Carl Carr’s “Blue Roses” blurs the line between reality and fantasy as it effortlessly narrows the gap with each pulsating word. The complexities and absurdities of modern life are laid bare.
Carr serves it up incisive and raw with the panache and aplomb of one familiar with stepping through landmine infested war zones.
Blue Roses is both chilling and deeply personal as time stops, leaving us stranded atop the peak of a calamitous roller coaster awaiting the heart-stopping plunge.
A couple of poems from the book:
quite dazzling
in the trees
feeling luminous
animals beyond
the mud
the feeling
will come again
sinister and green
under the tomb
excrete huge gems
behind the air
the pleasure is no more
strange and numb
about the grave
meeting yellow shivas
beneath the towers
intense
the pleasure continues
greying
tired
on the edge of the world
for how long
the other unable to stop
uxorious you
snuggling me closely
laying on the sofa
saying little
speaking volumes
feasting me with dinner
drinking me with drink
sun-blanched and heated
re-arranging my wig
with origami cranes
those gentle souls
one does appreciate too
the clandestine
border
crossing
striated sinews
expectant lips
singing new songs of my soul
uxorious you
a horizon of lost dreams