Poems Published by Yvonne Carder
Life on a Slide
A drop of red viscous fluid placed on a slick field of glass.
Precision touch into the small bleb with a spreader slide;
Waiting with baited breath as the sanguine liquid wicks across the edge.
Gently pushing forward to glide across the pristine canvas creating a rainbow monolayer sheen.
Place on a stage and a beacon of light shines through revealing a microcosm of colors.
Hypnotizing red circles of biconcave donuts;
A deep purple fried egg amidst the rouge hues;
Flashes of fuchsia pearls surrounding a basophilic nucleus;
Small fuzzy lavender pocket lint scattered throughout.
The simplicity of these cells belies the complex power they hold within their cytoplasm.
© 2017 Yvonne Carder
Precision touch into the small bleb with a spreader slide;
Waiting with baited breath as the sanguine liquid wicks across the edge.
Gently pushing forward to glide across the pristine canvas creating a rainbow monolayer sheen.
Place on a stage and a beacon of light shines through revealing a microcosm of colors.
Hypnotizing red circles of biconcave donuts;
A deep purple fried egg amidst the rouge hues;
Flashes of fuchsia pearls surrounding a basophilic nucleus;
Small fuzzy lavender pocket lint scattered throughout.
The simplicity of these cells belies the complex power they hold within their cytoplasm.
© 2017 Yvonne Carder
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Honorable Mention awarded for the Livermore Science Poetry Contest 2017.
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tHE wORLD uPSIDE-dOWN
tHE mOON sHINES iN tHE dAYTIME,
tHE sUN aT nIGHT;
tHE MOUSE pLAYS iN tHE oCEAN,
tHE wHALE iN tHE fIELD;
tHE rAVEN gOES uP tO hEAVEN,
tHE lAMB dOWN tO hELL;
tHE wHITE kNIGHT sLAYS tHE dAMSEL,
tHE vILLIAN sAVES tHE mAIDEN;
tHE sIGHT oF tHE lIFE oF eLDERS,
tHE dEATH oF cHILDREN;
tHE bLIND sEE tHE gREAT bEAUTY,
tHE sIGHTED dARKNESS;
tHE gOOD aRE pUNISHED,
tHE eVIL rEWARDED.
tHAT iS tHE lIFE iN aN uPSIDE-dOWN wORLD.
Yvonne Carder © 1994
tHE sUN aT nIGHT;
tHE MOUSE pLAYS iN tHE oCEAN,
tHE wHALE iN tHE fIELD;
tHE rAVEN gOES uP tO hEAVEN,
tHE lAMB dOWN tO hELL;
tHE wHITE kNIGHT sLAYS tHE dAMSEL,
tHE vILLIAN sAVES tHE mAIDEN;
tHE sIGHT oF tHE lIFE oF eLDERS,
tHE dEATH oF cHILDREN;
tHE bLIND sEE tHE gREAT bEAUTY,
tHE sIGHTED dARKNESS;
tHE gOOD aRE pUNISHED,
tHE eVIL rEWARDED.
tHAT iS tHE lIFE iN aN uPSIDE-dOWN wORLD.
Yvonne Carder © 1994
Published in Las Positas College Anthology XVI Behind The Eye. Spring 1994 edition.
The Black Trail
As I sit here, my view changes from instant to instant as I follow a strange black trail.
At first I see the yellow brown hills that are covered by white speckles; they soon turn into gigantic pinwheels.
After a while my eyes notice the openness of a yellow-brown farmland; it was once completely green, now only small patches of green remain.
The black trail continues for a while and then tall square structures appear, and the black trail seems to go everywhere confusing itself and me as well.
I am glad when I am out of sight of this strange thing called a ‘capitol’.
I venture ever forward, eager to see what the black trail will show me next.
I come upon some hills, but they are not hills that stay small and bare, they are hills that grow and become green.
The hills seem to be very important, because new trees grow here that were not in the yellow-brown land before.
The earth looks red and there are many trees; the sun and the sky also agree with the earth, for they turn red in honor of the earth as well.
The black trail creeps slowly up these hills and loves to turn to catch a glimpse of the new land that carries the clear, clean water.
I am sure the black trail would like to show me more, but I would rather stay here where the hills are honored by all, and the black trail stops to let the earth show.
Yvonne Carder © 1995
At first I see the yellow brown hills that are covered by white speckles; they soon turn into gigantic pinwheels.
After a while my eyes notice the openness of a yellow-brown farmland; it was once completely green, now only small patches of green remain.
The black trail continues for a while and then tall square structures appear, and the black trail seems to go everywhere confusing itself and me as well.
I am glad when I am out of sight of this strange thing called a ‘capitol’.
I venture ever forward, eager to see what the black trail will show me next.
I come upon some hills, but they are not hills that stay small and bare, they are hills that grow and become green.
The hills seem to be very important, because new trees grow here that were not in the yellow-brown land before.
The earth looks red and there are many trees; the sun and the sky also agree with the earth, for they turn red in honor of the earth as well.
The black trail creeps slowly up these hills and loves to turn to catch a glimpse of the new land that carries the clear, clean water.
I am sure the black trail would like to show me more, but I would rather stay here where the hills are honored by all, and the black trail stops to let the earth show.
Yvonne Carder © 1995
Published by Anthology of Poetry, Inc. 1995. Anthology of Poetry by Young Americans 1995 edition, volume CLXXV.
Wilderness Pond
As I am walking through gigantic trees and luxurious ferns in a forest, I come across a lively little pond.
I sit at the pond’s edge quietly absorbing the world around me.
I look and see delicate birds taking flight, small squirrels pouncing upon each other, and tracks of deer who once drank from the water’s edge.
I listen to the melody of the young birds, to the squirrels chirping in playful delight, and to a quiet trickle of a small creek joining the lively pond.
I lean over to look at my reflections and see myself surrounded by the harmony of this wilderness.
Then before I realize what has happened it seems as though I am engulfed by the reflection.
I look around me and see that the gigantic trees have vanished and I am startled to see my thoughts running freely in the smokey cinders of a newly open field.
I notice my family, my friends, my home and all that had meant anything to me, transformed into different sorts of transparent ghosts.
Suddenly they disappear as quickly as they had come.
I quickly look up, realize I am back again, and I stand up with a new reflection on life.
Yvonne Carder © 1995
I sit at the pond’s edge quietly absorbing the world around me.
I look and see delicate birds taking flight, small squirrels pouncing upon each other, and tracks of deer who once drank from the water’s edge.
I listen to the melody of the young birds, to the squirrels chirping in playful delight, and to a quiet trickle of a small creek joining the lively pond.
I lean over to look at my reflections and see myself surrounded by the harmony of this wilderness.
Then before I realize what has happened it seems as though I am engulfed by the reflection.
I look around me and see that the gigantic trees have vanished and I am startled to see my thoughts running freely in the smokey cinders of a newly open field.
I notice my family, my friends, my home and all that had meant anything to me, transformed into different sorts of transparent ghosts.
Suddenly they disappear as quickly as they had come.
I quickly look up, realize I am back again, and I stand up with a new reflection on life.
Yvonne Carder © 1995
Published by The National Library of Poetry. 1995. The Garden of Life The National Library of Poetry.
