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“Encore
The first swallows
Of the season
Looped the pines
Rocketed upward
Dare-deviled madly
In a carnival sky
Shot from a cannon
To the roar of applause
Contrails mapped
On flapping clouds
She traced her finger
Along their path
The way she had traced
The lines of veins
On her mother’s hand
As they waited for death
No applause
Just softly hummed
Lullabies that one
Once sang
To the other
In a petal pink room
With blanket and bed
A flapping curtain
In softer spring breeze
Now offered back
gently
From one to the other
To soothe once more
The fear of the night
The closing of curtains
And the end of the show”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
The first swallows
Of the season
Looped the pines
Rocketed upward
Dare-deviled madly
In a carnival sky
Shot from a cannon
To the roar of applause
Contrails mapped
On flapping clouds
She traced her finger
Along their path
The way she had traced
The lines of veins
On her mother’s hand
As they waited for death
No applause
Just softly hummed
Lullabies that one
Once sang
To the other
In a petal pink room
With blanket and bed
A flapping curtain
In softer spring breeze
Now offered back
gently
From one to the other
To soothe once more
The fear of the night
The closing of curtains
And the end of the show”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
“Use-less
I’m learning to love the ground that lies
Beneath my feet in the fallow season
The ground of the dormant, of sleeping life
That carries no promise of certain production
The ground of the nourished, fed by the death
Of the things that once bloomed
The ground of the passive, that simply receives
The rains of the fall and the rest of winter
The ground that cannot be measured
By the brightness of green breaking the rows
Or the richness of fruits that fall from the vines
Or the service it pays to some greater end
But holds its value in the simple act
Of embracing its wild and wonderful being.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
I’m learning to love the ground that lies
Beneath my feet in the fallow season
The ground of the dormant, of sleeping life
That carries no promise of certain production
The ground of the nourished, fed by the death
Of the things that once bloomed
The ground of the passive, that simply receives
The rains of the fall and the rest of winter
The ground that cannot be measured
By the brightness of green breaking the rows
Or the richness of fruits that fall from the vines
Or the service it pays to some greater end
But holds its value in the simple act
Of embracing its wild and wonderful being.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
“The body, I guess, can keep the score.
I think I'll keep today
and this shaggy dog and this pain in my hip
and this steaming cup of tea and you.”
― Ordinary Things
I think I'll keep today
and this shaggy dog and this pain in my hip
and this steaming cup of tea and you.”
― Ordinary Things
“Tonight, the whole world is praying.”
― What Remains: Poems
― What Remains: Poems
“Carolina Clay
Roads amble for miles
Over wonders and wilds
But you are my home”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
Roads amble for miles
Over wonders and wilds
But you are my home”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
“Know Your Ground
Despite my blistered hands
And calloused knuckles
And over-taxed knees
I cannot grow tomatoes
It’s the soil, they said,
Have your tested your levels?
Calcium. Sand.
Nitrogen. Clay.
You must know your ground.
But only lately
have I walked this land
Of my inheritance,
Only recently looked
At the wild mystery
That lives beneath my toes,
Only newly raked
My fingers through earth
And wondered,
Is this bone that eroded
To silt in my hand?
Life that bled iron
To fashion this bed?
History that tastes
So sweet on my tongue?
In my frivolous hunger
I surrendered my birthright.
In your just disapproval
I fled from my ground
And now I fear this dormant soil
Will never grow for me.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
Despite my blistered hands
And calloused knuckles
And over-taxed knees
I cannot grow tomatoes
It’s the soil, they said,
Have your tested your levels?
Calcium. Sand.
Nitrogen. Clay.
You must know your ground.
But only lately
have I walked this land
Of my inheritance,
Only recently looked
At the wild mystery
That lives beneath my toes,
Only newly raked
My fingers through earth
And wondered,
Is this bone that eroded
To silt in my hand?
Life that bled iron
To fashion this bed?
History that tastes
So sweet on my tongue?
In my frivolous hunger
I surrendered my birthright.
In your just disapproval
I fled from my ground
And now I fear this dormant soil
Will never grow for me.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
“Tie a String Around my Finger
They’re slipping away; my memories of...
The roads:
Home
From home
The feel:
Hand
In palm
The naming:
This child belongs
To me.
But anchored,
Unmoving,
The sound
Of her laugh.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
They’re slipping away; my memories of...
The roads:
Home
From home
The feel:
Hand
In palm
The naming:
This child belongs
To me.
But anchored,
Unmoving,
The sound
Of her laugh.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
“...Taste and see
you bring God with you
everywhere you go.
Show up strange.
It's okay.
Curious and patient.
Honey, you're
doing fine.”
―
you bring God with you
everywhere you go.
Show up strange.
It's okay.
Curious and patient.
Honey, you're
doing fine.”
―
“There is the face of God we touch
by tracing the curves of dogma
and there are the silver mists swirling and fading
in the winter woods.”
― Ordinary Things
by tracing the curves of dogma
and there are the silver mists swirling and fading
in the winter woods.”
― Ordinary Things
“burning bushes
Watch: it always comes
Right when you expect it least.
The light slants, enchants;
Your spirit, wakening, hums
And rouses the sleeping beast.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
Watch: it always comes
Right when you expect it least.
The light slants, enchants;
Your spirit, wakening, hums
And rouses the sleeping beast.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
“Good Dog
Blankets thrown off
Lay her here
Between us in bed
Fur stroked
Bodies wrapped
Around waning warmth
May it be so for me
She whisperers
One day
Flanked by those
Who treasure most
My easy being
A midnight vigil
Eyes peeking
At staggered breath
Pup between
mistress and man
Finally, sleep
A silly thing,
Sighed the man
To love so deep
A kiss on the paws
The merciful sorrow
Of a life that mattered”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
Blankets thrown off
Lay her here
Between us in bed
Fur stroked
Bodies wrapped
Around waning warmth
May it be so for me
She whisperers
One day
Flanked by those
Who treasure most
My easy being
A midnight vigil
Eyes peeking
At staggered breath
Pup between
mistress and man
Finally, sleep
A silly thing,
Sighed the man
To love so deep
A kiss on the paws
The merciful sorrow
Of a life that mattered”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
“It Is Well
When peace like a river attendeth my way
In hospice beds with potent meds
And the babbling sound of the IV drip
When sorrow like sea billows roll
In teeth ground to shards that chink
On the shores of words that cannot be said
Whatever my lot
Even decades of loss as the memories
Ride on the tides, gone away
Thou hast taught me to say
With a fire in the soul that blazed out of control
Even when breakers thundered and rolled
It is well with my soul.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
When peace like a river attendeth my way
In hospice beds with potent meds
And the babbling sound of the IV drip
When sorrow like sea billows roll
In teeth ground to shards that chink
On the shores of words that cannot be said
Whatever my lot
Even decades of loss as the memories
Ride on the tides, gone away
Thou hast taught me to say
With a fire in the soul that blazed out of control
Even when breakers thundered and rolled
It is well with my soul.”
― Carolina Clay: A Collection of Poems on Love and Loss
“I tap at the keys and a cardinal taps back. He keeps steady time on the window, exposed in a winter hydrangea, as I try to feed the world with words, intent on birthing something of beauty...”
― Ordinary Things
― Ordinary Things
