jamescarman

imagery through words.

Month: December, 2011

Radio Music, Sticky Fingers

An explosion, like the bottle smashed

breathing in the scent of our deadly human features, aesthetic.
drinking tainted liquid to inspire our words, neurotic.

Flipped the radio switch to hear something other than my mind
and only again to feel the the hum of my mental prisoner.

Radio music, i’m criticizing the notes, trying to make out their poetry.

               play a song when just fresh and newly written…
               ..and then to play it years later…
                   ..does it carry the same meaning?

emotions sway but always vanish after so long.
So do meanings of songs,
trying to recapture the blood rush
and the pulse beat!

Sitting like a statue, I thought of the confusions.
How to solve these errors of unattainable harmony.

Glass of wine for my words,
some scotch for my thoughts
and champagne for my funeral.

When the Mind Surrendered

and then we will know
where the tears come from
and then we will know
why the woman screams
while she is dreaming
and then we will know
who scarred her trembling heart
and then we will know
when the mind surrendered
and then we will know
what it’s like to be a part
of a tragedy
and then we will know
which role we’ve played
and which weapons we’ve used
and then we will know
why the old ways are never
recognized, it’s frightening
and then we will know
where the bridge collapsed
and then we will know
nothing more than our
eternal fall.
and this is when we will know
we needed each other the most.

Quiet In Roses

Encapsulating your eyes again
was like ecstasy,
and the smoothness of your
smile tore right through me.
It’s unfortunate how vagrant
our love is,
but when i do lay my body
on top of you
the world becomes meaningless
and we topple over clouds
with our rough hands and
naked promises of togetherness.

This makes me silent.
We turn heads after all
this satisfaction
and wait and wait awake
of the realism that’s happening
between us when we cause
friction between our armors.

I remember the moles and
hairs in the valley named
after you. The only thing I can
do is help myself.
I inhaled as much as i
could, holding my breath only
to be released with
spasms and a glimpse
of your vulnerable face.

This –
oh how
I surrendered to you
for seconds built on
hours.

We were a synchronized
storm,
and i rained over your
lands,
and within time, the
youth of your silence
spoke
and flowers came out
of your eyes.

Years Later

thought about you.
saw the old note that read a very descriptive promise.
“how it’s bliss to be captive in your arms. I never want to break away”

My face melts in my hands. my hands are fire gauntlets
with swelling emptiness.
“In certain spaces, love will set prime joy. in outer spaces, there’s no one but you”

thoughts about you.
So brave my heart to read such terror happiness.
What polished memories rise when grasping those letters.

This space, so small that I occupy.
So long since i’ve been seen with love.
I anticipated something to come after my absence of heart.

I wonder who occupies your love.

Old Mice In The House

Old Mice In The House

Whistling quiet footsteps in the hallway

the numbing air was too much for the dog who was growing into an old age

and lacking the senses that it once had,

and the cat wished the grass was closer to home

in it’s mind and in the house which it could never fully prevail.

The old woman in the kitchen never spoke of the illness in her heart

but rather spoke of a passed love that once lived in her.

She never eats, but cooks non-stop,

hoping to fill her starving heart with something more than

sweat and tears.

These old mice in the house,

they’re not menacing or even aggressive towards one another.

They are just fragile eyes watching the paint come off the wall

hoping for the cold morning to come and blow away.

Corner Where I Spent All My Change

Corner Where I Spent All My Change

Saxophone blues, with limited concepts to choose

playing my medallion brass wailer demon

preaching those lonely sax a fone blooz

lonely corner small change in my cap

hope to eat and sleep with absence of the guilt

the reason i’m here in my blanket bruised

demon s t r a ting your succk sess

and displaying my mess, my life

depressive faced smile crying

because I left me, and so did she

and she’s in love, with the man of a million successes

and i’m in love with my medallion,

the devil on my neck,

the devil who preaches a lonely man,

who lived like no other, just to sleep

on the inevitable corner where words dont speak

just a saxophone squeak.

Mother, Endless Vein

Mother, Endless Vein

You’re a collection of jewels,
not even to embrace a season
for a change in your weather.

The new
old you is old
and new to you

bruised and colorful and
treacherous,
sings hard oblivion.

I can be your mender,
piano of death and
play you to sleep.

Somewhat contradictory of a bright
day only shadows
unrecognized solitude

hours of absence of self,
and life, and real,
oh void

where hero has come
to place you in the dream land
and suffer –

you must, flee home
and suffer
which is your skill

we learned as impatiently
as we could – joining the weaping
organ of your soul.

Never to attain a loose heart
for the brave children
you hatched

and as innocence shows,
you as remarkable
never lost them in thought

you of extravagance
never lost them in heart –
just only as fatal as it seemed

you unconditionally
indulge in the well being
of your children.

A sedation of your love,
care for us even after
your last blink

and now
teach the brightly
lit skies how to

nourish its land
and mend the ripples
in the ocean.

Father, Endless Gray

Father, Endless Gray

The master of subtle
and content,
stop singing your endless

gray and forgive yourself,
and intoxicate your mind with
life once again.

The infinite alarm
will continue to ring
and drain you of your sleep

please take time to
listen to its real
wake up call.

Slow with speed
is your induced drug
of freedom

your universe of work
still doesn’t fulfill
your addiction

and we can not get
enough of your supply,
love may it be

put the food on the table
and close all doors behind you
another speechless generosity.

I’m sick of it,
because I’m too satisfied
and not amused

tell me a time where
I laughed
and cried of joy

and to think if we ever were friends,
or do you preach your
infinite gray.

You make me pale
when you sing, you make me
blind when you howl

and I make you
blue when I
EXIST.

Your boots never fitted
my feet and your liquor
was always too strong

Only your absence
I can
admire.

Am I
in awe,
should I?

Even if my plate was
always full, I still had
a hungry heart.