Old Mill Road
by Carl “Papa” Palmer
85 Selected Stories of Poetry and Prose ~ 102 pages
Price: $20.00
Publisher: Independently Published
To Order: “You send me your book, I’ll send you mine:
Carl “Papa” Palmer, 8918 46th Street West, University Place, WA 98466
carlpalmer@hotmail.com
Reviewed by Michael Escoubas
Imagine yourself a fifty-year-old orphan. The startling circumstances of losing both of his parents, fifteen days apart, as well as his childhood home due to a fire had a tsunami-like effect on Carl Palmer. All traces of his parents’ existence along with any physical evidence of their existence caused a sea change in the poet’s life. The stories and poems in Old Mill Road are Carl’s heartfelt response to preserving the rich heritage of his family, himself, and his Puget Sound environs.
My goal is to show the heart and soul of a distinguished poet using his craft to honor his family and the Pacific Northwest, as only poetry can do.
First off, Carl “Papa” Palmer loves to connect with people. His verse is crisp, colorful, and accessible. No pretense here. Carl drew me in with titles such as: “Amana Memories,” a poem about his mother’s calming voice making magic of words on the page, “perfectly pronouncing six syllable words,” and “Portrait of Helen,” a poem about a lady whose permanent was so perfect that “not a hair was out of place, ever.” I related immediately to these poems because they brought my own youthful images to mind.
Interspersed among the poems are essays that lift the curtain on Carl’s interesting life. One such essay is entitled “May 18th, 1980.“ In this remarkable stream of consciousness narrative, Palmer recalls being station in the U.S. Army in Hessen, West Germany, witnessing a cloud of white ash that had crossed the Atlantic ocean after Mt. St. Helens “blew her top” in western Washington state. The cloud landed on his blue BMW! This narrative poem, which contains no punctuation other than commas, is full of colorful commentary on the region: where giant Pacific Octopi reside, Big Foot, aka Sasquatch sightings, legends about underground tunnels burrowed beneath skid row streets for waylaying drunks and placing them on merchant ships heading out to sea. These are just for starters. Readers may skip over some of the poems, but no one should miss this creative gem.
Carl has an innate sense about how to reach the heart. For example, “Harmonica Player” recalls his Dad’s skill on the instrument. He played songs his listeners liked: Camptown Racetrack, Oh Susannah and Red River Valley. He could play German tunes when he felt like it and do a perfect imitation of a train chugging its way along the tracks. Sons and grandsons each received their own Hohner harmonica and beginner instruction book. Such family-binding moments make this collection stand out.
Palmer’s skill with irony is captured in:
“second hand smoke”
retorted with husky voice
through puffed streams
of freshly used fumes
“just a rumor” rasping
an aroma of burnt tar
“not proven” as she
pops a breath mint
ahems her phlegm
flips the spent butt after
one last lung filled drag
refreshes her perfume
and reenters the bar
after enjoying a quick
breath of clean fresh air
“Act Your Age” is filled with winsome truth. A young girl observes her Dad at leisure watching TV in bare feet, munching on popcorn, drinking chocolate milk straight from the milk carton:
“He stays up late as he wants, eats
whenever and whatever, never has
to get up early for school or work
and nobody tells him what to do.”
“I can’t wait until I am an adult
so I can be a kid just like my Papa.”
“Poet’s Prayer” is a charming confessional to the Lord. Carl comes clean with God about his numerous deficiencies such as not attending church as often as he should and other acts that deserve heartfelt penance. He says, “I mislead, spin yarns, take false / liberties justified by some self / served poetic license.“ But he rests in the sublime faith that whatever may be his shortcomings, he is confident that “in spite of my untruths, / You take care of me, so I guess / we remain on good terms.”
Old Mill Road speaks to me where I live. This delightful collection comes home to me in the poem “Family Values”:
It makes me feel good to see the family,
mother, father, son and daughter
sitting together on the spread blanket at the park
heads bowed around their picnic lunch, a tradition
of saying grace before the meal not often seen,
when they all look up at the same time, laugh and
point at the tweet just received on their iPhones.
Order your copy from Carl, get a cup of coffee or tea … sit back and simply enjoy.
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