Open in app

Sign In

Write

Sign In

Melissa Carpenter
Melissa Carpenter

25 Followers

Home

About

Jan 15, 2021

Generation X

We were tie dyed and punked out, mohawk wearing swearing in Bad English, totally radical dudes carrying house keys in our hip pockets and settling down for toons after school. We were Swatch Watched rebels in class watching the Berlin wall come down. We were the United Colors of Benetton, prepped out and propped up with Aqua Net and lost in technicolor dreams. We just didn’t care except when we did. We were the world.

Poetry

1 min read

Generation X
Generation X
Poetry

1 min read


Jul 31, 2020

The Ballad

In your absence it is my companion a lover whose passion fills the room with electricity who has come home from a war ragged with raw instinct who wraps his arms around my waist and peers into my soul whose hands stroke my hair and who leans in to give a kiss on the forehead uttering the words “You’ll never be alone”. ~Melissa Carpenter www.treasureoftradition.com

Poetry

1 min read

The Ballad
The Ballad
Poetry

1 min read


Jul 8, 2020

Emerald Isle at Sunset

night falls on the sound --silence ~Melissa Carpenter

Poetry

1 min read

Emerald Isle at Sunset
Emerald Isle at Sunset
Poetry

1 min read


Jul 8, 2020

Soliloquy

the stars climb the dark night weaving their illumination into the trellis of the sky and I rooted to the earth like a rose blushed by the morning sun crawl toward the light then curl into myself at dusk away from the shadows that leave me exposed ~Melissa Carpenter treasureoftradition.com

Poetry

1 min read

Soliloquy
Soliloquy
Poetry

1 min read


Jun 13, 2020

Good Intentions

It was a hot day in early September, a day when the air stood heavy around the wide railed porch where Oliver Birch sat in his usual spot, a white spindle backed rocking chair with Irena, his wife of 51 years, beside him. …

Short Story

6 min read

Short Story

6 min read


Jun 13, 2020

Soul Music

I’m told if your child listens to classical music he will know beauty as he grows and his mind will drift to heaven. This is what I want for you, my son. When you gaze into the sky one autumn evening and see the starlings climb above the horizon their…

Poetry

1 min read

Soul Music
Soul Music
Poetry

1 min read


May 9, 2020

Young Dreams

When I was young I dreamt of this place, of sweet evenings by the fire the father of our sons stoking the wood cracking under blue flames while I wrap them in hand-sewn quilts covering them in folds of generations who knew simple love distilled from the complexity of motherhood. We grow older together like maples wearing new foliage each season. Yet we remain a refuge for the birds who build their nests in spring and take leave each winter into the foreshortened sky only to return.

Poetry

1 min read

Young Dreams
Young Dreams
Poetry

1 min read


Apr 21, 2020

Antique Store

A man behind the counter hides behind a leafy newspaper oblivious to our disposable world. Wandering across waxy wood floors the scent of old days and dust permeates our souls. On the back wall stand three cuckoo clocks, dark and lean with only the past to mark, mechanisms broken and hands stuck at once upon a…

Poetry

2 min read

Antique Store
Antique Store
Poetry

2 min read


Apr 6, 2020

Potato Harvest

The paper blossoms with their amber eyes have withered; their bodies collapsed on their hills; their earthen wombs swollen and expectant planted by those with wisdom to sow. We wait until the sun leans westward then pull the brown vines from their hills shaking the small tubers from the roots; the larger ones…

Poetry

1 min read

Potato Harvest
Potato Harvest
Poetry

1 min read


Mar 26, 2020

Winter at Home

In the lead of winter bleak trees stand like forks in clotted cream about to fall from the weight on their branches. There is only darkness when we wake. Even the promise of the solstice doesn’t resurrect the feeling of hope we had last spring. It seems never to come and mired in our world without miracles we cannot see past the shadows that fall outside the windows. The world is a specter that sweeps past us without notice in a corridor filled with doors leading to nowhere but here. We are haunted by the silent snow that drifts against the door falling over the threshold when we try to leave.

Poet

1 min read

Winter at Home
Winter at Home
Poet

1 min read

Melissa Carpenter

Melissa Carpenter

25 Followers

A bibliophile, writer of poety and prose.

Following
  • Anna Rozwadowska

    Anna Rozwadowska

  • Dennett

    Dennett

  • Michelle Renee Kidwell

    Michelle Renee Kidwell

  • Erika Burkhalter

    Erika Burkhalter

  • Christopher P Jones

    Christopher P Jones

See all (39)

Help

Status

Writers

Blog

Careers

Privacy

Terms

About

Text to speech

Teams