fred carter Poems

Ticking, coming from somewhere
Down a hall
In someone’s house
...

Feeling like
You’re on top
Of the world
When legs
...

Early morning dew,
Settles on the balconies,
And slated roofs,
Clothes left out,
...

No expression.
Can’t think
No thought
Nothing coming.
...

The sun beats down on a Sunday morning,
And I’m walking through Town, through the park,
Backpack and jacket, sleeping bag in hand.
...

This Poet hasn’t much to say
He hasn’t much to write
He hasn’t yet touched the snowy peaks of mountains
Hasn’t yet rubbed noses with sealife, deep sea flowing the 7 seas
...

First there’s the look,
That says
...