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Best Poems Written by Rob Carson

Below are the all-time best Rob Carson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Passion

Two people	
Animal lust
A firm embrace 
A kiss
My wife

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2007



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Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Our love once smelled new
Blossomed with life, grew in time 
Like flowers at noon

I miss you Chula,
You left me without a word
Hurricanes come fast

I once overheard
“If you bow at all, bow low.”
Our leaf flew from branch

Death would be softer
Without you I am not whole
Snow covers my heart

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2006

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Your Entrance Versus Pompeii

(A Variation of: Your Departure Versus the Hindenburg by Kenneth Koch)

Every time you enter the room
I see it as an extension of 
      Pompeii
That great 76 A.D. volcano erupting
In molten lava like a 2-liter of soda exploding
     after it has been shaken.
When you enter a room, 
people run in fear to
     hide from your presence.

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2006

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A Ride Down the Thousand Islands III

A kayak floats on the glassy water
through the maze that is the Thousand Islands. 
Water drips off the paddle as it rises in the clean air.
A breeze pushes the kayak through the labyrinth of islands.
No sign or sound of cars, buildings, or people.
It is a part of Florida that is still green.
Wild, the world as god meant it to be.
A stingray races by the boat towards an unknown destination

the kayak turns the corner of an island ever so slowly.
Tree branches hover over the water forming a canopy

low enough to stand and reach out,
to pluck a reluctant leaf from its home.
The crisp leaf crumbles as it is grasped.
A sweet smell emanates from the trees
replacing the smoky aroma of civilization.

No factories, pesticides, or overpopulation
Trees grow on their own giving off oxygen
Birds gathering without fear of things they can’t understand
Fish swim carefree no garbage floating in their way

The kayak paddles on, past the floating island and its canopy.
A juvenile little blue heron yells for its mate 
wading in the water three feet away.

The oar is placed across the bow 
the kayak drifts on in silence.
A brown behemoth emerges from the depths.
The sea cow basks in the sun 
close enough to reach out a hand and rub across its slimy skin.
Consider touching it, but hold back.

Man already destroyed everything he touched.
It is not for us to cause more damage.

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2008

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A Ride Down the Thousand Islands I

A kayak floats in lazy elegance
through the vastness of the Thousand Islands. 
Water drips off its paddle as it rises in the air.
A breeze pushes the kayak through the maze.
No sign or sound of cars, buildings, or people.
The world as god meant it to be.
A stingray races by at amazing speed
the kayak turns the corner in a graceful manner.
Branches stretch over the water forming a canopy
low enough to stand and reach out
pluck a reluctant leaf from its home.
The crisp leaf crumbles as it is grasped.
A sweet smell replaces the smoky aroma of civilization.
Paddling on, past the floating island and its canopy.
A juvenile little blue heron yells for its mate 
wading in the water three feet away.
The vast serene painting of a world absorbs 
stress and with great speed throws it away.
The oar is placed across the bow 
the kayak drifts on in silence.
A brown behemoth emerges from the depths.
The sea cow basks in the sun 
close enough to reach rub across its slimy skin.
Consider touching it, but hold back.
Man already destroyed everything he touched.
It is not for us to cause more damage.

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2008



Details | Rob Carson Poem

Eric's Story

The yard of my home, the location of football games. Eric was a wuss. If he had the ball, stand in front of him he’d drop it. One time running for a pass. I couldn’t see him he was near, I could smell the Old Spice he wore. I heard a sound I turned around. I swallowed the spearmint I was sucking. Eric was on the ground with the ball. His arm had a lump he sat out a few plays. We told him “go home” let his mom know he was hurt he refused. If he went home, his mom would make him stay. Eventually, he rejoined the game. The next day, Eric came over with a cast on his arm. He had broken it in three places. Eric the wuss had played football with a broken arm. He was a man. No one called Eric a wuss again.

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2007

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Anxiety

Fear of the unknown future
Hair standing on end
Classroom full of students
Nervous quietness
Final Exam

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2007

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A Modern Travesty

I Did Not Consume My Exquisitely Delicious Boston Cream At The Local donut shop on East Colonial Boulevard For Breakfast This Morning While On My Ravenous Way To My Place Of Employment .

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2009

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Remorse

Harmful words
Bitter separations
Premature death
Guilt over not reconciling
A lost family member

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2007

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A Portrait of the Writer as of Now

Robert Carson Dining Room 1891 Parnell Street Orlando Orange County Central Florida Florida South East United States North America The World Milky Way The Universe

Copyright © Rob Carson | Year Posted 2009

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