"carman" poems
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
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 5:10 PM UTC
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
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
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
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
The Dream Stream
I transfer the rods energy from slack to a hell bent back cast stroke,
The line straightens, teeth clenched…..I push the casting arc forward.
My delivery is spot on, dead drift fly traveling the same pace as the current,
The trout’s jumping rise brings on a grin and the caddis hatch is on.
I look up stream and catch a glimmer of another heavy hatch of Caddis,
Grandpa’s eyes search for mine and finding them he flashes a toothy smile.
“Having Fun?"He shouts….I nod my head emphatically and give him a thumbs up.
And we keep it going until darkness prevails and the hatch finds sanctuary.
We walk and talk all the way home and I can’t remember a better time.
And now I have the honor of teaching my own son this gift.
Generation after generation it’s our duty to pass down our experience & know-how to the next.
And just before I close my eyes tonight, I recall this quote…
“It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons”. F. Schiller
- K.E. Carman 2016
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
Hard to believe it was 18 Years ago, 1998.
Waiting that long to make love is an unfortunate fate.
A July rain awakens the sleeping nymphs’,
Like old Rip Van Winkle, a yawn & stretch those limbs
Clawing their way out of an earthen cocoon,
Metamorphous begins by the light of the moon.
An electric buzz fills the West Virginia holler,
Charlie Cicada says “Connectin’ with them females is the problem”
And not long after… a loving relationship is bequeathed,
For the less fortunate, the brown trout waits beneath the Sycamore for a tasty treat.
Well there you have it; such is the life of the Brood Cicada,
And for new born nymphs’, it’s time to go sleep until the next Mania.
K.E. Carman 2016
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
I may never be a Nolan Ryan fastball pitcher,
But I can play any position the coach asks of me and I’m a helluva hitter.
Try to be a sponge in everything I do,
Resourcefulness, Adaptability and Work Ethic are your conquest clues.
So make every second count young person!!
Wear your heart on your sleeve..express yourself for all to see!!!
And as **Dale Carnegie once said…Be the better person and don’t worry about anyone talking incompetence
Cause “Unjust criticism is often a disguised complement”!
-K.E. Carman
** Dale Carnegie – How to win friends and influence people
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
My house is too crowded
And no one get along.
I’ve tried to kick them out
But they refuse to leave my home.
First there is the soldier,
All he wants to do is fight.
He’ll fight for what is right.
He’ll fight for what is wrong,
Doesn’t matter to him as long as there is a fight.
Next there’s Mr. Knowitall.
He been there and done it all.
And he wants everyone to know it.
He wants to be in every conversation
And want to be heard by everyone.
But no one really listens.
Then there is dad.
All he needs is his children.
He wants to give them the world,
Dry all their tears,
Remove all their fears,
And make everything alright.
Mr. Easy, he thinks life is a breeze
And everyone should chill and be happy.
He just wants to have fun
Joke and play like little
Children on a playground.
He seldom comes out of his room.
He is really the quiet one.
Let’s not forget Carman,
He is the worker of the group.
A real good worker in fact.
He won’t miss a day
And never been late.
He can’t stand Mr. Easy.
And then the savior, Captain Saver,
I call him.
He is like Dad, I guess.
His goal is to help all men, women, and child.
He wants to help the world
Have a better tomorrow
And is willing to give up our very last dime.
Now that brings me to Husband.
He doesn’t like Dad or Captain.
They constantly fight over whom
Do we give our time to.
You see
He only wants to be with our wife.
To him no one else matters.
The strongest of them all
Has to be Fish,
He lives just to go fishing.
When we are on the lake side
Or chilling by the river,
Either with friends or just us,
There is no arguing,
No fighting.
Just fishing.
He doesn’t play that.
Everyone obey him.
Last there am me.
Quietly I sit in my little corner
Trying to figure it all out.
I don’t fight.
I don’t say one word.
I’m just there.
This house is too crowded
And some of us need to go
And find another place to call home.
It is too many in my house
Some people visit I don’t even know.
I wish they all leave and leave me alone.
There are too many under this roof
At least nine of them I know
Trying to take over my home.
There are too many voices in this house.
And I wish they all would just go
And find a house of their own.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
Life is a progression of r====
o====
a====
d====
s====
Making good choices lightens the load.
Feet firmly planted on the road less traveled
2020 Hindsight will make your dreams unravel.
-K.E. Carman
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
You’ve been so many places in your life and time,
You sung a lot of songs; you thought some were bad rhymes.
You shared your love on stages
With a million people watching,
But you’re in Heaven now and I’m writing this poem for you.
We know you’re in a place where there’s no space or time,
Loved so much you’ll always be a friend of mine.
And now you think your life is over,
But someday we’ll all be together.
You’re in Heaven now and I’m writing this poem for you.
You’ll never be forgotten Leon…..cause I’m singing this song for you
K. Carman 2016
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
As Sunday wakes, I watch the sunrise
Peaking over the yawning Sawtooth Range.
Idaho's Rocky Mountain loving arms wide open
Stretch to embrace the East fork of the Salmon
It’s at this bend I feel the need to take in
All the wonderment, that emerges to take my breath away.
I load my rod and chart a path for my line,
As I spot two survivors, drifting in and out of the undercut.
Feeling good about this, I offer up a clodhopper,
It drifts by unacknowledged, not even a balk.
WTH I think to myself, as I tie on a dropper,
And make one last presentation…………….
“Well I’ll be ****** never seen a trout yawn.”
- K.E. Carman 2017
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
NINETEEN
We walk together through scorched ravines.
Cutting paths through ashen yellowed undergrowth.
Beads of perspiration, our faces flushed,
The gusting wind embraces us as if to hold us back from completing our objective.
Six minutes of Safety our mission, premise clear,
We attack the fire with grit & opposing force.
Smoldering vegetation extinguished beneath our feet
And a Jack Rabbit makes his move to escape the approaching flames.
And in the distance, the Demon ‘Fire’ & his accomplice ‘shifting winds’ plan their conspiracy,
They look down upon there victims with malicious contempt.
Hands clenched as if to enjoy their fatal actions….
And with swift exploit they entrap the men.
As the men peer through the flames they see Angels on the Horizon.
And they arrive to carry off their heroes to paradise.
Making their way through the Milky Way……. past Jupiter & Mars,
Bound for a place called “The New Jerusalem”.
A welcoming carpet of stars marks their arrival and the Son shone bright!
And as they approach the city, their smiling faces are welcomed by oceans of loved ones & friends afar.
No more tears, no more pain, no more worries…only happiness abounds
Because the hotshots from Granite Mountain have arrived home, safe and sound.
-Kurt Carman 2014
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
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.”
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 5:23 PM UTC
I can’t explain this empty feeling,
A heartache…..painfully revealing,
The sad news of a loved one’s passing,
A picture, a remembrance, Psalm 23 grasping.
It’s in these fleeting moments we try to reconcile,
Why we did or didn’t use time more worthwhile.
I’m praying that serenity will fill your heart and mind,
To triumph over this mournful time.
K.E. Carman
12-OCT-2016
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
NINETEEN
We walk together through scorched ravines.
Cutting paths through ashen yellowed undergrowth.
Beads of perspiration, our faces flushed,
The gusting wind embraces us as if to hold us back from completing our objective.
Six minutes of Safety our mission, premise clear,
We attack the fire with grit & opposing force.
Smoldering vegetation extinguished beneath our feet
And a Jack Rabbit makes his move to escape the approaching flames.
And in the distance, the Demon ‘Fire’ & his accomplice ‘shifting winds’ plan their conspiracy,
They look down upon there victims with malicious contempt.
Hands clenched as if to enjoy their fatal actions….
And with swift exploit they entrap the men.
As the men peer through the flames they see Angels on the Horizon.
And they arrive to carry off their heroes to paradise.
Making their way through the Milky Way……. past Jupiter & Mars,
Bound for a place called “The New Jerusalem”.
A welcoming carpet of stars marks their arrival and the Son shone bright!
And as they approach the city, their smiling faces are welcomed by oceans of loved ones & friends afar.
No more tears, no more pain, no more worries…only happiness abounds
Because the hotshots from Granite Mountain have arrived home, safe and sound.
-Kurt Carman 2013
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
Kurt Carman May 1985
A Rise on Neversink
NOTE: It's important for the reader to know that Theodore Gordon was an American writer who fished the Catskill region of New York State in the late 19th century through the early 20th century. Though he never published a book, Gordon is often called the "father of the American school of dry fly fishing. The poem " A Rise on Neversink" is about a boy and his Grandfather fishing on this famous river called Neversink. The spirit of Gordon, who now lives through nature, encourages and speaks to the boy through wind and water.
A RISE ON NEVERSINK
We head upstream past fallen Hemlocks,
Crawling recumbent through advancing grass.
Wetness prevails from the night before,
And seeing us, the Groundhog shakes his head in disbelief.
Sun perched on Doubletop Mountain,
Shown the rising Brown sip his prey.
I wait, another rise boils the riffle.
My eyes question when, Grandpa gives the nod.
The shooting line breaks the winds path,
Invisible leader curls resisting gravity.
The Skater finds its mark, spinning without authority,
Setting a course through the waters force.
Emerald moss, dripping wet jewels,
Deepens the blue-green pool,
Theodore Gordon's reflection shown now,
He smiles, the breeze whispers "tight lines".
Scrambling from my knees I find
the Brown makes his approach, only to show his back.
My heart pounds and only my gut tightens.
Disappointment whelms over, an encouraging nudge prods from behind.
Gordon's voice once again calls,
Performed by the spruce needles murmur,
Patience s s s s s s
My hands begin to steady, premise clear.
Double hauling as if my life depended.
As beautiful an object of lavish nature produces,
From underneath the Brown assaults, Skater devoured, groping,
Grasped with bent snout, outmaneuvering his prey.
Tippet strained, reel whining fervent praise,
Moving for swift water, he surfaces briefly
Seeking the currents leverage.
He educates his pupil with the magical ploy.
A broken fly rod hangs down in contempt, against the tender Payne rod.
The evening hatch finds sanctuary,
And only the Catskills angling legend lingers in the air.
This lesson complete, the boy dreams.
And Theodore awaits the mourning encore.
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 12:18 PM UTC
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.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
Racality / reɪsˈæləti/ - An awakening when one realizes that regardless of outward appearance or inward ideology, unconditional love for mankind conquers narrow-mindedness.
Regardless of one’s fit, form or function,
We must be mindful that judgment is a natural instinct.
It’s time to pause and think about the words before we speak them.
K.E. Carman/ 2016
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC