Category: My Poetry

My Poetry, Photography5 Comments

Chimera

Charlotte Hamrick

Chimera (A Wild and Unrealistic Dream or Notion) All I want on a Sunday morning is to luxuriate in my laziness. I want to watch old movies with the volume turned up loud, the newspaper crackling as I shift my supine body on the couch, the words of duplicitous politicians and photos of narcissistic socialites mashed under my ass. I want to gaze out my window where heat rises on the street like steam from a gumbo pot while I lie, cool as a nectar cream snowball, in my Maggie The Cat slip, painting my toenails a color called Bad … Continue reading Chimera

Film, My Poetry2 Comments

A Plastic Bag

Charlotte Hamrick

A plastic bag in the wind is trash to some, beauty to others. Who’s to say what’s right or wrong? Desperate eyes see freedom in lift and airiness, a thing not of nature riding on nature’s wings, accepted without question, unencumbered by expectations, allowed to be its most spontaneous, creative self. A vessel to hold other things, it’s true, but filled with possibilities of what those things might be. *** Poem inspired by the plastic bag scene in the film American Beauty which I find achingly sad yet hopeful. Continue reading A Plastic Bag

My Poetry13 Comments

My Poem on Postcards: Support Small Presses!

Charlotte Hamrick

Atomic Theory Micropress has printed up my poem “Bravado” on postcards, with art by Jon Butterworth, for purchase on their website. I am thrilled! It never occurred to me that it might be possible for my words to fly around the country (world?!) in this way. Proceeds from the postcards will help Atomic Theory finance the publication of their limited edition handsewn chapbooks. If you love poetry, small press, and/or the art of bookmaking, please consider purchasing a postcard or two. Support poets, support art, support small presses! Continue reading My Poem on Postcards: Support Small Presses!

My Poetry, Poetry3 Comments

9 Years 8 Months

Charlotte Hamrick

You sat at the back of the room like a glacier, non-moving, non-blinking, arms crossed over your chest. I chattered on, ignoring you but sneaking a side-eye now and then. Thousands of days have passed, this thing moved way past estrangement into forever-gone land long ago. But you reappeared, hovering like fog over shifting ground until you finally walked over, handed me a letter,disappeared again. Fog. The first sentence read, I was sober for 9 years, 8 months. Now I’m not. I don’t know what to do with this, this unsettling psychic information. That’s the thing about dreams, where does … Continue reading 9 Years 8 Months

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Your Slate is not Clean

Charlotte Hamrick

and it never will be. That’s something people tell themselves to feel better about the crappy things they’ve done in life. The repeated mistakes, the thoughtless remarks, the pillage wreaked in another persons life. We say, “that’s in the past, I’ve changed”. But here’s the thing. The slate should never be cleaned because we need to own our mistakes. They’re what makes us human, what makes us grow. Our chalked-marked slates are part of us, our past make us who we are today. So throw away that eraser. Continue reading Your Slate is not Clean