They Called him Carter...

Inspired...

They Called him Carter...

Cart-er was named for the shopping cart he would push

filled to the brim with treasures and trinkets he'd collected

trash to many , to Cart-er they were golden tickets perhaps

Cart-er was not a drunk..... just homeless by choice

he had a family, yes... a daughter and one sister

that was the talk around town

Cart-er depended on no one and asked nothing

for years we saw him walking the boulevards

leaning over his shopping cart, favoring his left leg

Cart-ers cart had an American flag on the back

worn and tattered, attached with duct tape

I often wondered if he was a veteran but never asked

everyone just waved to him as they passed

Cart-er could often be seen sitting in wind-blocked moments

quietly talking to himself, sad eyes scanning everything slowly

side to side as if he was taking mental photographs

making memories and friends with the brownstones

the cracks in the sidewalks and street lamps

noting quietly to himself each sound

as the city quietly turned out the lights and slept

Cart-er was a perminant fixture around these parts

everyone pretty much knew his name

well the name his lifestyle had branded him with

little else was known about dear sweet quiet Cart-er

Cart-ers number came up on a Saturday

they found him wrapped in a blanket near his cart

on a cold Sunday morning in November..

a heart attack they said and I cried when I read the news

tears for Cart-er, tears for myself, tears of a poet

found amongst cart-ers treasures

at the bottom of his cart beneath the old blankets

under the aged newspapers and recyclables

three bound notebooks in plastic bags

pristine condition

each neatly inscribed with a place and timeline

each filled with expressive substance in lyric form

metaphoric  language in calligraphic style

worded fluidity with no limitations

each word each line each page flourishing

the nobility of Shakespeare

with the contemporary style of Frost

Cart-er was not a drunk, or a bum

he was homeless by choice

spending his time really HEARING life

listening to each season as it passed one into the next

befriending the brownstones, each brick, each cinderblock

he knew the exact time the crickets begin their chirp

when the swallows begin their migration

Cart-er knew the names and ages of all the neighborhood children

which street lamps had been replaced in the past five years

he even knew the different shades and hues

of sunsets at different times of the year

Cart-er was not a drunk or a bum

homeless by choice

Cart-er was merely a forgotten poet

 

and they called him Carter

 

bj smith

aka shallimarRose

 

 

 

 

 

 

For more shallimarRose Poetry titles visit my table of contents in my blog...

 

Bits of Me...Table of Contents by title...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

We were going out for quick MacDonald's Breakfast meal when we saw a man on an old beat up electric wheelchair out in the rain holding a sign that said "Will Work for food." On the back of his chair was an american flag battered and wet I don't know if he was a veteran but about the age to be a VietNam Vet would be. Being a compassionate person I went and bought him a cup of hot coffee and tried to give him a $20.00 bill. He took the coffee and as he was warming his hands thanked us for the gesture and politely declined the cash.. He was not a bum. he didn't want a hand out. He just wanted to work.. He wanted to feel useful, to be needed maybe. To be noticed.

The carter in my story may be fictional but there are so many Carters in the world around us.. I think we tend to look the other way in many cases because of fear maybe. The holidays will be here before we know it. The Next time you see someone on the corner or in the parking lot look them in the eye.. Show them they matter.. Why not buy a sandwich or a cup of hot coffee ... Just my thoughts..

If you enjoyed this story please share it. Thank you, shallimarRose

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I hold people for many years. Never look down at another. We don't know why they have given up. I enjoyed your story. In Monterey. Many beggars were working the city. I remember one day the coffee house girl had two flat tires and no money. I gave her what I could. One of the beggars came up to her. He was a regular customer. He handed her 200 dollars. He told us. He made 500 dollars a day and appreciate the kindness and smile of the coffee house girl. He walked way. There are good people with us. We need to open our eyes. Thank you for sharing the excellent poem.
Coyote

[shallimarRose]

I am gla I logged in today Coyote.. I have been very ill and not logging on at all since December..
Yes there are alot of homeless here also .. Well I guess everywhere.. hugs, Rose

[Karen]

This is such a heartfelt poem, so filled with sadness and hope, and human love. You cared enough to have acknowledged the homeless and pay them this homage, a eulogy of sorts, a writer's awareness of the human condition. Beautiful poem!

[shallimarRose]

Thank you Karen... Perhaps if some of you put out rr on it the message will reach a wider group. I am pleased you liked it. xo

[Clara]

I loved this, SR. Very poignant write, and so sincere.

These lines really stood out to me:

'Cart-er could often be seen sitting in wind-blocked moments
quietly talking to himself, sad eyes scanning everything slowly
side to side as if he was taking mental photographs
making memories and friends with the brownstones
the cracks in the sidewalks and street lamps
noting quietly to himself each sound
as the city quietly turned out the lights and slept'

[shallimarRose]

I think that is my favorite part too.. On Myspace I signed everything sR... I thank you for reading Lola. I am glad this struck a note with you. xo

[Clara]

What do you prefer? BJ or SR? Or Rose? Or? :)

[Angi]

Shallimar, this piece shows that those 'homeless' people are just that. People. I love Carter's story. This is a wonderful piece. Angi~

[shallimarRose]

hank you Angi for pausing to read. xo

[Sam]

So true you are my friend in a lot of ways. I like this line: Cart-er was not a drunk or a bum
homeless by choice.
We often stereotype people to quickly with out really looking at them.
Thank you for this dear wonderful poem. It was penned ever so lovely and with a compassionate heart.
XO Sam

[shallimarRose]

Thank you for reading Sam.. xoxo

[Sam]

Any time, Rose any time.

[Glen Yumang Manese]

The story line is riveting... the way you describe Carter to the reader... and the compassion in the lines of this just rings poetry... I like how you gave him worth... and not just a homeless person you pass by and not notice... the ending was sad... but you gave the character a gift... by allowing him to exist in the words that he left the world... and the way we should offer help to those that feel life has passed them by...

[shallimarRose]

Thank you Glen. I am thrilled that you liked this one and found it so relevant. xo

[Sharon L.H. Kelly]

This is a beautiful and poignant tribute to all of the 'Cart-ers' out there. Thank you for the RR.

[shallimarRose]

Thank you Sharon for taking the time.. xo

[Rita L. Sev]

What an incredible story; though fictional, you have given voice to so many like Carter. Your details made me see his life on the street unfold. I will, from now on, see these people as "forgotten poets"... Well done, Rose.

[shallimarRose]

Thank you Rita.. The day we met that man I came home and wrote this with tears in my eyes.. I wanted him to take the money.. I wish I could have offered him work but its true.. I was scared.. We have to be so careful.