Word and Myth | Find Your Authentic Voice Through Poetry

Experience a Workshop

Whether you seek creative expansion, personal insight, or a space to experiment with form and voice, this ongoing workshop invites you to step into the unknown, embrace the process, and write beyond the limits of what you think you can say—all within a supportive community of writers.

About the Instructor

Carson Wignall views writing as a form of spiritual discipline. With undergraduate and graduate degrees in Philosophy, he has always been drawn to exploring profound ideas. During his work in social services, Carson discovered poetry as a unique language—a way to transform personal confession into mythic imagination. He is now deepening this practice as a master’s student in Creative Writing (Poetry) at Dominican University of California while teaching English at the secondary level.

Carson’s writing mainly explores self-identity as a quiet rebellion of becoming, dwelling on the tension between seeking transcendence and living as a divided self. He invites his students to see poetry as a form of revelation, helping them uncover their own heights and depths within a supportive community of writers dedicated to the joyful, yet challenging, process of making experience meaningful.

Featured Poems

Abel To Cain

You never needed a companion,
not even God: sacrifice
is not in your nature.
You maintain that your sin defines your soul.
Even tenderness grates
against a loser. Backed into isolation,
knife in hand and less
yourself without me
you nervously carve
your twinless image.
It will need to be a devotion
to silence,
a monastery to thwart
the roar of my
emboweled cry.
I am remembered
beyond you, brother.
I will run your distance.

The Other Me

I will already be cold by the time he comes home.

All day I picked up fallen leaves
to give him a new view, rearranged
the furniture to impede his routine,
lit a fire to warm the space
his absence spares.

Between us the moon cycles twice before
his eyes catch mine,
and I am the transgressor.

Our distance was once productive,
still enough to support my call;
now I can turn my head in every direction
and remain alone.

I was sure to find him waiting when I came
through the kitchen door, ready to meet me
like a landing dove
his nest.

But I fear I cannot hold him,
poor container I am.

He will have to enfold himself to find me here.

Laid Among the Stars

for Elise

I became a constellation when I died,
which was a cruel joke, since as a child
I had always shuddered when my mind crossed
outer space.

It is horrible to remain together and separate
at once,
my gaze dispersed across vastness
in myriad points of light,
and the voice I always knew
fallen away
like a stone
as the hours grow
thinner

In death I am whatever the naked eye
can determine;
take comfort to know not even the end
is shapeless,
it really does contain—

Now, I can finally stare into my own eyes,
but even after life,
it is not enough
to be alone

The Mermaids

Let the others win the contest
for the last glimpse of God.

I wonder when they’ll notice
I’ve stopped swimming,
the mermaids
circling below,
their eyes as sharp as their smiles
as they glide their hands over their polished bodies,
barely cloaked in the depths.

Thrashing rock to rock

Take share in the pain and you will hurt no more,
they promise

These waves can rock you to sleep
for all eternity,
but you’ll never dream
under empty sky;
Leave your eyes beneath the glaring sun,
there’s nothing to guard
down here

Only dead things float:
to live means to break
contact
with the surface.

Abel To Cain

The Other Me

I will already be cold by the time he comes home.

All day I picked up fallen leaves
to give him a new view, rearranged
the furniture to impede his routine,
lit a fire to warm the space
his absence spares.

Between us the moon cycles twice before
his eyes catch mine,
and I am the transgressor.

Our distance was once productive,
still enough to support my call;
now I can turn my head in every direction
and remain alone.

I was sure to find him waiting when I came
through the kitchen door, ready to meet me
like a landing dove
his nest.

But I fear I cannot hold him,
poor container I am.

He will have to enfold himself to find me here.

Laid Among the Stars

for Elise

I became a constellation when I died,
which was a cruel joke, since as a child
I had always shuddered when my mind crossed
outer space.

It is horrible to remain together and separate
at once,
my gaze dispersed across vastness
in myriad points of light,
and the voice I always knew
fallen away
like a stone
as the hours grow
thinner

In death I am whatever the naked eye
can determine;
take comfort to know not even the end
is shapeless,
it really does contain—

Now, I can finally stare into my own eyes,
but even after life,
it is not enough
to be alone

Abel To Cain

The Other Me

I will already be cold by the time he comes home.

All day I picked up fallen leaves
to give him a new view, rearranged
the furniture to impede his routine,
lit a fire to warm the space
his absence spares.

Between us the moon cycles twice before
his eyes catch mine,
and I am the transgressor.

Our distance was once productive,
still enough to support my call;
now I can turn my head in every direction
and remain alone.

I was sure to find him waiting when I came
through the kitchen door, ready to meet me
like a landing dove
his nest.

But I fear I cannot hold him,
poor container I am.

He will have to enfold himself to find me here.

Laid Among the Stars

for Elise

I became a constellation when I died,
which was a cruel joke, since as a child
I had always shuddered when my mind crossed
outer space.

It is horrible to remain together and separate
at once,
my gaze dispersed across vastness
in myriad points of light,
and the voice I always knew
fallen away
like a stone
as the hours grow
thinner

In death I am whatever the naked eye
can determine;
take comfort to know not even the end
is shapeless,
it really does contain—

Now, I can finally stare into my own eyes,
but even after life,
it is not enough
to be alone

Abel To Cain

The Other Me

I will already be cold by the time he comes home.

All day I picked up fallen leaves
to give him a new view, rearranged
the furniture to impede his routine,
lit a fire to warm the space
his absence spares.

Between us the moon cycles twice before
his eyes catch mine,
and I am the transgressor.

Our distance was once productive,
still enough to support my call;
now I can turn my head in every direction
and remain alone.

I was sure to find him waiting when I came
through the kitchen door, ready to meet me
like a landing dove
his nest.

But I fear I cannot hold him,
poor container I am.

He will have to enfold himself to find me here.

Laid Among the Stars

for Elise

I became a constellation when I died,
which was a cruel joke, since as a child
I had always shuddered when my mind crossed
outer space.

It is horrible to remain together and separate
at once,
my gaze dispersed across vastness
in myriad points of light,
and the voice I always knew
fallen away
like a stone
as the hours grow
thinner

In death I am whatever the naked eye
can determine;
take comfort to know not even the end
is shapeless,
it really does contain—

Now, I can finally stare into my own eyes,
but even after life,
it is not enough
to be alone

Word & Myth

Contact

Website: demian.studio