Yellow Mama Archives

Marc Carver
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Zimmerman, Thomas

Poundland 2


by Marc Carver



I looked at all the one pound-cds in Poundland.

I recognized all the names 

from bands

part famous

maybe ten years or so ago.


I could not help but think

what would they think about their music

being sold in Poundland for a sum of one pound.


When I went to the till 

with my one-pound toothbrush,

the till lady asked me if I wanted a bag.

“No, you are okay, love,” I said.

She put my toothbrush in a bag anyway

as if she was giving me a present,

then smiled and said.

“There you go, babe.”

And that smile just got bigger and bigger 

until I could of fallen right into it.




Still Life


by Marc Carver



As i leant over another painting

sweat started to drip over the empty canvas

and of course my mind started to think about

liquids that could go into making paintings.


Surely they would not do that

the greats like Picasso 

or later i thought about Dali

but of course.

I know that is exactly what they would have done.


I can say there is real sweat gone into making my paintings

and they could say there is real life in theirs.

And it is only me 

that knows what they mean.





Rare Days


by Marc Carver


Some days 

the wind is a little too cold

Some days you don't want to get out of bed.

And some days you want the sun

to shine on your face and burn it

until you fall asleep

and your nose is all red and scratchy and the skin falls off it.


And some days you want to put your arms around a woman

and squeeze her until you are one.

No space between you.

And some days you want to smile at strangers until they

wonder who you are.

I want on some days to do the first thing

that comes into my head all day long.

Watch birds take off

and flowers smile with light.

Yea, just on some days 

it is great to be alive.






by Marc Carver


I lay in between a woman’s legs

My head rests gently on her pregnant stomach.

I kiss her stomach

and listen

For new life.

Her breasts fall over the side of her body

Like landslides that will never reach the ground.

I do not know who she is

Even though I have seen her many times

I have never seen her smile

And have no connection to her

Apart from this moment

I can’t tell if she wants this

Or me

But here I am

Listening for life.






by Marc Carver


Torrents of sand

Rain down filling that

Hourglass of naked beauty

Hips rounded

Tight center and filled breasts.

Give into filled time

Let it slip through your fingers and spread

Across an even floor.

Hold hands watching

Praying for more time

To find the truth of what you are



Waterloo Sunset


by Marc Carver


On the bridge

I see all the homeless man's possessions

His begging bowl

and his guitar with rope for strings.


The only thing missing is him.

I did not think to myself

oh he is visiting friends

or has gone for lunch.


I thought instead

he has thrown himself

over the bridge

and no one will ever know

but as i walk down the bridge

I see him shuffling back along the bridge

back to his possessions.

He is alive

and I feel happy.





You Beauty


by Marc Carver


I listen to Mozart

and smile.

How can anybody be so good

The sun is out

and i have told a woman how beautiful

she looked

and i intend to tell another two the same.

Still Mozart plays and still i smile

The sun is out.



Running on Empty


by Marc Carver


How i would hate to die

on a train

going to a place with money in my pockets

undrunk money

how i would hate to die as well

on top of a woman

without finishing

just take me God

when my pockets are empty

and my balls too.



Van Gogh


by Marc Carver


She told me

it was always the clouds

they all had trouble painting the clouds

I went and looked at the Van Gogh in the national

and she was right

even he couldn't do it







by Marc Carver



You can't beat the first one of the day.

The first poem

the first beer.

The first smile you get from a woman.

The first kiss.

The first coffee

the first bit of food.

The first glimpse of the sun

the first drops of rain.

Your first time and

not knowing when

the last time will be.

So do it all today

you just never know

when the first could become

the last






by Marc Carver



As I walked though the town center,

coffee in one hand

coat the other

my dick started to itch

for a second

I thought about asking

one of the passing ladies to scratch it for me.

God knows what they would of said

if I had

Always Baby


by Marc Carver


Somehow I thought

I would of ended up like Neruda by now

on a Greek island beach

with two hot-blooded

Spanish women half my age

with all the world knowing what a great poet I am.


I would be happy to settle for the women.




by Marc Carver



I look through the window of the woman next door as I pass

her light is on

and she is turned away from me.


There is an honesty in a woman

who does not know she is being seen.


She ties her hair at the back

like a Hopper painting without the colors.

I pass the picture

and she never knows I was there.






by Marc Carver


Leave no canvas unpainted,

no poem unfinished,

no woman unloved,

no bottle undrunk,

leave no song unsung,

leave no one

in any doubt

of who you really are.



by Marc Carver



I don't write at all

I only whisper in the wind.

let life

take them where they need to go. Goodbye words






by Marc Carver


I smell the wood burning outside

it reminds me of the incense in the church

the ball moving slowly through the air

the trail of the smoke

as it passed through the church from front to back

always, away from the altar

and me a boy

as innocent as I thought I was.

As innocent as a pope's name

pulling the white cloth over my shoulders 

and bowing every time I passed the altar,

of that church

that sat on the hill

and looked out over the bay

at everything.

I had seen nothing of the world then

and perhaps it should have stayed that way.



by Marc Carver


I had sex yesterday.

I never seem to get enough

not what I would like

or need.

or the other way around.

I'm not sure.

In fact I am lucky to get any.


Then I think of the famous poet librarian

when asked if he had any regrets in life

he said

he wished he had had more sex.

Me and you too my friend.

but I am not sure

I could ever tell you what enough is.





By Marc Carver


The snail crosses the pavement

like it is some vast plain or ocean                                                                 

he sees shipwrecks of his kin trampled into dust as he passes

but still he pushes on

he must reach the promised land

he will be safe there

all that will be left is his trail

as straight as an arrow

but not quite as fast.



By Marc Carver


Outside the heaviest rain I have ever seen

thumps the earth.

I count the distance between the thunder and the lightning

I get an urge to go out in it

cleanse my soul

help my feeling of disgust.


I hold back, put the football on, then turn the cable off

so that all that is left is the carrier signal that looks like tiny creatures moving about.

They look a bit like each other, the rain in the window and the signal they say is the only thing out there in space

but I don't believe them.



by Marc Carver

There are a pair of pants on top of the small roof next to my toilet.
I know because I threw them there.
Sometimes people walk by
Talking about them
Like there were some tourist attraction.

Some people have flags of their country flying from their roofs.
I have a flag of underpants from the country of crazy crazy
And it is the only country for me.






by Marc Carver

As I sleep, touch your fingertips along my fingers and arms


like a pianist for whom the music has stopped.


Or even the air between and slight


a gentle wave upon the quiet sea.


Rest your cupped hand upon my bent head


feel the pulses of love come from inside


like a lighthouse searching the sea


and feel how much I want to love you


you and the whole world.


Let me love you if only just for a bit.



by Marc Carver

Have you heard about the worst poet in the world
He tells people to F off on stage.
Goes to the mic drunk.
Makes fun of people.
turns up late or not at all.
if you haven't seen him
I have to confess.



by Marc Carver

I saw a woman with a blind dog

waiting to get on the tube.

As I passed her I winked at her.

She did not wink back but she saw me.


Maybe it was the dog who was blind

or maybe she hoped she was.




Carver is an old man that occasionally manages to knock out a good poem or two.

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