LONDIS CARPENTER

Of those among mankind I most admire
Are such who've overcome the saddest grief,
And men who've pulled themselves out of the mire
After their lives had crashed upon the reef.
...

Bruce the Spruce was a Christmas tree
He lived on Christmas Farm.
Each night he dreamed that he could bring
Cheer into someone's home.
...

When I was a child I would watch the sky
And see the clouds go rolling by.
And as I looked I would try to find
Faces to match with a nursery rhyme.
...

Within your eyes I've glimpsed the jasper sea.
And braved to search out secrets hidden there,
Mysteries of you that now belong to me.
I've drawn them from the deep with utmost care.
...

Great poetry is like a precious stone,
Found mingled with mere rocks amid the gravel.
Stunning in its own unique expression,
Unmarred by wasted words and senseless babble.
...

Rusty the rattlesnake lived in a log
Down by the river, with Gary the frog.
Rusty and Gary both liked to play
In the shade of the reeds and the ooze of the clay.
...

Do you think a tree has memories? If so, what might they be?
Beneath their spreading limbs do they recall things done by me?
Do they hear conversations, understand the things we say?
Do they remember secrets whispered, Or the games I used to play?
...

There's a bad stretch of road on Route Sixty-Six,
That I've often heard truck drivers say,
Is silent and bare, with a chill in the air,
Where travelers have oft' lost their way.
...

Saddled up to a bar-room stool, at a place on the East Side of town,
Drinking beer from a can, sit a dangerous man known as One-punch Willy Brown.
The gals all sidled near him; the guys seemed to leave him alone.
We all knew his reputation and that Willy was bad to the bone.
...

I went to visit Jon today;
I went to see if he could play.
We've been best friends since he was four
And I only a few years more.
...

Did you ever climb a mountain, or strive to do your best
To raise yourself above the clouds and reach the highest crest;
And when your alpine goal grew near so high your heart could stop,
It seemed the last five hundred yards were further from the top?
...

I have secrets to sing to the wealthy
I have riches to share with the poor
But the wealth that I bring and the secrets I sing
Are but moot till you open the door
...

Flying on silent wings and sightless eyes,
with bat-like stealth exploring evening skies,
hidden high upon a branch of leafy twigs,
she fastens to a tree her silver eggs.
...

When you fail your finest effort, try again.
When you tumble or you stumble, try again.
When you flunk the final test
After giving it your best,
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I've written lots of stories of people I have known.
I've told of things that really cannot be.
I've written of my love for you, of lands I'll never roam.
So now I'll write A Poem About Me.
...

Tell me
Why cannot I tell you face to face?
"I live only for you."
It's because I know putting it into words
...

I was reading up on Dave Thoreau, some good John Keats, and a little Poe.
They write about simplicity, of a life that's easier and free.
At dinnertime I marked my place and went to shave and wash my face,
None could foresee what happened next, nor know how I would soon be vexed.
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My daddy was a rambling man, a drifter some would say.
I never got to know him as he traveled on his way.
My daddy never settled long—"Hello! Adieu! My friend."
His feet were always itching to be on the road again.
...

My dad's a poop detective;
Forensics is his game.
When he sees poop, he always knows
What animal to blame.
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I won her on a whiskey bet, At a place called Rusty's Shack,
In a poker game in Fargo, with three deuces and a Jack.
I took her from a mountain man who had bought her in a trade,
For a rifle and a jug of Rye, off an Indian renegade.
...