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