Tim Carmichael

Joined March 2025

246 stories

Bio

I’m a firm believer life is messy, beautiful, and too short, which is why I write poems full of heart and humor. I am an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. My book Beautiful and Brutal Things is on Amazon, Link 👇

https://a.co/d/537XqhW

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Stories (246)

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Root-borne Ascension
In the silence of dawn, where shadows linger, roots stretch deep, entwined with earth’s embrace, each fiber a story, each tendril a memory,
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Scorched Reckoning
In the heart of the dry season, embers spark, flickering disdain, like tremors of discontent igniting the cool air, a breath that swells,
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
The Grand Encore of Silliness
In a world where socks go missing, and cats plot their reign, let’s embark on a quest for laughter, with silliness as our chain.
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Rooting for Trouble
My roots are a tangle of questionable choices: Grandma’s meatloaf recipe (mayonnaise? Yes, but why?) Dad’s fondness for dad jokes
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
After the Last Flame
In the hearth of dusk, sparks curl like forgotten dreams, as the bold blaze of yesterday’s promise sinks into a calm surrender.
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
When We Were Flame
We were always the spark, a brief, bright defiance against the unlit hush of before. Our laughter was flint striking stone,
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Fertile Ground
In the gentle embrace of earth, my foundation runs deep below, roots of history intertwine with the steadfast strength of purpose,
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Nights of Pale Regret
In shadows cast by nights of pale regret, We weave our dreams where silence dares to tread, A haunting trace that we can’t forget.
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Roots and Sky
In the silent embrace of the earth, where the soil cradles the sounds of my ancestors, I find my roots, tangled yet strong,
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Hunger After Hunger
I want to tell you it begins with lightning or a visitation, some clean bolt of knowing. It begins with irritation, with restlessness,
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
The Glow Beneath the Ruin
I watch the final curl of flame shiver above the wood as if reluctant to surrender its trembling life. The fire has eaten all I once believed immovable leaving a hollowed shape that speaks softly with the hush of falling soot. In this dimming glow I sense the outline of my former self-rising only to sink again into the cradle of ash. It is a stillness heavy as thunder holding the last breath of all that has ended.
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Mama and Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving comes again, Mama, and your chair still waits at the table. I find myself looking at that empty place, remembering the way, you smiled
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets