Tuesday, February 20, 2018

my ego would like to believe
i got an email
from an old
she told
me how
she stumbled
upon my name
on her computer
while trying to
pay some bills
and as much
as my ego
would like
to believe
she's a liar
it's so
that it's
so, i figure
i'll hear from
her again next
time she shops
at JCPenney
life insurance
my mother told me
this morning about
the life insurance
policies she had on
my sister and i when
we were children
my father found
the policies when
we were teenagers
and cashed them in
i laughed and told
her there never was
a penny on this earth
that man couldn't find
a way to fucking waste
a lady from the south
i've caught this
older blonde lady
looking over at
me a couple times
this afternoon
i suppose i should
take a shower more
gun reform
how many press
conferences will
it take before
some asshole
realizes some
common sense
gun reform isn't
as hard as they
want everyone
to believe it is
the hard part
is saying no
to all the money
that stops them
from enacting
one of those things is still possible
i remember
wishing upon
some shooting
stars as a child
i never got
the girl
i never became
a basketball star
and i never got
to dance naked
under a neon
i suppose one
of those things
is still possible
in some fucked
up universe
too many lifetimes of this
my love is the dying
light on the eve of
your death
a fading heartbeat in
the world of unicorns
and purple notions
of endless desire
a tall glass of
whiskey and
your panties
dropping to
the floor
it's the slow smile
of an old man that
has seen too many
lifetimes of this
it's one last curve
on the road to a
tragic ending
you smell like
what i always
thought heaven
would be
a gentle
on the
on earth
we were
never promised
a beautiful ending
J.J. Campbell

Seems As Though 

this may be the last poem
I will write.  Is that the case?
I'm not really sure.

Is it the thousand thousand
not yet messages from editors?
Not really, although I have been
told my submissions do not
fit the current needs, and even that
an editor's process is a mystery
unto itself.  Whatever that means.

It just seems that my words
are making their way into new
directions, no longer ready to stack
up like stanzas.  

As I put together my second
poetry collection, stringing experiences
and moments, I begin to think,
Maybe I will make a return after
a short creative nap.

Or else my words will continue
as long strings of prose, as researched
writings, who knows?  Egads.  I almost
just rhymed there.

Yet, definitely time for a poetic
break, at least for now.

JD DeHart

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...