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Art Campbell (email)


writing graciously on angry paper

Outside, my mind's lips whisper
to fingers graciously gliding over gilded lines.
Exhaling passion heavily in earnest
my cursive breath made the paper rise.
I inhaled deeply a hot thought of a summer scent
and the paper died, but its spirit revived
in a gust. That breeze that brings life
to thoughts.

I grasped the angry page in a death grip,
demanding it receive thoughts I penned.
Reaching for a draft to strangle hold,
mere dust devils in tornado training.
I swirled in the literary sand box of white
building images to be granules
in the wind.

Tattooing saw dust and glue,
branding this albino creature,
its wings slapping the table
as a breeze passed by. Wanting to fly.
Showing its temperament in a rustled tantrum
 while I held it down. Tackling corner pages
still wanting to fight.

A chained slave the paper whimpers
pleading in ripples upon its fringes.
I drive a spear across its flesh,
my patriot the pen killing sentences.
Submissive ink did as it was told, scrolled,
writing graciously on angry paper



A Bottle of Poetry
Cast upon an ocean of white, I write
glass words, reflective and transparent.
There is no hiding the note I tone
caught in the current, life.

Bottled up inside my journey
reading others as they drift by.
Feeling the emptiness of my void
save a page of cursive thoughts.

Ascending and descending
like a bottle shaped all wrong.
Focused on being tossed about
on an aimless ride upon life's swells.

Engulfed in the raging silence
of the sun and stars guidance.
The winds, a steering push by friends.
Weathering blue still waters and storms.

Filling droplets of life, patiently await
submerged in fear of allowing them in
for that which uplifts my vessel,
can also sink me.

Castaway, marooned in my dreams
an ocean of endless possibilities.
Until, embracing tidal sands bury me
and this time-capsule's voyage ends.

May I not kiss jagged rocks fate
but land softly upon a paradise shore.
Where a finger's touch opens me,
a bottle of poetry.



Cometh the Wild

Thunder that rumbles across a cloudless sky
is the sound of an ancient wild and free pride
for that which creates wind
on a windless day
is coming
they're coming
they are coming this way!

Beating the earth in a drumming sound
hundreds of poundings pounding the ground
as frisky as a spring day
in unison they bray
yes coming
they are coming this way

Mane in the wind created by flight
massive muscles moving of strength and might
herd of the many the local and strays
gather together on gathering day
they're coming
yes, coming
wild horses are coming this way.



Night Wisdom

Snow colored feathers over feathers
in chilly wind weather
On a noiseless flight,
talons of strength and might
stained by age
and by death
survival justifies its right.

A drift on a drifting sightless current
harmony in wings filtering air fluid
a kite of stealth on a death ride
white wisdom's descent, a mystical glide
by Athena
and by Minerva
a warriors skills are not pride.

Wings fold, cup and cover
hooked beak stabbing in hover
zero visibility without a sun
prey rarely sees the hunter come
by feasting on death
a living process
an owl's lament is night's wisdom



Soul Pearls
Soul Pearls

soul pearls fall
after being grown
from a grain of thought

smoothed over

from life
and from love
made in the bottom of
the sea of the mind

till they flow in streams
and pool
to death

soul pearls fall
in sorrow

as they fall
in all worlds

drops of tears

glisten and sparkle
from life's ocean of love

soul pearls