Apple Adventure [or: A.A.]

Poem By Amberlee Carter

I interrupt your usual monotony, to bring you
a story with less than a beginning...
The feature presentation is brought to you, courtesy
of my humble life:
The sun has gone again, left the wide divide
to weep in its loneliness.
The rains have come, violently
upon our homestead, and made
all the earthworms nervous against
their shallow graves.

a land for the living,
a heaven for the dead:
a journey every soul
either shelled or exposed,
must endure.
Fighting the good fight, everyday of
a natural-born-unnatural life-
and death is the ultimate goal
for a soul
without
a home
of its own

We should all be so smiled upon,
to have a destination,
to have a broader horizon
just beyond our headlights.

The ending comes when
the beginning fades-
but what beginning can we expect, or
prepare to face
if we've only started running
halfway through the race?

In the silence
love and hatred stir,
wrought in fiery sunsets, born
in lullaby hush.
and this burden shall never depart,
for within wroth, I see a calm-
a beauty the world over has forgotten,
just cause, righteousness, and
hungry anger, slow to consume
slow to devour as it savors
the taste of young virtue-
and brings to surface, a voice
not so concealing,
not so petite and pure,
but dark and wonderfully painful-
and come the light,
chasing shadows from sight,
remorse sets swiftly upon the heart, causing
a plea for death from the throat of
all that God’s womb has aborted.


This is a testimony just in case
I can't meet you on the other side-
I don't wanna die, not today, but
maybe tomorrow I’ll be ready to go-
ready to ease along with the rest of
life’s afterglow.
After all, we're livin' in a fairytale world.

Comments about Apple Adventure [or: A.A.]

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Other poems of CARTER

Crawling In My Skin: The Eternal Itch

I take sleeping pills
to anoint the ache,
stay awake long enough
to feel myself float

...Shaving My Legs

....shaving my legs to enya,
it makes me feel clean.
you've got free long distance-
you should visit more often.

Between Two Griefs

last night while I
played in another realm of consciousness,
I felt your hand move against mine,
as if you were reaching out

nser eEding hHre (RrRted)

We were never
traditional lovers-
but we were
very good at being

Chronic Observatioin Disorder

The quiet wait, contemplate,
the scene- everything it contains,
The mundane, the magic,
the vibrant, the apathetic-

After Erratic Encounters

I woke, awkwardly
in the dim light of morning
to find the world hushed in newborn snow.