Nathan Carter

Biography

I am a 42 year old from Pennsylvania who is still wrestling with life, meaning, absurdity, love, and purpose. I'm a lawyer by trade, but a philosopher, poet, and humanist at heart.

Karen

In Wal-Mart and Target She plies her trade, Spreading her hate And endless rage. “I want the manager!” She does declare Beating her breast And tugging her hair. “The sign said $2.50! Not $2.99! I demand this cashier Lick my ass or resign!” “I won’t lick your ass mam, Nor will I quit Simply because You’re an ignorant twit.” “Here is the 49 cents Which you do so crave. Just leave the store now, With your husband Dave.” “I will not leave boy Until you are fired!” She puffed up her chest Like yogurt expired. “Suit yourself mam, I’ll call my boss. Feel free to ask him If your salad he’ll toss.” “Yes mam, you called? I’m Manager Ray. What can I do To help you today?” “Well, first you can fire That young man so crass. He’s rude, he’s crude, And he won’t lick my ass!” “I’m sorry to hear That is how you feel. But you live in a world That’s surely not real.” “Cashier’s don’t lick asses, Not on company time. And what you thought was $2.50, IS $2.99!” “Please leave my store And don’t forget Dave, Who’s not said a word, I trust he’s your slave.” “This is outrageous! You people will pay! No one should ever Treat ME this way!” “Get lost you bitch! And stop with the cryin’. Don’t you know people Are bleeding and dyin’?” “You march in this store Entitled and rude, Poisoning our day With your foul attitude.” So Karen collected herself And her Dave, And charged from the store Middle finger she waved. But that wasn’t the last That we heard from Karen, Thanks to YouTube And plenty of sharin’. So if you one day Feel like being a prick, Just remember Karen, And don’t be a dick.

Drawn and Quartered

Horses tethered to each taut appendage, The time draws near for my final hemorrhage. Once so strong, so sure and true, With hope in my heart, and much good to do. But that all has changed, as life often does, Can’t hold it together, need help from above. Stretching and pulling, gripping and ripping, Each horse goes his way, my strength quickly slipping. Flesh torn asunder, as my strength wanes, The pressure too great, still my will fights the pain. The great tension builds like a raging inferno, Soon from this Earth will my spirit go. I hear the whip’s crack, the steeds they pull forward, Rendering my body lifeless and quartered. Muscle and sinew, joint and bone, Together no longer, separate, alone. Broken is the vessel I once called me, And in it now, I can no longer be. For that which I was, is now lost to time, The wages of living, this life of mine.

Fawn Dee

You lived like lightening, Forsaking not the voice of your heart. A true individual, From birth you were set apart. Often misunderstood, The world kept you at arms-length. Drawn by the call of the wild, In nature's serenity did you find your strength. And as fragrant incense, Permeates every inch of a sacred hall, You would not be ignored. You sang your song bravely, for yourself and for all. I shall miss you, With every fiber of my being. It is so cold now, Life's joys seem so fleeting. Now all I desire, Is one more long talk, One more moment to see you, One more summer's day walk. Kindred spirits were we, I am lost without you. For now all I can do, Is write verse about you. Thank you dear aunt, For your heart and your soul. You freely gave both, And my loving respect stole.

Honesty

Honesty is a bottomless ocean, Unbridled it will stir emotion; An oft ignored but curious notion, Strong enough to crush devotion, Yet gentle enough to care. Constantly sought, but rarely found, When ignored, we’re run aground. With the power to enlighten and confound, And by which we all are bound, Come joy or come despair. It rides like a sentry through the night, Arriving at dawn, causing fright. For it is truly hard to be forthright, About deeds we’ve done out of sight, Notwithstanding, our whole souls we will soon bear. When honesty comes a quietly calling, From our perches we go falling, Falling and flailing, not prevailing, Our minds backpedaling and derailing, A soul on Earth will be not spared. For we are all unclean liars, Wounded children, and wretched criers, Who insist on playing with fires; But merely build our funeral pyres, Log by log, without a care. But this fire does purify, Our misdeeds does it decry, Setting us free, free to fly, And allows the humble to peacefully die, Sitting upright in their chairs.

It's Okay

Five years less today, you were carried away, But softly, you looked back and whispered, “It’s okay.” As you climbed on your chariot, that one-wheeled bike, You smiled and stared off into the light, saying, “It’s alright.” “No! No!” did we cry, why must you fly? Surely it isn’t your time to die! There is more you must do, more you should be, We’re still in bondage, God hear our plea! Still your voice echoes, calling to me, “I am free!” Your crazy hair, your bright colored shoes, You lived as though you had nothing to lose. Welcoming all, forgetting none, At only fourteen, your full race had you run. You rode away slowly under a cool winter’s sun, recalling… “Wasn’t this fun!” But we miss you brother, we miss you son, Forever our hearts you have certainly won. Still, five years less today, you slipped slowly away, But we know we will see you, again, one fine day. And on that day, you’ll smile and say, “It’s okay!”

Just Say No

Ripping and pulling, this way and that, Scratching and tearing, what’s got into that cat? Never have I seen a small feline so queer, He slinks and he howls as he drinks my last beer. Middle claw extended, he watches the game, Hissing vulgarities, mocking players by name. What could have made such a good cat go wrong? It must be that dreaded cat-nip packed bong. It’s a “gateway drug,” which leads to much sorrow, Cat-nip today, dog bones tomorrow. A generation of kitties, who’ve all lost their way, Tell Mr. Whiskers to “just say no” today!

Masks

We all wear masks upon our faces, Painted sheathes to hide disgraces, Painstakingly forged in the crucible of our souls. Some paint them red, some paint them black, Each mask crafted to hide some lack, And obfuscate the weeping of the soul. Upon our beings do these cloaks hang, Muting our voices, causing us pangs, But dutifully performing their given roles. Will someone free me from this hell? Must I forever my own breath smell? Trapped behind this dreaded wall, so dank and so cold. So I shall rip my mask asunder, Though perhaps folly, or foolish blunder, Naked I shall therefore live, exposed, alone, and cold. I may freeze and I may die, But I can no longer live a lie. Lest I not live before I die, naked in the cold.

The Cloak

This cloak I wear, by day and by night, Though warm it not, nor its burden light. It hangs on my bones, as an old drunken sailor, Clawing and pawing, flouting its failures. Though odious to others, my cloak may be, It both defines and perplexes me. Yet it remains, serving its function, And in it I stay, without compunction.

The Moon's Eyes

Through my window peers, the eyes of the moon, Its pupils as shadows, dance through my room. Weightless, sanguine, pure, and carefree, Moon beams know not sorrow, nor fear gravity. But my path as of late, is not quite so bright, Questions, decisions, worry, and fright. Sleep eludes me, I silently fret, Befriending loneliness and its comrade regret. Why have I come here to this place? Where pain and confusion cover my face? I did not think my chosen path queer, The day I set out, full of optimism and cheer. But life happens, as I did soon learn. Not much that we have, did we ourselves earn. An amalgam of choice and chance, our lives are. And honest mistakes can still leave big scars. Notwithstanding all this, one thing I do know, To remain put and to languish, is never to grow. One chapter must end, and one must begin, Despite their polite cries, “you are living in sin!” Say what they may, it’s meaningless still, Like Sisyphus, pushing that rock, up a hill. So forward I plod my outcome uncertain. Elated, exhausted, in love, and heartbroken.

Up

Little man full of life, full of wonder and love; Excited to touch the white clouds above. Away from the gate, we softly proceed; Young eyes in amazement, long for more speed. To the runway we go, it doesn't take long; 'Til the white clouds beneath us, are basking in sun. "How high are we daddy, are we in the sky?" "Yes we are Buddy, you’re learning to fly!" A countenance of wonder, so fresh and so pure; Like we all felt once, decades before. Time has a way of sullying one's face; But one look at my boy, and I know God's grace.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.