Category: poems


The words
Are few
The full
True void
You left

So I say to Wind and Gulf
“Hold her not beyond her time,
send her swiftly here- to home.”

To Me.

Inviting warm and peaceful – soft on the feet – Toes sink in and you drift In time – You go to those warm sunny days — locust , buzzing , grass blowing, blue skies, birds chirping- each step into that sandy driveway- takes you closer to your journey- that day.
Each day on a sandy southern driveway – is a journey – drifting in time backwards like a row boat floating on a pond carefree without out worry.
The sandy driveway guides you to your destination – maybe the house full of love – maybe the pond full of dreams- maybe the willow cool and sincere- the sandy southern driveway gets you there.

Poem by Kenneth c Carlson Part of the Southern memories series

With equal measure devotion and dread, you bravely assess what lies ahead:
The burdens beyond bedcare,
The fickleness of family,
The detritus, the very dailyness, of dying,
The ambivalence of holding on while letting go,
The ambiguity of “transitioning.” Transitioning toward what?
The loneliness of leaving,
The grief that surrounds me, and its unfettered expression,

Above all, the lifechapter with no sequel
Which illuminates our mortality.

With equal measure grace and grit, you warmly commence the caring:
The palliative power of total presence,
The ineffable honesty, be it blunt, brutal or beautiful,
The irony of humor, the humor of irony,
The surprising re-tiltings of relationships,
The stability you bring to this time of transition,
The dignity you bring to my growing dependence
The catharsis of acceptance.

Above all, the one vocation for which we can never fully prepare,
Which illuminates this flickering life.

For your kindnesses we see, and those others we may not,
We the dying thank you.

​​For stamina in this struggle, in which no atom of your being goes untested,
We the dying say,
Care first for the caregiver. This life, such as it is, depends on you as never before — as never again.

Take comfort in the inevitable. The one terminal condition we can celebrate is life itself.

​W​e the dying can ask no more.

The flitting, fleeing thing
Darted quickly through the gloom.
Scarcely did my blinking eye,
Did register the sprinting spirit,
Streaking through my living room.

But soft! The cat did descry it,
Just as quick as the nervous nit did
Zip and nip into my field of view,
And just as fast, found at last
A glowing pane where it stopped and hid.

And just as sure and just as calm,
The feline stretched and did wait,
As the sighing bug took one last breath,
Realizing not this was his very last,
Or the eyes that watched him beat and bate.

What can be seen
Shades of beauty
Browns and green

Shades of sunlight
Both pale and dark
Cast distant shadows
What a sight

Sounds of life
Pierce the quiet
Calling pleading cheering
We are right

I’m taking my gloves off and I’m ready for war with my bare hands

Because if one rap song is worth a thousand sermons,

Then one poem should wake up a million troubled souls.

When you start to place the world’s issues into sonnets, haikus, and floetic phonetic tunes

It will start to twist into an eclectic rhythm that beats like a snare drum on your weary soul.

You begin to feel alive like the day when Jesus arose and climbed off the cross to save our souls that looked like, and talked like, and walked like, and sounded like, and smelled like scents of sin that created you and me from the start of Genesis.

It might have taken 4 hundred and 60 years to fix the corruption that happened

But how did 1 hundred days ago we let a president win from electoral votes.

It was the popular votes that would’ve given us hope.

Like the day When Michael Jordan won his second 3-peat, or When Prince dared us to party like its 1999 or when Rocky had his first fight with Apollo Creed.

No more will I allow my heart to just bleed with the words of injustices

spoken from warriors that never watched my mother scrub floors with her bare hands

To get money to fed us Egg Salad Sandwiches and government made Macaroni and Cheese because Momma’s fried chicken only came around on Sunday because Momma worked twice as hard on Mondays.

We wasn’t accepting of the stereotype of being called poor because the richness of pure love ran through our veins as I call Brooklyn my home even when we had three chained locks holding up our front door to protect us from those who lost their means and tried to rob us of our luxuries.

That need for greed wasn’t taught originally it came created and driven by enslavement mentality that rotted our people’s rights to breath.

I never thought I could take this world by storm.

Expressing my life through poetry is like reliving the tragedies written in a rap song.

(So What, I talked about it)

One stanza could free the next person’s heart from a torrential rainstorm.

I never imagined me, giving the world all of my energies. (So What, I talked about it!)

When you open up old wounds, you allow people to throw salt in your cracks;

Their opinions form criticism that you have spoken based on your life’s true facts.

(So What, I talked about it)

I gave up the fears of caring that some people will talk about me behind my back.

So instead I wrote more and explained everything that they thought they knew about me even my unspoken tragedies. (So What, I talked about it!)

I wasn’t ashamed to reveal it.

Just to let you all know

that even though my life seems untouchable;

I’m so unquestionably real.

(So What, I talked about it!)

For you
Anything is possible. I made sure of it.
The way I breathe. The way I think. Is just
For you. The way I scream. The way I cry. The
Way I look love dead in the eyes. Is just for you.
The way I dream. The way I fight. To take away
the struggle from what’s wrong or right. Is just for you.
The way I smile. The way my heart opens up like a canal.
Anything is possible. Its Just for you..

If you allow politeness you may define – some of the spirit of charlston – the fountain of spirit is genuine and allows itself to be heard without being loud. It is a human life experience without the confines of rules that disallow goodness. The people here seem to Know this without hesitation. It’s spread is effectuous – it’s real or it would have melted by now. Charleston is old and crafty and allows those who want its wing of warmth and fortitude to embrace it – it also directs those who may not recognize her at first to love her .
Her winds are sweet her winds heal her winds , help forget , her winds help spread , the pleasant
Reminder of the grandness of life , this wind brushes by all , but touches each . The splendor of such a grand lady is it forgives and gets about the business of life . Two fold is this because it praises the one who gives us each day. Constant pleasant and
Truthful it was given the name the holy city. It rebounds like
No other , and embraces what it is – life ( which is a gift ) the sweetness of its many gifts it gives is praise – and praise is a thankful gift.

You say I dreamed it.
You say I dreamed when he slid his hand up my silhouette.
When he caressed my nipple as he does yours when it’s dark at night.

You say I dreamed seeing the white blur of his shirt crawl on top of me.
And he caressed my carcass.
As I lie there frozen in fear.

Perhaps you say I dreamed it for you’ve dreamed your own life.
You’ve dreamed to forget how your legs spread for boys who could only take you for what you were.
A pleasure tool. A whore without a cause.

But you see,
You and me.
We aren’t so different.
You were once the woman I am.
Chasing the thrill and
seeking the pleasure.
Now you say you’ve grown,
as a flower grows,
peeking above the rest.
You think your perspective is different up there.
You think you’re taller,
more intelligent,
too good to chase
the thrill any longer.

Maybe you’re terrified.
Terrified of what would happen
if that white blur
actually became still.
If what I saw and
what I felt was real.
Then how would that flower change?
Would it cower because
it’s source of power
had blown away in the breeze, carefree,
not owned by its possessor?

Would you wilt,
would you wither
as you appear to do now?
Would you say
I dreamed a dream or that life became too real?


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