
The prayers that were said.
I miss you.
May they see You in me.
09/04/14
<3
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC
I look forward to the re-enactments of historic moments in the pageant of The United States of America. [sic]
Gettysburg, Crossing the Delaware, The Moon Landing, Paul Revere's Ride, The March on Washington, The Storming of the Capital, The Clearing of Lafayette Plaza, The George Floyd ****** The Separation of Families, The Arizona Re-count, The Plot to Assassinate Democratic Governors, The Imprisonment of: Jared, Donny, Eric, Ivanka, Don, Carlson, Greene, Gaetz, Guilianni, Hannity, Conway, McVeigh, Barr [sic] (just to mention a few of the Founding Fuck-Ups.), the death of 650,000 people (the vast majority being innocent), The Pandemic of the Unvaxxed [sic]
After July 4, 2024, History may never be the same. See it now!
Jul 22, 2021
Jul 22, 2021 at 3:39 PM UTC
Why do they appear so mystified?
As if every little thing must be justified
Moved to fit inside their small box
And look away when their key couldn't unlock
What they aimed to achieve
Does it ever make you giggle
When people call you fickle
But they're the ones whose eyes are fixed
On an object not quite literally applicable,
Something regarded as abstract, typically unseen
You see: I am a metaphor
And people stare at me.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Preparations are gearing up for the iD Dunedin Fashion Show, which this year opens with a tribute to Australasian style on Anzac weekend.
The 120m-long platform of Dunedin's railway station is again the venue for shows on April 24 and 25, which are preceded by the iD International Emerging Designer Awards on Thursday night at the Town Hall.
Saturday night is sold out and about 100 tickets are still available to Friday's show, organisers say.
Labels Carlson, Mild-Red and NOM*d, brands synonymous with Dunedin fashion, were in the original show in a local bar in 2000 and they're still show stalwarts.
Company of Strangers, Charmaine Reveley, DADA Vintage, Storm, Perriam, Deval, GG (from Shanghai), Liann Bellis, BEATS clothing, Jason Lingard and Jane Sutherland are also strutting their stuff this year.
The shows open with a section titled Together Alone, Revisited, put together by Doris De Pont, featuring garments by four New Zealand and three Australian designers shown at an exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria in 2009.
International guest judge Doris Raymond, the star of documentary series LA Frockstars, is also bringing some garments with her for the show.
The owner of vintage emporium The Way We Wore has a fabulous collection of outfits and she will talk about them at an event in the city on Friday.
Six fashion graduate designers from the Otago Polytechnic School of Design will also show their collections in the shows on Friday and Saturday night.
Garments made by the winner of the emerging designer awards are also in the show.
The finalists were selected from nearly 100 entries from seven countries and 14 fashion schools.
There's a strong showing from Australian schools, especially from Sydney, says judge Tanya Carlson.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
|
Cubism brought the
omniscient narrator
into the visual arts &
|
traveling far enough
from the center of the
universe makes the universe
seem actually tiny &
finally, imperceptible,
all that is time-travel, god &
ordinary life: is relativity,
the math of the diameter;
quantum mechanics, that
of the circumference
|
the Russian avant-garde
of the 'teens & 20's
applied these principles
to typography to serve
the supposedly omniscient
Soviet State;
|
an early cold war
project of the NSA
was to fund the arts
as propaganda
|
1950's & early 60's
America saw unbridled
expressions of mass,
individual, artistic &
intellectual
creativity:
facilitated in large
part by the invention
of LSD by the CIA
|
so far the greatest mind
of recent times has been
essentially a disembodied
brain; RIP Stephen Hawking
|
the future points to our brain
being salvageable from the
polluted mess of the body;
|
Under Gretchen Carlson
Miss America is to be judged
on brains alone
|
_That's Avante-Garde, *****
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
Hi my name is Spencer Carlson
And I swear to god that I'm an alien
And all my attempts to be human
Have only left me more isolated.
As the boy waits
To get drunk at the party scene
A nomadic nowhere man
Dreams of what life really could have been
And I'm
Sitting here listening
To silence waiting
For it to finally
Change it's key
And I would give anything
To hold you through the night and
Tell you that everything
Is gonna be alright but
My arms are tentacles
And my teeth are razor sharp
And every time I reached out to you
You always pushed me back into the dark
And I'm
Sitting here listening
To silence waiting
For it to finally
Change it's key
And I wish that I never knew
I wish that I never knew
What it takes for you
To forget the pain that's haunting
That’s haunting you
I dream to be the one
To save you from this hell but
Everybody else shows you
Ways to save yourself so
What does that make me?
I don't know I'll
Never be as good as a drug
So I will just go where
I'm
Sitting and Listening
To Silence waiting
For it to Finally
Change it's key
https://spencercarlson.bandcamp.com/track/alien
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
My tired eyes cry
My weary body lies
And why do my tears
Think they cannot dry?
Shaky hands and nervous throat
Exhausted heart, this stimulated soul
They ridiculously wait, day after day,
For a break from sorrow, a thing called hope.
How is it that I can live, but it is the hardest thing I ever did?
© Melissa Carlson 2016
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
i watched her lips part and smile form
i heard her laugh start and heart warm
her heart was sore and her jeans were ripped
her mouth sipped coffee from the mug she gripped
the pages from her book were bent,
they were stained where the coffee dripped
the pages from her book smelled like home
they reminded her of him
i watched her lips part as her feeble voice shook
tears filled her sorry eyes as she put away her book
she told me that she saw her life
as a page in a book she didn't intend to write
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 1:21 AM UTC
beside your brother-in-law, they placed you in the ground. they buried you by my great grandparents in an unpopulated town. by early September, the grass was cold; but they made a spot for you, so they wouldn’t be alone. dressed in black, i took a step forward; i grasped some courage, then reached for a rose. there were tears in my eyes; there was hesitancy in my step. they lowered your coffin as i took a deep breath. i swear i tried; i tried to be strong. but i remember you healthy, and now you’re just gone. so here i am; i’m faced with a choice: cry quickly, move on, & live, or socialize and listen, & try to forgive. they’re all here, grandma, your friends and your family; they came. you have no idea how great an impact in these lives that which you have made. i didn’t tell you that i’d been halfway lying, about the mistakes that i’d made. i regret not sharing my poems with you. i’m sorry for the excuses i always made. i’m sorry that i didn’t just sit with you to visit and crochet; i tried too hard to be busy until it was just too late. and i live with that regret everyday. grandma, i miss you. i love you. i know where you are lain. your beautiful soul is flying with angels, but your body’s in this dying grave. unrelenting overthinking causes a heart to stop its beating, and this gut-wrenching under-eating has got to STOP. my stomach’s bleeding from the constant hunger to feel needed. to be heard & to live in peace…once more. because grandma, i went back to your grave on September 7th this year, but i could not find your site. and i started to cry as i wandered aimlessly; to try to lay down the letter to you that i started to write. they told me that you’re better off now, but i’m not so sure i can go on living like my heart didn’t get torn out. my hands shake as i hang my head in shame because i cannot bear the thought of someone looking at me and finally noticing that i am broken..and hurt. frankly, i ache inside because, though i was there when you were buried, i know not where you lie. i forgot to pay too much attention to the site of your grave. maybe it’s because i was afraid to admit that this would turn out to be a familiar place, a desperate space, an earth-shattering, sob-crying, soul-dying, terrifying thing! grandma, i am afraid. because this…this is where you are lain.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
My heart needs a lock;
Give my mind the key.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
Poetry is the weeping eye
it is the weeping shoulder
the weeping eye of the shoulder
it is the weeping hand
the weeping eye of the hand
it is the weeping soul
the weeping eye of the heel.
Oh, you friends,
poetry is not a tear
it is the weeping itself
the weeping of an uninvented eye
the tear of the eye
of the one who must be beautiful
of the one who must be happy.
by Nichita Stanescu, translated by Thomas Carlson and Vasile Poenaru
Sep 24, 2022
Sep 24, 2022 at 12:41 PM UTC
she feels words like pictures that move
reads books solitaire with the afternoon
coffee on her tongue
she turns the page
sets her cup down
and marks her place
in her mind she tries to find
a single place where thoughts subside
and try she may
to drown her lies
only thing wet
her lonely eyes
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 9:42 PM UTC
stop comparing yourself to other people. please? you are just fine, you're beautiful and i accept you. you've got to stop calling each other names and labeling each other based on the things that have been said to you. let the past lie. you're perforating your dreams. they'll die and you'll have nothing left to go after. i don't care how long it takes to assure you that your worth isn't ever going to be defined by what's been said to you. you animate the wildest sides of me. you should believe in you because i believe in you and you should too. stay you, but be happy and trust in the One who loves you every single day. even though you are in the condition that you are in. you'll be perfectly okay.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
For those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
the spiral takes place
in your heart
in your soul
and on your face
it'll knock you down
spit you out
twist your mind
and linger about
the spiral, what pain
the journey, the spaces
all these empty places
they leave you insane
unexpected interests
(un)desired love
unrelenting emotions
used to feeling numb
the affect is collateral
the hurting are told
handing out pieces
not meant to be sold
the spiral takes place
in your soul
and on the faces of the people
who see the pain you hold.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
if tonight's your last
and yesterday's past
intimidates you or
relentlessly accuses you
of the things that
once enchanted you
and you take a slap in the face
you cut to the chase
there's no time to waste
but really you're stuck
you feel out of place
and the rhythm of the sorrow
drags into tomorrow
because you cannot forget
and there is abundant regret
draining from the scars
that you've tried to hide
that you've put aside
and in reality, your soul
IS TIRED
of waiting, of praying
of feeling like it's straying
you breathe, you sleep,
you live as if you
were not dying
you're still trying
TO BE OK
but you are broken and
you cannot cope
and all of your hope
has gone up in smoke
to where has your spirit flown?
LET GO
for the love of God, release
give it to the One you seek
to Him whom your eyes have not seen
in this moment, you are
FREED.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
I am not yet who I am supposed to be.
I have a past; I have regrets.
And there are words that I'd love to take back.
Shame can take me places I wish not to be.
Those things that I have done come creeping back to me.
I feel like a child who's lost and alone. I never feel safe, I never feel at home.
My eyes are blind, can this be? I feel like a prisoner who won't be set free.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
books are our friends
they will never betray
or fade away
they will not leave
or walk away
they are here to stay
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
*If I was to write a poem
On the story of my life
Words would fill those pages
As the stars steal the sky.*
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
i want to be a child sometimes. i want to embrace life's experiences with an innocent smile and look upon others as though they were understood. i want to take back every sane thing i've said and just completely let go of everything that is keeping me from living my life as intense as i crave. because it's okay to not be okay. it is okay to want to change and be somebody else for a time; just promise me something:
don't let it overtake you, steal your soul, or trap your spirit.
you're beautiful, child, see the loveliness that rapidly grows. peace spreads like wildfire from your smile. joy is evident in your eyes; it demands to be seen. pain, though felt, is NOT what defines you. you have been remade, and i love you. i love you so very much.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
is love a pat on the back;
a handshake exchanged?
is love a smile unseen;
a song to ease the pain?
is love meant to last on and on;
is it there to be true?
is it meant to stay strong;
is it for the soul who's blue?
is love so sincere as "i love you;"
is it as informal as "see you soon?"
is it misused or confused;
has it been very terribly abused?
if love has more than once abandoned you,
if love has more than one time rescued you,
if the one who said his love was true,
has not for long remembered you.
love is too casually thrown around;
and love is sometimes better left unfound.
the thing about love is that it's meant to last,
but so many times love loves too fast.
-mc//
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
please don't take to heart what that bully said to you when you were 14, when you were just learning to survive and he told you to die. and it's okay to cry. bend you might, but break not quite. you'll be alright.
tomorrow, if not tonight.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
Distance is the cog wheel
on the haunted axle of my hearing,
grinding fine the deadened mind
of that unborn god
waiting to be caught
by the earth's blue speed,
and carrying in a handled urn
the plucked heart - ours,
it's beating, it's heard, it's beating, it's heard,
a sphere in wild growth -
the roads are wet with tears,
memory frail and elastic,
a sling for stones, a gondola
drowned in childlike Venice's,
a tooth yanked from the cells with a string -
down the empty socket of Vesuvius. And you exist.
by Nichita Stanescu, translated by Thomas Carlson and Vasile Poenaru
Sep 24, 2022
Sep 24, 2022 at 12:37 PM UTC
if you thought you were the only one
to be silent in a noisy place
if you saw yourself as helpless
in a situation you couldn't face
if the days are long but your nights are fast
if you don't know how much longer you will last
if sometimes you see yourself as less
if your life causes constant, unrelenting stress
if you realize that you deserve more (because you do)
come crawling to me, i want to comfort you
i want to sit with you and sing along to acoustic covers by Tyler Ward.
i want you to be silent or to scream loud lyrics to your favorite song.
if you need to list off all the reasons you think you're not pretty, i will (unwillingly) listen...shortly after refuting every vile lie you have just spoken over yourself. you are pretty. and you are brave.
if you must tell yourself to stick it out and be strong
if getting out of bed to face the world seems so wrong
if nothing makes sense and you see no light
if your routine is a process of holding on tight
if your scars are reminders of why you can't sleep,
if you feel so high yet you're in too deep
if your home is not a place
and freedom has no space
if you are not afraid.
if you need me, i will be right here. and if you do not, i am still here.
© Melissa Carlson 2015
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC