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