Raymond Clevie Carver Poems

He said it doesn't look good
he said it looks bad in fact real bad
he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before
I quit counting them
...

So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
...

As he writes, without looking at the sea,
he feels the tip of his pen begin to tremble.
The tide is going out across the shingle.
But it isn't that. No,
...

It's what the kids nowadays call weed. And it drifts
like clouds from his lips. He hopes no one
comes along tonight, or calls to ask for help.
Help is what he's most short on tonight.
...

A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house. From there I could see and hear the water,
and everything that's happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still. The tide was out.
...

This morning was something. A little snow
lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear
blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green,
as far as the eye could see.
...

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
...

It's August and I have not
Read a book in six months
except something called The Retreat from Moscow
...

Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive.
Fear of falling asleep at night.
Fear of not falling asleep.
Fear of the past rising up.
...

Cool summer nights.
Windows open.
Lamps burning.
Fruit in the bowl.
...