Poetry, Flash Fiction, Songs

I recently discovered the musician Ed Hamell and I have really enjoyed his energy and no holds barred lyrics.

 

One of my favorite poetry forms is the villanelle. A villanelle is a nineteen-line poetic form consisting of five tercets followed by a quatrain. There are two refrains and two repeating rhymes, with the first and third line of the first tercet repeated alternately until the last stanza, which includes both repeated lines. I welcome any comments and constructive criticism. Dan

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Thank you Grim Reaper  grimreaper

Without you I’d be a lazy thing,
I would keep putting off today,
unafraid of what tomorrow brings.

I wouldn’t care what tomorrow brings
because what’s the hurry anyway?
Without you I’d be a lazy thing.

Today would be just a carefree fling
if I stayed around and never went away,
unafraid of what tomorrow brings.

But it is you, Death, that is king.
Let me repeat again if I may
without you I’d be a lazy thing.

I’d never know tears or mourning,
I would be a clueless child at play
unafraid of what tomorrow brings.

Instead of blaming, your praises I sing.
Before you take me I want to say
that without you I’d be a lazy thing,
unafraid of what tomorrow brings.

A Postcard from Konanga | Published in Molotov Cocktail, July 2014.

by Dan Campbell

Having a wonderful time; wish you were here. We took a tour yesterday and saw cyclops children peering through windows of doorless houses. The natives worship the moon, it controls the flow of their urges and their blood; women carry baskets of fog all morning; there are twenty-one verbs for different ways to spit and one must bow before three-legged dogs to show respect. wolf

Packs of wolves make the forests dark with their black sweat; shadows are lined up against a wall at noon and shot; faces are painted blue to ward off a moth’s evil eyes and on odd-numbered days handfuls of hummingbirds are released with dreams strapped to their beaks. But no one here slits the throats of rivers and a homeless day can beg for alms without a license; tomorrow we leave on a cruise to pull up salt by its roots and then we’ll backpack to the place where storks are shaped like letters of the alphabet.

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Dan Campbell is a banjo player from North Carolina who is currently working in the swampland of Washington DC. His poetry has been published in more than two dozen magazines and he has earned $48.63 in royalties so far.

 

 

Please let me know if you enjoyed this or think it sucks.  Gracias, Dan

THE CONFESSION 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned and it has been 24 years since my last confession.”  confession

“Sit my son, I am glad you have returned. I am the new priest here and this is my first confession.”

“Father, I knew your mother Mary years ago, someone told me you are her son.”

“Yes, she has lived here many years, she was once a nun but left the Order, she never said why.” “She did not want me to become a priest but I told her that I was following God’s calling.” “But enough about me, tell me son, how have you sinned?”

“Father, I am your father.”

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