HeyJaredA Carpenter's Point of View in Poetry
A lifelong carpenter, mostly retired but poetry still whispers to me.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 11
- Latest publication
- Sep 19, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 11, 2026
Latest issues
Essay: Meaning and Memory, Magic and Mystery (opens the original)
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With this post I will take my leave of Substack for a while. I will pause my subscriptions and spend my time recharging my batteries. While I see that I have published over 400 poems, I will try to remember how to write them again. I will see you all on my return and thank you for reading. Wes ParkerText within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Meaning and Memory, Magic and Mystery Oftentimes I begin writing, and this happens more in poetry than prose, when I
The Traveler (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published The Traveler Traveling, done by me, is a seesawing totter, a balance of chaos and order, one following another, in a sequence only a mad dance master knows. He calls out the steps just as we need them but not before time. There is always a moment
The Best Pleasures (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedThe Best Pleasures I stayed still and quiet until the storm passed. I hoped for better weather. It made these moments less lonely and fraught. Peace seemed out of reach, when every wish felt like it could be a final one. At some point a storm settled on the area. It had to be met squarely on the same day cowering became unacceptable. My two feet became something fine to stand on. Most people don’t grow up being knocked down,
Freckles (opens the original)
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A pretty straightforward poem. This same son wrote a poem ten years ago where he had line, “Sleep sweeps over them and the sun sweetly summons freckles from their shy slumber.” In that same poem, the other son wrote, the “breeze smells like heaven. The ground holds your feet, the sea takes your breath away and the evening fire gives it back.” Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Freckles
Buttresses (opens the original)
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More “craft notes”. Feel free to ignore. I sit down with my notebook and think about writing something that could pass for a poem. I wait patiently and let dozens of ideas flit in and out of my head until one decides to settle there. I try to capture it and hope I get most of it before it decides to leave. So, that’s my “method” and there’s no room for a prompt in there. Just too delicate an environment and only room for one idea, whatever “it” has to say. Now onto the poem.This is the church wi
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