A Prayer for Resurrection

sitting at my graveside
looking in
covered in the dark shroud
shredded
I gave one too many pieces
and committed that final sin

that final piece which stole
the breath right out of my lungs
so ready for you to love me
begging
starving
empty
a painted doll with no substance
though I desperately craved it

I wanted you
to hold my hand
to lift me up
to give me a reason
to say you loved me too

I wanted you
to write about me
to tell the world all my faults
but that you still thought
I was beautiful

I wield the knife, my pen
carve off another slice and
hold it up to you
please take it
make me yours
breathe life into me
let me know what it is
to be loved again


tara caribou | ©2020-23

Read this and more in my poetry book, Four.

Trapped With My Books

in the quiet evening hours she cries
alone in the stillness
sitting beside her bed
pillow cold
sheets wrinkled and mute
she scrolls and remembers
the lies, the betrayal
uncertainty

she’s trapped and now
she cries for what should have been
what was supposed to be
dreams lost, faded, unrealistic
heart pierced through
she will never trust again
she’s trapped

she longs for something…. but what?
disgusted, she realizes she’ll soon forget
everything she wanted to write down
she fades

she’s the awkward girl in the corner with baggy jeans and tie-dye shirt, wishing

she’s the frumpy wife who can’t remember the last time her husband gazed at her with desire

she’s the dreamer aware of her faults,
unable to escape them, awake and broken

she’s the artist who bleeds out her despair
and longing and hates herself for what she does,
who finishes with a sigh, sets down her pen,
and utterly despises what she’s created,
an open book, so to speak,
vulnerable and disadvantaged
and never seen

(but who would want to?)

she cries
she’s trapped
her nails dig in
to anything, anyone

it’s dangerous, she knows it,
but there it is

she’s trapped, alone,
a snare of her own making
how can there be love without trust?
where is the hope in betrayal?

“sometimes you can’t claw your way out,”
she says
“sometimes there isn’t a hand reaching,
sometimes it’s dark and lonely…”
her and her memories
reminding what an awful wretch she is

so she stretches her hands
buries herself in the words of Dixon or Daquin,
Nelson or Dring,
names which, perhaps, mean nothing
to you or I
but, for her, who have penned verses so deep
so penetrating, almost holy,
for how can one understand another’s plight?
how can one write out all the inner things?
unless they too…
and then, how to move forward?

she flips the page, dives deeper
this time it’s White or Gallo or Raven she devours
reality and illusion intermingle
trading places and flipping around

surely the answer is found in the next line
surely it must,
oh surely it must


tara caribou | ©2023

Available Now – UNflawless: Facetiously Imperfect by John A. Graser

Raw Earth Ink is proud to present John A. Graser’s second book of poetry, UNflawless: Facetiously Imperfect.

From the back cover: “In this collection of poetry and lyrics, I return strong and steady, sharing my experiences, thoughts, and raw emotions; taking you, the reader, a littler deeper into my world. My writing is unfiltered and uncensored, just as I see and embrace life. I hope my words show you a different way to see the world before us… ‘Do not be entrapped by the empty promises of yesterday.’ -John G.”

John is a clever wordsmith with lots of wordplay and slick lines. His unique style stands out using his special brand of mystical, spiritual lyrics interwoven with inner city smarts and unapologetic call-outs to a broken world system. I hope you’ll consider picking up a copy of his book. Available only at lulu. Goodreads.


© 2023 | John A. Graser

January Visitors

Hello my friends, so far I’m having a nice winter. Nothing too crazy, not too cold, not too wet, just peaceful. I am content.

I spend a fair amount of time watching the wildlife and just nature in general. It is often my source of peace and inspiration. I may spend half an hour sitting on the floor watching the bunnies out the glass doors leading to the deck or the moose stretch their necks in an effort to reach some branches. Or, maybe just watch the clouds. Often I don’t have my phone or camera around. I simply ‘be’. I am a firm believer in resting in the moment. I don’t need to keep looking for the “next best thing” because my best is right now, right here, in this moment.

This mother moose and her six month old calf (nearly as big as her!) stopped by to eat the lower branches off the birch trees… and failing that, moved on to the willow stand the bunnies are living in.
She found herself a little sunbeam, which isn’t rising above the tree line yet, so it’s whatever gets through the branches.
Something had them spooked for half an hour. Lots of warning paw thumps and standing up.

I hope you’re having a nice January so far. Love & living light to you.


tara caribou | ©2023 all photos by me

Change of Seasons

My heart is filled with autumn
Breezes teasing my hair loose
From beneath my wool hat
A river dried up left a winding trail
For which my feet to travel
Crisp air invading my lungs
Honking vees moving overhead
Crunchy leaves beneath my boots
Aging flora whispers of the nights to come

And I’m transported far from here
Remembering when he held me close
The fire crackling nearby
In his eyes were a different kind of flame
Holding my face, foreheads touching
“You’re all the best parts of me”
In the end, he was only summer
Burning hot and full of life
Until he spent more time looking
Out across the hills and valleys
And frost settled on his heart

Now I wrap winter about my shoulders
Like a shawl of cold and silence
Fingers clutching, pulling it tighter
Soft flakes whispering across my skin
Mute stillness as I settle on the porch
Crystalline puffs of breath
I can’t remember the last time I spoke
Sighs and groanings are my words
I’ll let nature speak, she never lied


tara caribou | ©2019-23

Read more like this in my poetry book, Fallen Star Rising.

Returning From Orca Bay

Hey ho! Pull to port, pull to port!
Hey ho! We’re on our way home!
Hey ho! Turn starboard, turn starboard!
Hey ho! Our journey’s soon done!

The hold’s filled with fish
And the jerky’s near gone
Brody’s got scurvy and
Then we lost poor Ol’ Tom
To a wrist wrap’t in coil
Net weight’d with salmon
Cold waves lifted him high
Yet he ne’er spoke a word
Though no hope of rescue

Hey ho! Pull to port, pull to port!
Hey ho! We’re on our way home!
Hey ho! Turn starboard, turn starboard!
Hey ho! Our journey’s soon done!

We miss our wives and our children
Land ho!
We miss our dogs and dry land
We miss warm meals freshly made and an ale
And sun-bleach’d clean sheets for each man

Hey ho! Pull to port, pull to port!
Hey ho! We’re on our way home!
Hey ho! Turn starboard, turn starboard!
Hey ho! Our journey’s soon done!

We’re men of tough dignity
Rough hands and hard stares
Gone too long from our families and mates
We’re men of real faith
And living our duty
Providing, filling up their plates

Hey ho! Pull to port, pull to port!
Hey ho! We’re on our way home!
Hey ho! Turn starboard, turn starboard!
Hey ho! Our journey’s soon done!


tara caribou | ©2023

It Is Enough

I am dark shadows and tear-stained cheeks.
I am bursting laughter and bruised hips.
I am a brooding damp fog and twisted smiles.
I am tormented memories and soft silk.
I am covered in anguish and measured lines.
I am tracing and repeating and inward mind.
I am troubled of spirit and a passionate desire.

But none of that matters.
Because, to you, and only you,
I am beautiful.
A pale blue star in a sky of bright lights.
You chose me.
And that is enough.


tara caribou | ©2020-22

Read this and more in my poetry book, Four.

Icy Cold

It’s been winter cold, though not extremely so, which means shorter jaunts outside… particularly when the wind is blowing. A quick walk down the beach to shoot a few photos, face/hands/legs numb, but it was worth it!

The sun doesn’t rise far above the horizon.
A jumbled mess.
Back home again.
Moose by the river, getting an easy meal.

Stay warm!


tara caribou | ©2023 all photos by me

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