Raymond Carver Poems (16 Poems)
Stupid (Raymond Carver Poem)
It’s what the kids nowadays call weed. And it drifts like clouds from his lips. He hopes no one comes along tonight, or calls to ask for help. Help is what he’s most short on tonight. A storm thrashes outside. … Continue reading
The Best Time Of The Day (Raymond Carver Poem)
Cool summer nights. Windows open. Lamps burning. Fruit in the bowl. And your head on my shoulder. These the happiest moments in the day. Next to the early morning hours, of course. And the time just before lunch. And the … Continue reading
The Scratch (Raymond Carver Poem)
I woke up with a spot of blood over my eye. A scratch halfway across my forehead. But I’m sleeping alone these days. Why on earth would a man raise his hand against himself, even in sleep? It’s this and … Continue reading
Circulation (Raymond Carver Poem)
And all at length are gathered in. –LOUISE BOGAN By the time I came around to feeling pain and woke up, moonlight flooded the room. My arm lay paralyzed, propped up like an old anchor under your back. You were … Continue reading
The Current (Raymond Carver Poem)
These fish have no eyes these silver fish that come to me in dreams, scattering their roe and milt in the pockets of my brain. But there’s one that comes– heavy, scarred, silent like the rest, that simply holds against … Continue reading
The Cobweb (Raymond Carver Poem)
A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck of the house. From there I could see and hear the water, and everything that’s happened to me all these years. It was hot and still. The tide was out. No … Continue reading
This Morning (Raymond Carver Poem)
This morning was something. A little snow lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green, as far as the eye could see. Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I dressed and went … Continue reading
What The Doctor Said (Raymond Carver Poem)
He said it doesn’t look good he said it looks bad in fact real bad he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before I quit counting them I said I’m glad I wouldn’t want to know about … Continue reading
An Afternoon (Raymond Carver Poem)
As he writes, without looking at the sea, he feels the tip of his pen begin to tremble. The tide is going out across the shingle. But it isn’t that. No, it’s because at that moment she chooses to walk … Continue reading
Bobber (Raymond Carver Poem)
On the Columbia River near Vantage, Washington, we fished for whitefish in the winter months; my dad, Swede- Mr. Lindgren-and me. They used belly-reels, pencil-length sinkers, red, yellow, or brown flies baited with maggots. They wanted distance and went clear … Continue reading
More Raymond Carver Poetry (Based on Topics)
View All Raymond Carver Poems