Carlus Wilmot is an authentic storyteller. He carefully brushes his words with pristine detail, creating a metaphoric painting of society. He has no wall to hide behind.
He speaks truth, sharing the tales of his past. He is a survivor with a beating heart of emotion filled with beauty and angst.
Location: Congress Junction, Arizona
A: I write about an hour a day, I’ve slown down alot since 1982.
Q: How do you deal with personal doubters?
A: I try to prove them wrong or ignore doubters. It’s how I am.
Q: When you were growing up, what made you want to
become a writer?
A: I loved telling stories and it became a ritual after my son was born. I was 17 at the time.
Q: Describe a perfect setting where you can get writing done.
A: I like to write at home where its quiet, and walk to refresh myself.
Q: What kind of books did you read when you were growing up, if any?
A: I read a lot Poe as a kid, I love the macabe. In teen years I listened to a group called The Last Poets on my record player.
Q: Are you a traditional type of writer (paper and pencil) or do you use your computer to write?
A: I’m traditional at most paper and books all over the floor but I do write directly from the computer now.
Q: What’s you’re favorite part of writing?
A: Finishing a poem I’d say, revising can go on and on if I don’t stop myself.
Q: How do you get past all the frustrations that come with trying to be a successful writer?
A: I quit writing physically, but write in my mind and leave the computer alone for a few days.
Q: What do you do when you have several book/piece ideas?
A: I let my critique and editor friend of the last 6 yrs make the choice.
Q: Do you have an agent representing you/your work to publishers?
A: No Agent as yet, but I have enormous support and pr from friends.
Q: Have you ever been published/self-published? (list published works and/or experiences – Optional)
A: Yes, a short story while attending UW Stevenspoint in a book entitled Barnaby Street, I won 300 dollars that year as well for the same story in a contest at UW Oshkosh. 1982
In 1993 I had a poem published by Woodland Patteran in Milwaukee featuring Milwaukees Finest Writers. Dreams & Secrets
1995 I had three poems published in First Choice magazine which has folded up about 10 yrs ago.
My book An addicts Tale was published by Publishamerica in 2006
I was spot light poet in Expressions magazines from 2006 to 2009
In 2007 I made a CD of poetry with the Freddie Lee Band in Milw.
In 2010 Lulu publications publish my book In That Dark, Glorious State.
Q: What genre(s) describes your work?
A: Oh, God, I guess I could say Street Poetry at most but there’s also The Macabe. Love poetry, and Cosmic Slop.
Q: Do you write under a pseudonym? If so, what is the story behind it?
A: I post on my blog with pseudonym Midnightriderbk. It is a name some guys pinned on me back in the 80′s, had a lot of girlfriends.
Q: What/who motivates you to write?
A: Sometimes its a song, a poem I read, mostly its from stories in my head about myself or people I have met. Or I just make up shit.
Q: Do you have your work showcased on any website?
A: I do have a blog.
Q: Share with us a fun fact about yourself.
A: I love to tell stories even ones containing embarrassing moments about myself. I do laugh at me as well.
Q: What does the future hold for you as a writer?
A: I hope God willing to write and entertain and inspire people and help people even if nothing huge ever happens in my writing career.
Below you can enjoy a few selected pieces by this writer.
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Thoughts Come Today
Sitting on the porch
Surrounded by pretty flowers.
Blue, pink, gold and yellow.
Planted by ex now friend
Who has always had a green thumb.
The wind calls not her name
Only the relationship has changed.
And I haven’t seen a fellow
Who’s been as lucky as I am
Surrounded by pretty flowers
Blue, pink, gold and yellow.
Planted by who was once a dream.
Yet so much we’ev changed
We’ve learned to be friends
Instead of lovers
Who inflicted too many years of pain
On each other.
The wind calls not her name
Only the relationship has changed.
we’re near because of love
Yet we are free.
Before My Greatest Love
Last night, ah, yesterday, I left the coldest kiss,
And my shadow like a stranger slipped away.
Through torrent winds amongst bending trees,
I felt desolate yet sick of my old passion.
In my waking hours I found dawn was gray
And not one moment did your ghost begin to haunt me.
The feast is done and the oil lamp has expired,
And I’m desolate yet sick of my old passion.
Surely the kisses she brought at first were sweet
But some how the fire died and I didn’t perspire.
I am hungry for the lips of desire.
I cry for madder music, and stronger wine….
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Party On 24th St 1967
One and all knows the spot
Where the music really pops
Through the cones of an old Fender amp.
As hurried shiny shoes desends each step
Just to see twistin’ hips and shakin’ asses.
In a dark, and dank basement
Where red lights glare
While strings of Christmas lights tacked on a wall.
Blinks in any sequence but never in rhythm
To the tunes of Otis Redding and many more.
Three slow songs in a row makes girls uncomfortable
As bodies shiver and sweat then lose control.
Soon laughter roars at his stain and why he’s swollen.
What follows is just a fight, a change of mood.
Before the next bar run,and the collecting of change.
This ain’t no place for squares without a dollar,
If you can’t dance or git down, you need to run from here
Cause after 12:am the spot is sure to be jumpin’.
All the girls will be copped and those who are drunk
Will be protected by thier sisters and friends.
Thus snow drifts bite the foot that slows if your rap is old,
Lame or expired or never was your own.
Ya’ better dance like its the last dance and romance some,
And have you buddies occupie whats left over.
For all there is, after 2:00 my friend, is drop kicks and fists,
And not one drop of booze.
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Villianous Hour
On a cold day in January
A middled aged poet
Whose work they use to read
Sits.
Overwhelmed by poetry tag
Intruding thoughts had
That no will ever
Understand.
Within a villianous hour
Unafraid of outcome
I might do what I shouldn’t
But I mustn’t.
When agreed love is alien
To desires overflow
No matters can veiwed
By public spectacles.
Which makes things so seductive
To all my hidden whims
Igniting sexy nightmares
Too often I have screamed.
No, no, no!
But tell this to my heart
Within an angelic moment
When I have them.
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Go Where My Dreams Are Dreamed
I’ll keep you in my mind
Where beauty ought to be
Forever in secrecy
Go where my dreams are dreamed.
At day break when shadows are gone
If your carriage breaks down
Seek the palace within my heart.
Now filled with passionate songs
Each lyric that sustains me
For days and nights without you.
This torch for you will burn,
And the beat of my heart will drum
As long as there’s life to live.
I’ll keep you in my mind
Where beauty ought to be
In secrecy
Go where my dreams and dreamed.
In safety, in disguise
With no other means of light
But the fire within your heart.
Seek the palace and will love you.
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An Open Invitation
You’ve found your history in me
Without grasping the history
That came before
Your chapter unwritten.
Inviting you to sit a while
Lay an unstudied eye
Upon a Melville iris
Within my heart and soul.
You’ve never beheld me
As new life pushed then yelled
Nor saw the landscape altered
Before these written words.
But do forever embrace me
For what is yet to learn.
Not expecting a smidgen of proof
As twilight lends its shadow.
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