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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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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Anxiety

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

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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
.

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Remorse

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

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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