Fall
by Tara L. Carnes
sitting in my rock garden
with gratitude
this Thanksgiving
the autumn sun warms my back
tree shadows s t r e t c h across the
dry pale grass
steepled together in prayer
soft chirps of tentative choir birds
mingle with
far away dog yawps
muffled thumps of falling acorns
a woodpecker’s rat-a-tat-tat ostinato
accompanied by the steady forest buzz
the golden/red/orange/brown canopy
holds its breath
listening
waiting
watching
a breeze stirs and
leaves let go
floating gently down
joining the congregation of leaves
who await my feet’s
shuffle, shush, crunch
The Rose in the World Winter 2017: 8. Print.
Dream Journeys
by Tara L. Carnes
A wild and crazy road trip
across the causeway
over leaping turquoise waves…
The hotel has a bar
I stop for drinks with the shadow
who sings songs in a language I need
I pass through the rooms of days long past –
a busy restaurant kitchen
a darkened bedroom
a noisy classroom
trip over a dusty childhood coffee table
sneak through someone’s wedding
joyfully spill chicken & dumplings on the floor
at a family reunion─
struggle through piano lessons
with a stern Hugh Laurie
I chase my Father
down
down
down
the serpentine feminine path
and find myself
on the opposite side
of where I began
Presence: An International Journal of Spiritual Direction Vol. 21 No. 4, Dec. 2015 Print.
Mater
by Tara L. Carnes
when things get really bad
I slip into chapel
and talk to Mater
curled at the end of the pew
in her quiet alcove
I feel safe
the hum of traffic
and the clatter of students
fades away
warm sunlight
streams through
the jeweled colors
of Mater’s window
I love her pink gown
crown of stars
and the way her head is
bowed and listening
I close my eyes like hers
and know that
she understands despair
how it feels
to see your child
being hurt
and not being able to stop it
I beg her
again
please keep my baby safe
give me strength
to
hang
on
The Very Edge Poems, Ed. Polly Alice McCann and Araceli Esparza, Flying Ketchup Press, 14 2020, p. 19.
Fractal Dreams
by Tara L. Carnes
sometimes when I am very still and just be
I am allowed a look under the veil
behind the scenes of infinity
a cosmic kaleidoscope opens behind my eyelids
each fractal more beautiful to behold than the last
spinning and twisting out self similar patterns
reds, greens, violets and blues
a breathtaking iteration feedback loop
unfolding and multiplying down an endless tunnel
silent visual music playing out the song of the universe
in this dreamworld of sonorous solitude
I understand the connection of things
The Voices Project, 19 December 2018. Web.
The Concert of Cerridwen’s Joy
by Tara L. Carnes
I enter the concert hall
with my saxophone
case and
find myself
surrounded
by
legit musicians
Cerridwen beams, hands me
a score
and cues the beginning
keeping time
yet leaving room
for interpretation.
encircled by
leaping and frolicking phrases
I feel the vibrations
reach my secret self
and join in
tasting every note
sometimes
the notes are provided
or not…
I improv through
these empty spaces
in my score
as the song unfolds
I am surprised
to hear
a doumbek
an mbira
a bodhrán
a shakuhachi
all the instruments
of the world
woven together
with my
saxophone
in this concert
of Cerridwen’s joy
SageWoman Magazine, 2018. 93 Print.
Postcards
by Tara L. Carnes
it’s the postcards that make me connect
with the photograph
of the woman lying on the ground
surrounded by postcards
I take lousy pictures so
everywhere I travel I buy a few postcards
to help me remember
every day new pictures of random violence
are on the news
shootings
stabbings
bombings
terrible things that happen in other cities
other countries
this woman buying postcards
blindsided by hatred driving
a speeding car
it could have been me
which postcards had she chosen
from the rack on the bridge
the Union Jack, the Palace of Westminster
the one with L O N D O N spread out in big block letters
or the ones smeared in her blood
as she lies vulnerable on the sidewalk
surrounded by shaken tourists
witness to it all
a trip they will never forget
The Poeming Pigeon: In The News, The Poetry Box, 2018, p. 167.
Divine Gardener
by Tara L. Carnes
I am the garden earth –
limbs of mucky soil outstretched
I am the solemn, watching moon –
ripening lushness, light anew
I am the twirling, sparkling stars –
dancing head over heels ‘til dawn
I am the fidgety night critters –
who holler, yawp and trill
I am the whispering, waving grass –
emerald garment dappled in dew
I will myself be still
as gentle hands
extract stubbornness
and pride,
gently root out
distrust, fear and
impulsiveness
weeds
shaken and tossed
away
Snapdragon: A Journal of Art & Healing 5.1 Spring 2019. Web.
Whisper
by Tara L. Carnes
breathing in and out
the trees
gently raise their arms
in blessing
humming with
Divine energy
electric shimmering,
winking leaves,
sighing and
whispering love
sunlight and shadows
God’s caress.
The Rose in the World, Winter 2015: 14. Print.
Henna Hands
by Tara L. Carnes
still my profile pic
our arms outstretched
curling flowers and beautiful designs
after the henna dried in the weak sun
we celebrated Holi
busts of color splattered everywhere
puffs of pink, yellow, blue and orange rose up
as we danced and welcomed Spring
The Big Windows Review, Fall 2018: 13. Issuu. Print.
January 23rd
by Tara L. Carnes
“The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom” – Maya Angelou
ten years ago today
this miracle occurred
our emancipation day
from you
from your abuse
leaving everything familiar behind
we leapt out in faith
trusting the Divine to catch us
traveling slowly through the
spiral of transformation
cycling through grief
reliving dark paralyzing fear
tingling pricks of feeling awaken
healing by
sharing our story
moving beyond our story
hearing others’ stories
as survivors we soar
no longer victims encaged
each day growing
stronger and bolder
singing our song of freedom
Cholla Needles: Issue 15, Cholla Needles, 2017, p. 71. Print.
But They Don’t Fall Down
by Tara L. Carnes
my ex sent me
a drunken email
at 2:08 a.m. and copied our judge
he called me a “Weeble”
(among other things)
for my refusal to stay down
after repeated
legal punches
I printed a
picture of Weebles and
glued it to
my heroes-poster- collage
where
Ghandi walks
Rosa Parks sits
Malala speaks
Mother Teresa touches
Corrie Ten Boom hides
MLK marches
Sacajawea leads
Joan of Arc charges
Hildegaard sings
Nelson Mandela forgives
Crazy Horse fights
Julian of Norwich guides
Philippine Duchesne teaches
Joan Chittister preaches
Arab Spring protesters shout
Burmese Monks challenge
D.C. Mayor Bowser paints
BLACK LIVES MATTER
and a lone
Chinese student
stares down a tank
in Tiananmen Square
“But They Don’t Fall Down” Presence: An International Journal of Spiritual Direction Vol. 27 No. 4, Dec. 2021 Print.