POEM: Take Your Fear

Dig through your chest,
take out your fear.
Shine it with your breath and cuff and
put it on your desk—
right there, in the middle.
Wait for slow-drawn Helios.
Then, the flecks of light it renders?—
take them. Gather them in the crook of your arm—
cascading bouquet of noonbeams.

Use them to build your own damned chariot.

© s.e. carson 

POEM: Everything You Need Is Already Inside You

There are no tools of man
for cleaning out
the gutters of the mind.

It comes after,
long after,
the smothered labor
of foundation,
and its undoing. 
Because the past has settled and held
you forever, you see—
so how are you to know
you stand on snake coils
and poisoned rods?
How are you to know there
are better things
than these faded crosses.

But after that
after the arduous and surreal revelation,
the excavation
of childhood
which fell and was forgotten
beneath a front porch
June fray of correction,
you realize
roots have grown
in your heart
(they can wriggle through
stone, you know.
I know because
my heart was once stone).
And it
is only when
you pull those up
like a vine,
leaving chasms in your body
where water rushes in,
when your soul has been gutted
by exhaustion and
your heart
has been purified
and partitioned
to a prototype,
when you think
it is finally finished,
is when you must dig
your knees into the dirt
and scrape away the last bits of muck
with your goddamn hands.
there are no tools of man
for cleaning out
the gutters of the mind.

© s.e. carson


Inside an Obsessive Mind: Pie Poetry Edition!

First Christmas that my lad and I
will be apart from kin,
so I brainstorm something special
to keep the season in:

"I shall make some yummy things!
Like all the grown-ups do!
A turkey! Stuffed with stuffing!
And smashed potatoes, too!"

I stopped just short of "Vegetables!" -
hot damn, was that one close.
I may be faux grown-up-ing it
but veggies are still gross.

"PIE!" I yelled at very last
though I knew it since the start.
"Pumpkin and delicious!
And spiced to warm the heart."

So Christmas crept in tiny paces
until its Eve arrived
and I mixed and poured and baked
and soon a pie was pied.

"It's good." I said after a bite,
the fork still in my hand.
"But it's just not right 'enough' I think."
And that's when it began:

"I will make a new one!
To make it how I must!
New custard and new sweetness!
A new and flaky crust!"

'Cept two pies, although good,
might make digestion skewed;
"I could toss the first", I thought,
"but I don't like wasting food."

"Give slices to our neighbors then?"
But that was weird as well -
'Here is half a pie, new friends!
Aren't we friggin' swell?!'

"Accept it, Me!" I told myself.
"It's not a big 'to do'.
Love and friends are all that's right!"
And I know this through and through.

But minds are silly, funny things.
And mine the most of all -
Stuck in little endless thoughts,
looped and imbecile.

So here I am, I'm wide awake,
with options all repeating.
None of which'll fit just right
but none of which are leaving!