Soot

I ride my bike
along the pink dawn rim.
I never fell from the sky,
never forgot to stop laughing.
Your daisies never died.

I lived once in a purple room,
hung my clothes from a
lopsided crate, lip-
synched with ELO, rasped
with Rod Stewart.
Owned nothing. Nothing owned me.
I flew every night,
sparks winging from hands and feet.

I glance at my hands.
Soot still covers my fingertips.

Pris Campbell
(c)2005

Julia Darling

Her blog and final poem can be found HERE. An extremely moving site.

Chats With Eleanor

Fairy Godmothers with ample laps
and June Cleaver faces slid down the rabbit hole
of old dial-up phones, ten cent colas, Betsy Wetsys,
and scratchy LPs an innocent lifetime ago.

Try strutting about now in tiara and starched skirt,
waving a wand---the madhouse will open its jaws
and swallow you whole, but

my fairy godmother is clever.
She dresses like Eleanor Roosevelt,
talks like Eleanor., looks like Eleanor,
says she is Eleanor, back from the dead.

Each night she brings me hot chocolate, sits,
tell stories about quiet fireside chats,
her husband's withered legs and how much
she thought he loved her before Lucy.

She reminds me to floss every night
and to be sure to carry an umbrella
should sudden thunderstorms threaten.
She emphasizes that one must learn to
be brave in cold emptied beds
ever so much as on battlefields,
littered with the corpses of those
who once called our name.


Pris Campbell
©2005

Patriot Act Revisited

Read an article at Eweekly about how the Patriot Act allows the FBI to not only gather information about any of us without showing just cause, but also doesn't allow businesses they gather it from to divulge that this is being done to anyone, not even a lawyer. Click HERE to read. By the way, this is an interesting weekly to subscribe to if you're interested in computer events.

DoLily Whiteflower

DooLily Whiteflower lets
her nails grow till they curl
like the coils in her Chevy,
paints them Vampire Sky black,
half-moons on each tip.

She never plants a flower,
does dishes,
cooks or
cleans house.
That's what LeRoy is for.

White trash, her backdraft,
the hushed whisper
whenever she ventures to town.

I'll be in the Guinness,
she announces. They'll say,
That DooLily, she sure
had great nails.

Visual Poetry

Check out my new link to the right....'Very Unusual Visual Poetry'. A real treat!

Dream

Slicing

Tantrums

his roar
flattens the house,
dog whining

The Waterman Chronicles

I just found this neat site...links are great, too.

The Waterman Chronicals

And the Angel sang....

Click HERE to see my latest haiga on my website, too large to fit the space here.


This wee guy HOPES you'll make some comments...


oh please do!

(I shamelessly stole him from Sofi's website, but he says it's okay for him to visit:-)

Lies and Other Truths

The cold still lingers, but here's my most recent poem....


Your lies float in the air
stretch, expand,
a black cloud that spills secrets
if I ask nicely.

You say I'm delusional.
and wave a black wand,
strap on a dark cape.
A magician, with an
audience of one, but

her legs hang
from your cloud, dear,
despite all of your trickery.
Tanned legs.
Slut-red toenails with
sling pumps dangling,
your head hid
in her spread thighs.

Fingers turning to salt,
I run to where Dali
waits on my mantlepiece.
He tells stories of days
before time melted
and bent out of shape,
days when I still
thought you were my Candyman.
Your tongue not yet forked.
My illusions intact.

Pris Campbell
(c)2005

Sparrows

This haiga is too large for this column, so click HERE to see it directly on my website.

Along the South Florida Ocean

Yesterday...