The wind mutters Young leaves shiver Boughs immobile It almost rains There are stars in the water I am in the sky A leaf falls Shattering my dream with ripples It felt so good to burn you from my memory But my action was so quick You were cinders so fast And I wanted you to burn Forever and ever and ever The wind pushes the trees Into a manic dance The old ones groan The young ones scream The rain doesn't even lay down the dust If, In the frozen through Stillness, The colors before morning, Intensify: I at the window Will be warmed by the sun, Not yet a new liquid warmth, upon the horizon. It had snowed for days, And suddenly it began to rain. I, at that moment, practising doing nothing Suddenly thought of your mouth and how nice it would be to kiss you. The woods A stronghold of wild being sounds Tree tips entwine a web against the forever sky the wind blows, the web shifts The swaying of trees in twilight weaves me in night comes I cannot leave the grasses swirl and murmur a cricket sets up to sing Have you noticed that the leaves sound like the waves rushing forward and drawing back upon the shore some loosen to fall in damaged beauty upon me It is a fall day, and all of me is here. Here's the first poem i wrote that i liked, and a few other people liked it, too! (Whoa...) I was thirteen. Acidic thoughts corrode our trust they eat through but leave questions of what could have been hidden in our minds Acidic thoughts make us deny the truth they poison us with worry until what we think is so corroded our friendship rusts away I am you are we know nothing and now it oppresses I found her In me, she lingers diffused as my image is through her age spotted mirror yet no one can mistake the way we share the same lines and curves and a perhaps and possible smile The last bit of sun disappears colors deepen sounds weave thick becoming night and then: fireflies! Someone threw a pearl into the sky and it stayed: the moon Fragile luminous wings beating themselves raw on my window the light in the light in the light in that is what you say. I say nothing. I sit, trying to keep down the weightlessness in my throat I want to fly I would fly I would fly I would that is what I say It is cold hands stars water all very cold You and me we are moving the road slips beneath us there is more road ahead we move. There is not a sound as the clotted clouds whirl toward the north. What is it like to be the last cricket singing on a November night? I did not run run means leaving behind and fleeing fleeing means find new shelter so I walked to you The wind is bright. Breathe, and feel new. The knowledge in our hands is as old as the dust on our feet. Last night I listened to the rain fall The rain fell , until it hit the metal roof making one sound composed of many single sounds Later, there was only the sound of the gutter... long silent voice. When I lay on the ground, next to you I do notice you, but the stars. This morning I thought of yesterday. This evening I thought of tomorrow. Right now, I stop. It's hard to find silence in a house. This is the landscape: snow reflecting moonlight, a hill of trees, asleep and blue sky blue meaning more than anything blue eternity. my ears two shells filled with sound four walls, one window you can pour all of yourself into the night sky you alone will know, and afterwards, you will still be here. the void of night held back by your breathing thank you. I love you. In the morning I will give you the sun, warm, new, and bright and you will have a day. In the evening I will give you inbetween, almost, changing, and you will have night. And, I will give you stars. happiness in showers the good rain falls onto the good earth. neither rain nor earth is me, or you, our smiles say: happiness in showers the good rain falls onto the good earth. see without caring talk without listening think without feeling dream without remembering: existence. Tree shaped wind rock shaped water metronome of breath: ear sight! I dreamt I was a dove. I flew into your heart- a cage and there your were, a dove. What does this mean? We are the fire and we are what burns. We are also rain.... Oh. There is a ghost of no horse grazing in the pasture. eating plums in the rain a good way to be melancholy A fine rain as if it has always fallen as if i had always cried and just noticed Two hundred years of tree One ant, running deep canyons of bark When do ants sleep? And it was just me, one puddle, and the rain 8/2/01 Is that the sun or moon Waking up: fog. 8/2/01 This river: Sleeping Of itself Slowly ..(there is time.) This river Mud blue, Depth ageless This river An eye with no fear. Steal my breath Wander forever It was only a few hours Days. ...like tomorrow. The stars will wait; colors grow. How can you not feel the action of roots? And the world: spinning. 
My shadow stretches ahead, into silence. I stay behind to hear the rainfall. There once was a secret girl She tired of feeling all the sudden dead & is apprenticing with the waves on the art of turning things over and over and over smooth. The world angers me, I pretend I am her sister & pace in the seafoam, trying to find a way to her. I open my eyes and I am back where I used to walk, feeling poetry electrifying me into being I close my eyes I am here, the computer hums, I'll type this. Eventually, I will get too hungry & leave this paper. Only writing this will haunt me all day & wake me up tomorrow morning. Are these my tears or the rain? Downpour It is cloudy and, all I can see are the stars. Rain same color as the canning jars on the window sill All poems copyright Carrie Anne Cox. Think about your kharma. Write your own thoughts. Mine can never be yours. Comments? carrie i love those. you catch moments and images beautifully. I've been meaning to post a comment here.. I think your poetry is so beautiful.. All of them seem to have their own rhythm. I know you don't have titles for them, but they some of them don't really need titles. They're like music. :) You manage to say a lot in few words. -Mari As always, Carrie , I think your writing is excellent and highly thought provoking. It is a much-needed change of pace from the self-indulgant teenage tear-jerker poetry that I have been submerging myself in lately. But look at me, this is YOUR page, not mine. I find your poetry insightful and able to find the beauty in every aspect of life, from the beautiful old-growth forests to the small ant. And I found your company at camp grounding and it allowed me to branch out more as a human being. Your friendship is something I thought I would never gain, I thought I was too.....young for the likes of you. You are wise many times beyond your years, and your prove the concept of concious memory-retaining from previous lives. But your inclusive attitude allowed me to feel more comfortable with you than with anyone else at camp. I felt like I had found a cosmic twin, not in the soul-twisting sense, but as we were both travelling the astral path. Dont worry, my prose is not a sign of carrie-addiction ;) But I do hope to keep in contact with you and I am euphoric that I was able to call myself your friend. As SOON as you can call me or write me, please do. Your friend and your fellow path walker, Ben
i just finshed writing with you carrie and my god. your poetry is so beautiful clear silent loud and bold. Yum. These make me still and happy. |
