Jared Carter Away Poems

  • 1.
    Then she came, the sybil, out through the doors
    of The Bell, the single drinking establishment
    permitted in that narrow little country town-
    she came out neither staggering nor collapsing
    ...
  • 2.
    One of my father's oldest stories:
    how when he was a boy growing up
    in that town, there were no ponies.
    Buggies were gone almost as soon
    ...
  • 3.
    There, where the pool of mortal light begins
    to gather, where the rivulet breaks free
    to make a fire, a flame blows in the wind.

    ...
  • 4.
    To clear the walk before the children start
    for school, you rise and dress, and take the broom
    beside the door, and go out into darkness
    where the snow you sweep from side to side
    ...
  • 5.
    “The Man Who Taught Blake Painting in His Dreams”

    is still around somewhere. Survived the smoke
    and fires, the footsteps melting into stone,
    ...
  • 6.
    There is a grace in the way people do things, even the simplest tasks-
    the dance with which their fingers encircle the chicken's gaze, coaxing
    the edges of its eyes into paleness, their calling upon it to rest now,
    their speaking in a way that acknowledges something common to both of them-
    ...
  • 7.
    Somewhere within the murmuring of things
    that make no difference-aimlessly playing,
    drifting in the wind-a loose door swings,

    ...
  • 8.
    After we called the sheriff, they came
    and hauled it away. But there was
    one interviewer who stayed behind,
    to ask if we'd seen any strange lights
    ...
Total 8 Away Poems by Jared Carter

Top 10 most used topics by Jared Carter

Time 10 Away 8 Night 6 Light 6 Wind 6 Never 5 Long 5 Place 5 Door 4 Sometimes 4

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Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
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