Forget-Me-Not

Yesterday I bought a pack of forget-me-not seeds
I planted them carefully
Today I drowned them casually in leftover green tea
before pouring myself a fresh cup.
It only makes sense
to smother the things you love.
I didn't forget the tiny seeds
alone in the dirt.
Fighting
for reasons to bud and blossom
into beautiful flowers.





-Carrie

Love is a Losing Game

I was inspired by a line of graffiti on a wall that said "Let's just pretend we never fucking met. Love is a losing game."

Love is a Losing Game
Love at first sight
may sound trite,
but it's true You know.
I've watched far too long,
dire  patience,
the pictures rolling by, movies.
It's my life.
Eyes wide open, Alex DeLarge.
Let's just pretend we never fucking met.
Love is a losing game.
Gone again,
and I don't even miss you


Stay Free
-Carrie

an exquisite corpse

a fun little game where a group of poets writes a line of poetry and then folds the paper so the next poet can't see the last line yielded some interesting results.

an Exquisite Corpse, March 19, 2016
In winter, sheets of ice and snowflakes slick,
oh my,
take it easy worry wart.
For example,
a retail vendor who internationally buys and sells
a blue diamond.
I wish I kept it
clean and organized.


Stay Free
-Carrie

California Droughts

At the Poetry Society of Colorado meeting on Saturday, we worked with some different techniques and means of finding inspiration from the cut-up to writing about abstract paintings. I have yet to come up with a title for this piece based on an abstract painting by an artist whose name escapes me right now...

Here goes...

Summers Pass
I am summer's passage, stifling.
The yellows trapping in,
the greens I push away,
tumbling in the wind
drifting across expansive highways
where no one is driving.

I am there,
where secret daisies bloom like the sun
sheltered from the human onslaught.

I am growth, upwards and onward.
Ever westward,
until the fields cease to produce stalks of wheat.

I am California droughts,
sunburned in summers past.



-Carrie

"Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry" -Jack Kerouac

Broken Time, second honorable mention

Second Honorable Mention (or message) in February's Members Only contest at the Poetry Society of Colorado.

I'm ecstatic to get to spend time once a month with some amazing writers. 

Stay Free

-Carrie

Aerosol Hiss

I began my Saturday with a few cups of hot coffee and the company of a group of amazing writers and poets. I cannot express how invaluable it is for me to share my work and get direct feedback. I shared one of my poems Aerosol Hiss that I wrote back when I still lived in Philadelphia, PA. It's one of my favorites that I like to keep in my back pocket. 

Aerosol Hiss

Charged air buzzes in stillness.

Keeping thieves’ hours, the city sleeps.

Your brown eyes glow,

under dark brimmed hat, outfitted in black,

laced uncertainty.

Tasker-Morris hazard lights stretch and invite,

serenity beckoning.

Steel streetlamps cast protective shadows

surrounding 

obtrusive pools of interrogator orange.

Dancing in veiled shroud,

You write your name on the wall

and disappear to obscurity.

Headlights and aerosol hiss.

Stay Free

-Carrie

Substitute Intimacy

97 covers in a variety of colors printed, 16 artist proof blissful fuck ups.

Available April 1, 2016. Stay tuned for pre-order!

Stay Free
-Carrie

My Mother is Violet

My Mother is Violet
It's cool breezes and the warming sun
with windows open,
inviting.
Trees of soap blossom, for short limbs to climb.
Lilac and Rose of Sharon, beauty in shades of pale pinks.
The clothes hung out to dry, swinging and swaying
bright whites against radiant blue backdrop of skies
that extend
forever.
The days seem to extend forever.
Taste of stinging lemonade on my tongue,
my mother in the kitchen preparing lunch
at the table we sit together with a centerpiece of lilacs.
My mother will always be violet.



Stay Free
-Carrie

Substitute Intimacy

Finishing up my newest zine, Substitute Intimacy, available April 1. 

Stay Tuned!

-Carrie

2015, Crossing the High Sierras in Winter

I traveled across the country this past December, from Denver to LA, then north to San Francisco, east to Philadelphia, and back to Denver to close out 2015 on a strong note. Winter travel is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, but as is life.

Onward.

2015, Crossing the High Sierras in Winter
Climbing higher the temperature drop.
"It'll get worse up over the hill," she says.
The snow begins to coat the road.
Angry pebbles crack against the windshield.
The road, a long black sheet of ice,
I am alone with my dog.
We climb in and prepare for the haul.

Climbing higher the snow is heavier.
Thicker.
I stop in the last puddle to chain my tires.
There is simply no snow like high Sierra snow.
I travel on, my tires worn and weary.
My body, exhausted.
The last week has been nothing but winding roads
stretching on forever.


Stay Free
-Carrie

Your River Song

Your River Song

we exist.

            sonder

venturing separately

            692 miles

measuring time in memories

propelled at different speeds

I am future.

Yours is past.

            hours pass

                        time zones

shifting rotating axis

air flight

as time travel

stretching miles

tightened muscles

wandering roads

Your river song.

Flashes

shooting stars burning

in and

                        out

passing through

            fleeting memories

twisting and tangling

You

outstretched

blinking city lights

twinkling before me

at dusk

Trouble Loves Me

Trouble Loves Me

Shield me from pain
with cloaked defensive pessimism
You go to waste
in cool misted morning haste.
And, oh, how I try
I...
can't get you out of my head,
still running
around on the flesh rampage.
The memory stops
where warm breath meets mine.
Entangled disenchantment.
Trouble loves me.

Ash Tray Floors, Dirty Clothes, Filthy Jokes

My second "official" zine that I put together many months ago and I'm finally taking the time to introduce to the world, Ash Tray Floors, Dirty Clothes, Filthy Jokes is an unpacking of the shoe box from my closet that I've been throwing random shit in for the past four years.

Including the poems:
"Broken Time"
"Goodbye Nowhere"
"Photobooth"
"I Lack the Words"
"Blood Orange"
"It's Raining Again"
"Spanish Moss"
"New Year Closure"
"Paper Moon"
"Lies on Front Porches"
"Dust"

Stay Free
-Carrie

Freedom Song

Springtime is opening up in Colorado, with endless weeks of day in the 70's and sunny skies stretching on forever, I've been afforded the luxury of hikes and exploring nature as of late. I've never been much of a nature poet, but life has been inspiring me lately. Freedom Song flowed out of me as I sat next to a sweet trickling stream while hiking the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

Travel Onward. Ever Westward.

Freedom Song
Subtle stream chatter speaks softly,
     cooing whispers,
      humming resounding sweet chords.

Pooling.
         Jumping
            over smooth rocks.

The water doesn't ask where it should go,
       It simply flows.
No apology.
   No apathy.
No worry of permission granted.

Just singing.
          Singing freedom.

Listen and you, too, will hear
    the subtle stream cooing freedom song.


Stay Free
-Carrie

February's first snow

February's first snow

In the darkness of discerning city street lights at 2am

the garbage overflows,

side streets and back alleys are painted dank shades, muted brown.

One tiny snowflake escorts an avalanche

cloaking dirt and grime in purity

wrapping the ugliness in new life,

endless possibility.

In one tiny snowflake time stops.

Front walks are graceful covered in bold strokes.

The artist draws a fat brush against the landscape

where tiny slits of windows emit amber highlights,

chimneys puff smoke shadows against the dull sky

trapping the last particles of light

holding them tightly into early morning hours,

strong and beautiful.

Stay Free

-Carrie

Ridge

Ridge
Along lone ridges of your body
beauty emanates
as sun rises over the hills,
peeking and warming.
Bright rays radiate over the ridges of mountains.

You are a mountain.

But you wander like the meandering river
that digs into the earth,
carving out spaces, smooth ridges.

My life with you, shapely.
Wandering.
My home, Blue Ridge Mountains.

westward to Denver...

I feel as though my silence has been deafening.


And only over the past two months have I finally found my voice to drown out the silence. Living in Denver has provided my the opportunity to spend time with some truly amazing and inspiring women, and I can't thank them enough for all of the support the have given me during this time of awakening.

The sunlight is just peeking over the horizon, and I am chasing the sunset ever westward.

-Carrie