Sunday, October 29, 2017






I’m currently working on a series of poems about the women who have held our family like lifeboats afloat over the last two centuries. Most of the men in my family tree, especially on my father’s side, died young. I had one grandfather until I was six and lost my father when I was fourteen. This poem is the title poem, in both past tense and present tense. Let me know what you think. Thanks!

Lifeboats

You were our lifeboats
You alone carried our lost souls grieving
away from a sinking ship, the larger vessel
torpedoed, striking an unseen iceberg,
blowing an engine, adrift
in a wide open ocean with a broken
mast, a torn sail, our wooden boats
ablaze, smoke billowing under
the stars where all hope abandoned
families in the wake of disease 
and debt. We bid our men and our lack
of grandfathers farewell on their wrecked
ships and rowed forward through the piercing
fog, steering clear of some of the jagged
rocks, desperate to hold the roar
of the long falls behind our backs.
You were our life jackets and
without you, we would not
remain afloat.


Lifeboats

You are our lifeboats
You alone carry our lost souls grieving
away from a sinking ship, the larger vessel
torpedoed, striking an unseen iceberg,
blowing an engine, adrift
In a wide open ocean with a broken
mast, a torn sail, our wooden boats
ablaze, smoke billowing under
the stars where all hope abandons
families in the wake of disease 
and debt. We bid our men and our lack
of grandfathers farewell on their wrecked
ships and row forward through the piercing
fog, steering clear of the jagged
rocks, desperate to hold the roar
of the long falls behind our backs.
You are our life jackets and
without you, we will not
remain afloat.


Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Additional information about Motion Poems and Slam Poetry

Thanks to everyone who attended the meeting last night in Maryville. Thank you Amy for treats and all those who listened to my ramblings about poetry. Here are some links to some of the things we discussed.

YouTube site
I’m particularly fond of these performers:
Reagan Myers: The Girl Becomes Gasoline (from Lincoln, NE)
Sam Cooke : Flatland
Neil Hilborn: OCD
Jesse Parent: To the Boys Who One Day May Date My Daughter
There are also links here for Slam Poetry—you might check them out also
Here’s a link to the Louder Than a Bomb competition in Nebraska


Friday, September 22, 2017

I'm announcing the release of my third poetry collection, Open Sky, with full color photographs. Autographed copies are available in Maryville at the library, Minnie Lane, and the Nodaway News Leader.
"From the middle of nowhere beneath an open sky, Carol Carpenter’s new collection of nature based poetry paired with her full color photographs portrays a deep spiritual connection between the author and her environment. From flood to drought, from prairie wind to bitter cold, from yelling at the coyotes to robins dancing in the rain, Carpenter’s writing invites the reader into her cathedral."





Thursday, August 17, 2017

New book launch!


My latest poetry book, In the space we leave behind, is now available from Amazon.com. In this book, you will find new and selected poems about trying to piece together or puzzle out our human connections. If you prefer an autographed copy, send me an e-mail (carol_emt87@yahoo.com) or PM through Facebook for price (there is a discount for this option!) and mailing address. My first poetry book, Earth Songs, is also available at Amazon.com.

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Current projects

I've started two new collections of poetry. The first entitled "In the space we leave behind" contains new and selected poems from the past few years. Many were constructed or started on my recent trips to Lincoln, Nebraska. For some reason, I feel comfortable there and the words just flow.
The second collection "Open Sky" will once again showcase not only nature poems, but also many photographs. If I can just get the formatting right.....it's a bear!
Also, I received news that my poem "Hummingbird Conversations" and a photograph will be featured August 9th on Nature Writing.
Here's a copy of that poem and the photo.

Hummingbird conversations 

Around the feeder ruby throated
hummingbirds swoop flit hover
dance and fight and I wish
I could hear their
wingbeat conversations.
What would they tell me?

Do they discuss the weather
the local nest situation
compare the quality of spider silk
swap migration route stories
or point out their favorite flowers?
Do they have a pecking order
who goes first and why?

Maybe they talk about politics
or health insurance
immigration or crop prices
probably not though.
How would it feel to be
in the tiny jeweled body
buzzing around
unable to be still
always moving
a heart beating
six hundred times a minute.

If I could feel that I’d know
what it feels like to fly across
the Gulf of Mexico
hover swoop dive and
taste the nectar of a
hundred thousand flowers.

Saturday, July 15, 2017

When trouble comes

Listening to a story
of muffled drums
while the cedars
collect little birds
I wait for friction’s spark.

Abandoned in winter when
every night is a blues song
I tried to scream but
the moon puts her hand
over my mouth.

I know that when
trouble comes
that I can find solace
in the engineering
of cobwebs
that empty bullets
no longer know
how to kill
that when spring comes
with songbirds and
I can see the stars
I will accept
just a pinch of
the world again.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Rattle Poetry Prize


This morning I entered four poems in the Rattle Poetry Prize contest. The contest costs $20.00, but it gives me a year subscription to the Timothy Green’s fantastic literary journal. So basically, the contest is free, if you look at it that way. I’ve sent a few items to Rattle, but none of them have yet been chosen for inclusion. Darn it! I remain ever hopeful. There’s a weekly prize for Poets Respond(which costs nothing to enter and pays $50.00) and an ekphrastic challenge every month, also no cost and pays $50.00.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

We don't want nightmares (new poem)

We don’t want nightmares
bodies piled in ditches
twitching stinking
Yet some prisoners are true
beliefs in blue stripes on long sleeves

We want the soft warm slippers
we want the comfy worn chair
the reminders of horrors
humans on humans seeping
through our fingers.

We’d much rather think
that what was done
half a century ago   
or half a world away
just doesn’t apply to us
tucked into this safe harbor

The knives and nooses
call us into action
in order to prevent them
from holding their children
in filth and chains
down beneath
the stairs