"uncarved" poems
chalky white
or
deep tar black
afternoon quiet
but my head pounds
it could be
steam summer
or
prickly leaves
of autumn
but it never changes
though i hope i do
just as the uncarved block
hopes for an artist
to make it
beautiful
so the rain
and the wind
shape it instead
unless it can learn
to shape itself
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
Piercing through the outer skull,
Deeply into the brain, into the maiden thoughts of an unborn child,
You arrive at a magic place
Far past the feelings of this animal protected by it's mother.
Uncarved like dawn,
With its blueprints for a life it must live as other tell him to.
Past the deep rippled hills in his mind, into the forrest of feelings,
Filled with thoughts of happiness, with plenty of room for despair.
Purple trees and two green moons, creatures unknown to man.
The child kicks his mother, and the brain starts to tremble.
Trees fall down and start burning, it's starting to rain.
The child opens his eyes and starts to cry.
The mother looks at the baby and smiles.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
Laugh all you want,
but when I was a kid
I didn't watch
Thriller after dark.
But I danced.
I danced my *** off in that lit living
room
with Joci.
All night long,
popping
and moonwalking.
Now that I'm old(er)
I know how to build spaceships
and I can put
the popcorn
in the microwave
myself.
I can take the popcorn out of the microwave
and watch Thriller all night long.
But
then
my little woodpecker
came.
When I was
Cynical
with power
now and then,
I became
Raw
and uncarved
again.
We dance over the graves all night long.
Our tombstones are smooth
and we make light
together
with our feet.
Little woodpecker
what are you beginning to etch
in me now?
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 8:52 PM UTC
I found the God in stone
Uncarved. Unchiseled
Enormous mountain
Filled in green
Air caressing the trace
Swishing the leaves to lean
Exuded with the petrichor
I get wished by the rain.
Every atom around the mountain
spreading peace with its presence
There I found the God, in stone.
There I found the God, in stone.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
you are a rock.
a stone
uncarved
deeply scratched.
under the heat
of ice
cold
people
and the heavy weight
of downing
gravity,
you transform
into marble.
reflective
unmoving
hard
immobile.
but as with all things,
there is an equal and opposite
reaction
deduction
of a solution;
fly.
be the philosopher within the scientist
and exclaim
"it's gravity that's been dragging us down!"
be the child inside the old, grounded pilot
and look up
fly.
the impact of a planet's worth of gravity
is enough force to eject you out,
soar.
view the world
and survey the oceans and beaches.
start becoming the dreamer dreamers turn to to dream.
fly.
and be the moon.
you already are.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
I like to sip my iced coffee
Without the lid
It seems to look more accessible
Unlike the strings of stars
That remain in the sky; the ones
I trusted do not shine anymore
A box of Oreos sitting across
The wooden table sits nearly
Vacant and once again I’m reminded
Of you and your
Carefully drawn departure
Trailing you went all the ways
You worried that the plants
In the corner of my apartment floor
Would not get enough water
(I made a pond one day,
Scared to deprive them of your
Love like I was).
And how you only ate peanut butter
With sliced bananas
(The air smells like tangerines now).
All the soap in the world cannot
Erase the paint stains you left
On the bathroom counter next to
Your blue-orange toothbrush
Canvases are just better off
Untouched / Uncarved / Unloved
And always accessible.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
vaguen
(Samuel Beckett, notation on MS of Happy Days)
I
Fire comes bouncing in from the
desert a threat to houses Here’s
what we do says the King to
Rudyard Kipling who is visiting
Stuff wet rags in the eaves throw
the silverware in the swimming
pool And my letters Rudyard
Kipling is thinking will you be
pressing my letters to your
breast as we skid towards
the car Truly diverse people
the King and Kipling one or
the other was always getting
his feelings hurt Above them
a strip of once blue sky now
dark adust
II
Nowadays there are technicians
of despair you can work at it
Going to the Buddhist study
group I pass a thin crumpled
man at a wall his face on the
bricks Behind him another big
black city legs wide apart roaring
Say you aren’t stupid then why
aren’t you happy
III
New guy at the Buddhist study
group Eyes cut to bits I want
he keeps saying So I don’t get
so he keeps saying A bunch
of sage grass has blown onto
his head and grown down into
his mind He shakes hands with
everyone over and over again
at the door
IV
I had previously been to
the Old South Thirty minutes
into the faculty dinner a man
to my left drops his eyes and
his voice says he murdered his
brother with a shotgun when
he was twelve The other diners
appear to have heard this
before On the plane home I
sit across from a vet with a
falcon on his lap It observes
the other passengers severely
Drinks apple juice from a
cup with very small silver
lips
V
At twenty-eight thousand feet
above the uncarved block of
NY state a cricket jumps onto
my coat Vaguen it says
Anne Carson currently teaches at NYU and will publish a handmade book called NOX in 2010. She is the author of Autobiography of Red, Plainwater, and other books of poetry, non-fiction, and mixed genre.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
"I went through my old notebook
One after other,the pages were a surprise.
There were cross marks all over
As if the words were,all lies.
I smiled over every crosses
But then my heart felt sad.
Because I could not remember,
What did i want to write,So bad?
Just like my unfinished poems,
Are some unread books.
Few unsaid words,And the final looks.
The tears unrubbed,
And smiles unlaughed,
Few hugs unembraced
And memories uncarved.
There is a pain,And lies a pleasure
In some unquestioned questions,
And those unanswered answers.
In something that stays,But is gone.
In poems like this,Which is never a complete one.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
Culture runs backwards:
strength is weakness,
soft is
empowerment-
dissuade yourself from
this rampant mindset
we've placed upon thrones,
instead find reserve to manifest
and bask in
this well of fluidity
that masculinity
can never hone
Heavy lies the crown,
it is hard
be free with the wind
like a fallen leaf
and you will catch
a safe ride home
from Mother Earth herself-
even though her tread
is unsteady,
she flows
Only when you are
certain
that there is
nowhere to be
except where you are,
will you find exemption
from the urge to shape
or control
The gut
is a compass,
let it guide you to
novelty,
and what lies beneath
the surface: that is where
adventure begins,
it takes one big leap
but you will let go
until there is nothing
left to rescind
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 10:23 PM UTC
there are so many questions to be asked.
theories of the universe
prophecies untold
codes hidden
answers bidden
flames of passion consume the artist
enrage the curious
tickle the delirious
the hill in my throat
sinks into valleys
with mustard grass that flows
prairie currents rippling through the peace
swooning deep and wide into the canyons
a diamond has many cuts and edges
facets cannot possibly describe you
my darling
uncarved
unchanged
meticulously ignorant
how do I help a man,
drowning in superficiality?
would not I rather
let the ocean lick him
the fires ***** him
the truth consume him
a rather passive existence
its all generic, like tissue paper
and my hope an eagle
perched on the branch of the universe
its all spontaneous.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
Shrouded encountering everyday alchemy
Wandering there where the mosses may talk to me
Under and over the ivy’s low canopy
Making my way in pursuit of some sanity
Sunlight is thwarted on slopes leading north as I
Silently savor the shadows that multiply
Junipers stretch between neighbors deciduous
Pine trees lie prostrate with limbs discontiguous
Here in the graveyard where logs become mortified
All forms of fungus will work up their appetite
Turning cadavers of trees into sustenance
Learning that death is a new source of succulence
Labyrinths circle and twist like a tentacle
Cloister-like pacing, profound-ecumenical
Joyfully chirping like children on helium
Life everlasting, give thanks to mycelium
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 5:03 PM UTC
An orphaned sky
so painful blue
shone on wasteland beautiful
travel save, ye lonely bird
and take care of your thought and word
a single beat, a single song
abandoned lands, a moan so long
hurting kind, oh bless my soul
melancholia will take its toll
contoures blurred
in a view unkind
the difference of
the second sight
a stone uncarved
the tide unfilled
unequation - remain in light
straight ahead
neither left, nor right
straight ahead,
nor left, nor right
things unsaid,
things undone,
things unsomething,
songs unsung,
the road untravelled,
the weakness strong,
the deeds so many
but
too many turns wrong
oh faithful breath ye gentle wind
make me see the morning light
straight ahead
not left
not right…
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 3:00 AM UTC
About 7:30 p.m.
These are like slides
Picture frames in my mind
In the morning
Sitting in the car
The birds fly
From tree to tree
Stay with the ancient Tao
Watchful, like men crossing a winter stream
Alert, like men aware of danger
Courteous, like visiting guests
Yielding, like ice about to melt
Simple, like uncarved blocks of wood
Oh men of Tao
The ancient way is not lost
It is not lost
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
You are no longer part of
My world
Your name has been
Stricken.
I unmake this bond
I do not see you
I will not see you.
There is a hole in my heart
That cannot be made whole again
Because you were uncarved
And I'm ok with it.
One can only long so much
I do not beg
You are undone and absolute
This road is not a path
I am not sorry
I am happy
Without you.
This is not goodbye
This is silence
And I wish for it to
Cut deep.
I offer you peace
Without me
Carry on or not
I am now unexistence
and you are not part of my world.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 5:44 AM UTC
I feel like it’s better to listen than talk
And faster to run, though it’s wiser to walk
A field to be tilled
Or a cup yet unfilled
For this is the way of the unsculpted rock
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 5:46 AM UTC
The simple beauty
of an uncarved block of stone
is almost sublime.
To be everything
and nothing at the same time --
God is in the stone.
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 11:20 AM UTC