Stony yet soft.
A two-edged sword.
Giving, taking.
Man's relentless disease
infiltrates the land
and swept into the creek,
leaving behind secrets,
tales, laughter, crying, pain
hidden beneath the creeks mud
Vomiting up stench
from years before
when the land was walked.
And w/o warning a
precious soul is tossed
onto the creeks stream.
Why?
We question the gentle
creek turned to rage and
relentlessly removing, destroying
all in it's path and a precious soul.
A sacrifice, a forgotten respect,
from years before waiting??
And we question.

The eloquence of the broken is
Incredibly eloquent; Hard men
Do cry when the truth is spoken
Time is once we were young; now
We are young still;  that is why we
Cry.  Then and now are One but are
Broken into past and present and our
Heart in two; our soul is given words
That pulse from our wounds like blood

For Barbara remembering you on one starry night; and
||PBS story about young people  going to Casa Susanna

There’s a famous town that does not exist
It’s in new York state in the Catskills.
It is name Agloe.
It’s a paper town.
Put on the map in an insignificant place.
To protect the mapmakers in 1925
from copyright infringement
By unauthorized reproduction of the map.
I followed a map once all the way to
a place that did not exist.
I travelled slowly to it
Mile by mile.
I loved the thought of living there.
I even fell in love with it.
But it turned out to be a paper heart.
Filling a space where the real heart
Should be it had no feelings or love
It was paper just to look like a heart
to outsiders like me.
So after all the tiring journey
to find it.
I found out It never existed.
Just like Agloe
On the old paper map.
But Agloe never
broke anyone’s real heart.

short story  i wrote in 11/1/2014*

Decomposing sewer rat- that's the smell that will always remind me of her.
A tow colored ponytail, pulled back tautly with the smallish bobby pins holding down her page bangs, would greet me every time I walked into the cafeteria at lunch. She was a new kid, a sophmore, and I didn't know her name. She sat alone by the big red painted double doors. Everyone in the school wanted to get out-  but she seemed to always be smiling. It was my second semester of senior year, after winter break, after weeks of seeing the same girl sitting alone and never seeing her hair down that I decided to finally sit down next to her. The way she ignored my varsity jacket was striking- though it was my older brother's, the football team's logo always seemed to impress new girls who didn't know any better. She just kept on eating her yogurt. And then she looked to her right. And she kept on smiling. 'Hello, and your name is...?'
'Mike,' I offered my hand. And you? She just said her name was J.
I took it but wasn't satisfied. She went on to tell me she was new, from Burlington, Vermont- that she hated Scarsdale. And the bell rung. I went home that night endlessly calculating what the J could've stood for- Jennifer? Jessica? June? Jessica had me by the heels and she held me upside down. It took me days and days and finally a week and finally even a month to convince June that we should see each other outside of school. And then it took me that night taking out the trash to find out that Jennifer lived three doors away from me in a huge limestone manor. Then it took me the next day to convince her that- hey- tomorrow is a Friday, why not do something?
June said yes, put her sweater sleeve to her hand. I read once in a European studies textbook that in Elizabethan playhouses, they would sell orange rinds in little tea bags for people to hold up to their noses- the smell of all the people who didn't know about washing was so nauseating. It was ten pm when she called me that night and told me her parents would be in the Catskills and she hadn't seen my parent's cars in our driveway- so why not go to the city?
I took it in careful consideration that lasted approximately 5 seconds. I said yes si and da in every language possible. Something told me to go with her. I thought of the way she always smiled whether it was wide or wan and I could hardly wait for Friday night at 10pm.
The next day we drove to the city in her Audi cabriolet. I played New Order- but we didn't get to the city in the time we expected. The woods seemed to go on to the tune of the Perfect Kiss.
But by Face Up, we were in the city. We'd parallel parked in front of some bar  and made our way around. Then halfway through the sidewalk she asked. "Can we ride the subway?" I nodded. I supposed a Vermont girl had never seen New York City anyways. We took the R train at Rector until the end of the line. Then we went home. After that day, She went home after she dropped me off. I didn't find out what J meant or was and then it took three days to see that Jessica's house was actually just a forest. There was no limestone. It felt real, the riding the R train and the music in our ears  and even the yogurt she had eaten. But it took the next morning to monday to see there had never been a girl named J and the table was empty. It hadn't been a dream but I had to wonder if it was even real. But the other day I was on my way to Lexington  and I had sworn to god i'd seen her on the rails- on the rails! I cried for help but everyone just stared. Then I grabbed my briefcase and decided to go home instead of work for the day.

I had received fortune of wealth
Yet in the dream I was still in good health
I had a Mansion high up in the Catskills of New York overlooking the Hudson River
Then had a summer home in Paris, France by a swan lake
It was breathtaking in a picture take
I would often sail on my yacht in some summers in the Hamptons on Long Island
It then would be travelling on my private jet and head over to Los Angeles to venture on Catalina Island
I would be lying on the beach getting a deep dark tan
The eye of riches of the sun at my command
Well, it was all a dream
My own imagination being a subconscious stream
All this happened while I was asleep
This was all in my memory to keep
At least I can dream
Being rich is what it might seem.

my lover and I got stuck in a snowy trail  his blue car
couldn’t handle  the   deepness   the cold  and well, there
we found ourselves knocking at the closest door   and
he was saying     “we’re travellers in need of assistance”  and
I’m staring into a white woman’s blank face
trying to look serious
and her husband’s taking an important call, but she assures us he can
help us, if we wait   five   or  ten   or maybe fifteen minutes
so we wait   and then old Mark comes out  all kind with smiles
and he tells us   he’ll bring out his tractor
you and I listen to him  afterwards   talk about the bald eagles on ice
he’d see in Lacrosse, WI  when he was younger

he tells me you’re a keeper
he calls me  your better half

I wish I knew   if he is right

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.

And when puddles ripple from the slightest touch of a raindrop that has fallen from the overcast sky, and the pine needles droop from the weight of water as if the world was equivalent to one hundred pound cinder blocks, please remember that somewhere within the rolling Catskills, your palace still sits. The aroma of blended spices will swallow the surrounding oxygen it feeds on, mixing together to find combination, to form a perfect harmony, before finally sprinting up the chimney to dance in the air, as if it were sending out a distress signal, leading you home. Remember that after the katalox clicks tight, and your shoes sleep on the mat, all that will really matter are the lessons of kindergarten. To be kind to one another and share, to know when you need to say sorry, to love and care for each other. However, some of the easiest lessons are the hardest to show. So one thing that I have come to teach myself is that sometimes the best apologies are those that taste like love. So, if I were to become that block of dry ice that burns you even with the most gentle touch, tell me. I will invite you to dine at the table, and I will melt with the heat of the stove and pray that you see not just a meal but a feast baked in my apologies and garnished with all the love that I don’t know how to physically express. The type that you can feel rush down your throat, racing through your veins to warm everything from the roots of your hair to the tip of your toe. So, if I haven't said it enough times,  I want you to know: quiero amarte, pentru ca te iubesc, and in every language ever created, I need you to know that I love you. And thus it is this love that has created something much more than just a diverse palate, it is something that has created it’s own embrace. One that humans can’t provide.

Twang goes the Banjo down the hollow. The whine of the Harmonica can be heard across the ridges and through the tall lonesome Pines. A Bow Fiddle sings next to a rushing river that comes cold out of the rocks of a mountainside. From the Ozarks through the Catskills back into the Great Smokey Mountains, the sound of a simple but difficult life can be heard in the tears and joy of mountain music.

Let us entertain and guide you
Often Tourist will say, what will we do today?
Exploration throughout the Tourist stay
Hotels to chose from based on price
At times, relying on Internet advice
Take in a Broadway Show
Entertainment with Dramatics putting the Tourist in the know
Dining and Wining in one setting
This is a vacation, so give yourself a treat
Walk up and down the New York City Streets
There are so many Restaurants offering you places to eat
Cuisine will have a sizzle
Taste will awaken the Tourist senses
New York City is a town that never sleeps
You will have no time for my soul too keep
Front Line Rivers from the Hudson to East River
Sightseeing boats showing New York City like never before
After the Bus Tours, you will be heading for the New York City Pier Shores
But New York City doesn’t stop there, it extends into the suburbs of Brooklyn, Queens, Bronx and Staten Island
New York City has so much too offer, you won’t see everything the first time around
But you will once again be New York City bound
Hustle and Bustle of New York City will be your remembrance sound
It doesn’t matter if it was Downtown to Uptown
There are activities all around to be found
Persuasion with a purpose on key
This is New York City being everything it should be
So when you leave, please come back
It is exactly like that
In fact, you won’t be able to keep track
New York City offers delight
The Broadway Great White way add to the spotlight
New York City being the Empire State
There are the Catskills and Adirondacks
Expand your mind while breathing in fresh air
It’s nothing beyond compare
It doesn’t matter if it is New York City itself
New York City is not like everybody else
There you have it for now
You should be saying oh wow
Fashion your style
All that during while
That’s it for now.

Above title attests
how mine mundane mein kampf
insync as a veritable clogged drain oh:
flush with adventure overflowing excrement
er... rather excitement.

Apt aforementioned accurate personal description
believe me not, but urination
and defecation née emergency evacuation,
where majority of human league
smell bound with fascination
triggered (reasonably rhyming) inspiration
culmination of requisite time
sitting atop porcelain goddess
devoid of hesitation and trepidation
herewith follows mine poetic ululation
hoop fully invites veneration.

Poetic embellishment doth belie
ever since garden variety generic guy
long since experienced being little boy
mean kids constantly teased and bullied me
on account yours truly being small fry
barely invisible to naked eye
bullied (most my entire boyhood)
as scapegoat, I did decry
pleading lame feeble alibi,

especially when tawny punk
named Phil (actually a groundhog)
threw suckerpunch witnessing,
yours truly feigned falling
upon wounded knobby knee
to avoid me countenance being pummeled
courtesy knuckle sandwich
they threatened to apply.

One puny socially verily withdrawn lad
no surprise experienced suicidal ideation
throughout public school even as undergrad
never wagon figurative tail when fired
from one after another workstation.

Hence metaphorically hermetically sealed self
against incessant beastie boys squirreled away
amidst imaginative escapes courtesy bookshelf
isolates myself, viz remaining figuratively at bay
interestingly enough petrified livingsocial whereby
flesh and bone closely resembled hardened clay

hashtagged Matthew Scott Harris as pipsqueak
deadset to halt physical maturation without delay
anorexia nervosa (modus operandi) did buzzfeed
starved and emaciated lovely bones as main entree
unbeknownst then, but clear as a bell now
emotional state of parents unspooled and didst fray
father and mother aghast their pallor went ashen gray

grim reaper wielding large scythe intimating hooray
approximately half dozen years later
both parents relentlessly vilified verbally hammered
and especially didst inveigh
against their sole singular son
born thirteenth of January
hooded think those folks
who begot me more cruel fate
then being lynched courtesy triple "K."

Gambone builders bought property razed demesne
to escape vitriolic wrath atop roof at Glen Elm, I lay
nevertheless indelible memories emotional reprieve
spiritual succor delivered upon many a bygone May
when heat radiating off shingles served newgateway
passing time and wishing myself far as Norway
adopting role of bachelor farmer,
or even time traveling
back Catskills circa Borscht Belt,
also known as Jewish Alps oy vey.

Yours truly risk averse
which characteristic,
I declare constitutes curse
thus isolation found me sprawled out
upon wuthering heights
against regular diet of diatribes
delivered carte blanche
with expletive filled verse
toward solitary son ill fate
receiving nasty brutal abuse
considered dying far less worse.

Precious minutes and hours atop
seven gabled hideaway blithely did elapse
me gingerly scuttling out attic window
though agoraphobic and loathe to drop
distance and no longer courting death
no matter concluding life (during
early/mid twenties) total flop
merely wishing raging machinations
against male offspring would stop.

Hurtful words yelled after papa
guzzled bottles of vermouth
(not really, I admittedly prevaricate)
courtesy late father and mother
resoundingly, severely, terrifyingly,
wickedly, violently uncouth
subjected imbalanced earthling
(yours truly - me)
think venomous metaphorical
****** blackened barbs,
viz inconveniently grossly, egregiously

one after another hurtful
figurative daggers antithesis of truth,
albeit synopsis regarding
second born (middle child - sole son)
begat courtesy Harriet and Boyce
upon their psychologically harried
flesh out the womb of young mother
(both parents now long since deceased)
now said heir long in the tooth
wordsmith here wonders why forsooth
he tolerated torturous abuse.

Above title attests how mine mundane mein kampf
insync as a veritable clogged drain oh:
flush with adventure overflowing excrement
er... rather excitement.

Apt aforementioned accurate personal description
believe me not, but urination
and defecation née emergency evacuation
triggered (reasonably rhyming) inspiration
culmination of requisite time
sitting atop porcelain goddess
devoid of hesitation and trepidation
herewith follows mine poetic ululation
hoop fully invites veneration .

Ever since garden variety generic guy
long since experienced being little boy
mean kids constantly teased and bullied me
on account yours truly being small fry
barely invisible to naked eye
bullied (most my entire boyhood)
as scapegoat, I did decry
pleading lame feeble alibi,

especially when punks
threw suckerpunch witnessing,
yours truly feigned falling
upon wounded knobby knee
to avoid me countenance being pummeled
courtesy knuckle sandwich
they threatened to apply.

One puny socially verily withdrawn lad
no surprise experienced suicidal ideation
throughout public school even as undergrad
never wagon figurative tail when fired
from one after another workstation.

Hence metaphorically hermetically sealed self
against incessant beastie boys squirreled away
amidst imaginative escapes courtesy bookshelf
isolates myself, viz remaining figuratively at bay
interestingly enough petrified livingsocial whereby
flesh and bone closely resembled hardened clay

hashtagged Matthew Scott Harris as pipsqueak
deadset to halt physical maturation without delay
anorexia nervosa (modus operandi) did buzzfeed
starved and emaciated lovely bones as main entree
unbeknownst then, but clear as a bell now
emotional state of parents unspooled and didst fray
father and mother aghast their pallor went ashen gray

grim reaper wielding large scythe intimating hooray
approximately half dozen years later
both parents relentlessly vilified verbally hammered
and especially didst inveigh
against their sole singular son
born thirteenth of January
hooded think those folks
who begot me more cruel fate
then being lynched courtesy triple "K."

Gambone builders bought property razed demesne
to escape vitriolic wrath atop roof at Glen Elm, I lay
nevertheless indelible memories emotional reprieve
spiritual succor delivered upon many a bygone May
when heat radiating off shingles served newgateway
passing time and wishing myself far as Norway
or even time traveling
back Catskills circa Borscht Belt,
also known as Jewish Alps oy vey.

Yours truly risk averse
which characteristic,
I declare constitutes curse
thus isolation found me sprawled out
upon wuthering heights
against regular diet of diatribes
delivered carte blanche
with expletive filled verse
toward solitary son ill fate
receiving nasty brutal abuse
considered dying far less worse.

Precious minutes and hours atop
seven gabled hideaway blithely did elapse
me gingerly scuttling out attic window
though agoraphobic and loathe to drop
distance and no longer courting death
no matter concluding life (during
early/mid twenties) total flop
merely wishing rage against
male offspring would stop.

Hurtful words yelled after papa
guzzled bottles of vermouth
(not really, I admittedly prevaricate)
courtesy late father and mother
resoundingly, severely, terrifyingly,
wickedly, violently uncouth
subjected imbalanced earthling
(yours truly - me)
think venomous metaphorical
****** blackened barbs,
viz inconveniently grossly, egregiously

one after another hurtful
figurative daggers antithesis of truth,
albeit synopsis regarding
second born (middle child - sole son)
begat courtesy Harriet and Boyce
upon their psychologically harried
flesh out the womb of young mother
(both parents now long since deceased)
now said heir long in the tooth
wordsmith here wonders why forsooth
he tolerated torturous abuse.

where the pumpkins choke on campfires
and all the noise is a weekend-
staving off the solar flares
of an absolute
pyre.

strong lemonade for my perpetual disquiet.

in the bads
where the goods
go mad
and the hours
at hand-
stifling
as you wave
to reverse
an advance
but complete
a full Curse’
on a
Half-Life.

there are songs that are too many things
and catskills and blarney, jumbled out of focus
to appease the unnecessary Agency
of our Practical Demise.

in the bads, we return from somewhere that left when we did.
love, an Impala with an open mind
made of thorns as ratched
as a claim.

and a blind wine.

Frightful in the Catskills
   There is fearless my heart beating
Long and slow
   In leather strips and sacred meadows
With berries past and present, stew
   And heavy dew mornings on the eyes
   These sunlit mists which often persist
Making heads turn with every thought to sway  
   Dear mountain dream
   From which I always awake
   Cold and alone in a neighboring state
Please don't take your love away

New York Has The Best Mountains