Jared Carter's Poetry
Thursday, June 05, 2003
The Shoe
Believe a current flops each time
You stroke a panda bear.
It splashes up from privileges that cannot flare;
The keys grow sleepy in their smooth verdure.
To impress, first move your upturned winch
Across the crumbling baubles like men with fangs.
The stillness is staring at the dancer in my bangs.
Out over the hirsute saliva,
The world starts to unplug balloons.
Beyond the Exxon dolls or what we need to say,
My mattresses to my first storks are stuck.
Let your fingers stray through the hot summer ducks.
Expect to lose the nessnesses where things deflate
At least to go there aching each time you rate
With fronds like travelers through Sanka:
Rain cools my lips to lose your telepathy.
My feet are tomatoes; expect to meet Paul Anka.
The cares are gone:
The first elf to let your fortress smell like brine
Will stop to hear my closed eyes.
They show that nothing is as quiet as a dime.
Each time your plantains have none to fluff it up with
Moving in with Ted Koppel has never seems an option.
Down my fingertips let your fingers smile.
As my arms reach the baby,
My toes splashing water to its maybe;
No one who hears the dark hairs in the shallows;
Will move to the beat of the falling niacin.
Among the wild drifts of time.
Which way is it till you get even sleepier?
The dance sticks to my Nikes.
The water tries to moo.
You'll find that no is the answer to your shoe.
Tuesday, June 03, 2003
"What is a dwarf? It is not a penpal"
What is a dwarf? It is not a penpal
Who beckons to you from the soft kleenex of the food garage
And receives your impetigo as if threatened,
Willing to christen it with Ben-Gay;
I had rather support thirteen welfare mothers
By siphoning greyhound-flavored Kool-Aid
Out of my own pants pocket with a drawbridge--
A drawbridge lowered by mice named Art and Sal--
Than waste one moment with a Filipino telephone book
Trying to find out why the jodhpurs I licked
Remained immersed in a kind of saline lymph
That came back upstairs like a pupal dragonfly
Every time I swallowed air on purpose to burp
Or empurpled my royal talon with your quotidian ichor.
The New Revolution
On this one harrowing collection
In a valley north of a covered bilge
In Minneapolis where the revolution
Abuse, mental illness and other taboo topics
Stand alone today, a lemon log
Is a whiff of danger made of carrots
And a half-breed sheep with an idea.
As if all is not right within the grasses.
The cats took all the cows to Princeton.
A Frenchman cleared his throat.
Then brought them home again for lunch
As a cat howls a sexual lament.
As it herded them into the summer kitchen.
The old man winds-up the sofa
And I would sit and sip
My wooden drinks across the tri-state areas.
It is a Saturday morning,
One cat slept on the front porch, one on the back.
Before flying home to eat asparagus
I was waiting there above the evening
Surveying Lord Dunsany.
Listening to the animals watch cable.
I knew that returning to this island was wrong.
When a man from a center stopped
To tell me how the new revolution
Was going to abolish private property.
I should have known better.
I knew I was forgetful
But that this was nothing but
Collectivist totalitarianism
If it's not going to happen again, don't push it.
To farm within the mind is better.
Who lives inside a tsunami?
I think I understanding
I should sell off all the water and go stay with the Beatles.
Help me bar the doors with this nurse.
The fogginess will make some time.
My lover feels, I feel and my extended
Family feels as if I'm treading in the pond of wallows.
I can't go on spamming,
I only know the dirt on suspicious-looking foreigners
And going to town on Saturday evenings
Resigning myself to a fateful fur,
Because of sleigh bells.
Seattle, the trees, and Land Rovers
Where everything burns.
An eerily silent fog blows
I can hear the cats
Collecting information about each other
As they bring in some dark secret
That they had yet to know.
Revenue and the crickets were answering me.
Always gripping and always touching,
It was the clearest thing I felt. That night
I shot a sloth and then watched Ally McBeal.
Thursday, May 22, 2003
Summer
In the early morning, in the leathery fog
We go to work each day upon a bus,
We read the paper and then we smile.
Encircled in our trust.
The people all around, they look at us,
Like a smooth, snug, satin glove;
Our clothes all have a very funny style.
And dew fair glistens in our mug.
The bus it stops and then we all jump out,
As the sun slowly burns away the mist.
The driver laughs, the children point and stare.
The satin seems to turn and hiss.
The people all around us start to shout,
And lacy cloaks reluctantly rise.
We give the little babies quite a scare,
Revealing who is going to take the prize.
The lion tamer meets us at the gate,
Sitting statue-like on telephone wire.
His lion roars, but we just pat its head.
A sassy Squirrel devours the fire.
We know that it won't harm us, we are inflammable,
In the pretty pagent of every-day life,
And anyway it's fine cos it's amiable
Going on down there below the strife.
I like my friends, I've never heard a frown.
The pretty pair of mourning doves,
Can you guess if they are down?
Yes, we are clowns!
With a dreary, dirge-like drum
Soulfully singing our sad, sad song
'Bout the cat hid 'neath the Chrysanthemum.
That can never regret anything.
The fearless frisky wrongs
Are constantly creeping close;
While the jabbering jay with white-striped wings
Is chirping and chattering, always verbose!
Meant for Me
An equal to me in every way.
Yet someone I can worship night and day.
Someone to talk to, someone to kiss.
Someone to spend days with, someone to bliss.
To have this woman, I can only dream,
For each one I've met is not what they seem.
Some have lied, some have cheated.
Some were shy, some conceited.
Of all my encounters, I'm never disappointed
And I continue to look for the one anointed.
The one woman Destined to be
The only woman Meant for me.
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
HEART OF COLUMBIA
All across the nation we mourn the dreadfull loss,
As seven of our astronauts fall upon the cross.
We all stood waithing for the shuttle to arrive,
Then we heard the terrible news, no one had survived.
When it was finally clear what had sudenly happened,
People were mourning all the way form Nevada to Manhattan.
The shuttle was screaming like fireworks in the sky,
Many families saddened because they never said good-bye.
We all take for granted the work for they have done,
We only then realize it after they are gone.
All across the workd we hear the defining cry,
Why did seven heroes suddenly have to die? President Bush make an
ourstanding speech, To all those heart he could not reach.
He told us to have the courage and strength,
To those above we can no longer thank.
We hear the music of the Challenger gloom,
Many years later we hear that same exact tune.
Another tragedy occurred on our land,
But all of us know
UNITED WE STILL STAND!
Let my People Look at the Grandeur
PASS Me the peas!
pass me the peas dear luv
if thou decide to don a glove
I do not strive to save my queen
A dove devoured by the darkness
that she passes me the peas when your desires
reached the end to be the fires
of beauty that GOD
given to satisfy my luv for my queen,
Pass me the peas with tears to show
your sadness sorrows and fears
in comparison understand my asking
pass me the peas now
for thy soul is not made masking
tape shhhh, baby you left me please
