Tim Carmichael

Joined March 2025

233 stories

Bio

I am an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. I write about rural life, family, and the places I grew up around. My poetry and essays have appeared in Beautiful and Brutal Things, My latest book. Check it out on Amazon

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

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Stories (233)

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The Lantern Within
I move through the haze of my own thinking hands sweeping walls I cannot see Ahead, a lantern glows a flame inside the chest
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
The Gilded Flame
I walk toward it a lantern hung too high, gilded its flame licking the edges of a nation its glow a command: “Bow. Obey. Forget.”
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
Hearth of One Flame
I move through the silence. The dark stretches in layers, dense and patient, and I sense the lantern before I see it. Its flame is small,
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
The Hours That Will Not Die
I walk again beneath the ashen sky The years return like ghosts that will not go And every step recalls a long goodbye There was a time when hope could not belie
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
The Visitor
Raven at the door its eye reflects my own face pale, and not alone
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
Lantern of the Open Road
A small fire burns within my mind golden tremulous alive the memory of a friend who once moved through the world with laughter
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
First Footprint
Dear Moon, You must have felt it first, the tremor of footsteps that were not your own. After all the centuries of staring down at oceans,
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
Letter to the Moon
Dear Moon, I've looked for the man with-in my whole life, that face they said was yours, the one carved in craters and shadow,
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
The Soul of a Poet
I thought I would write and tell a little about myself. I was born and raised in a rural area of Western North Carolina, in a small mountain community called Spillcorn. It's a place where everyone knows each other, where generations stay rooted in the same hills and hollers. Many who were raised there never left, never received an education, and never traveled farther than the town itself. I was determined to do things differently. I went to college and moved to the big city of Asheville, big to me at least. That move opened my world.
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Writers
The Practice
My roots are the morning ritual, cursor blinking on the screen, the same desk where I've worn a groove into the silence before dawn.
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
Villanelle: The Burial at Midnight
I buried something breathing in the ground, The dead should sleep, but this makes not a sound. And heard it scratching upward through the clay.
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets
All That Reaches Back
My roots are my grandmother's kitchen, the smell of bread rising at dawn, her hands kneading patience into flour, teaching me that some things cannot be rushed.
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Poets