Micro Memoirs – Dan Campbell

Micro Memoirs is a collection of 200+ six word stories that I have written. This is a form of Flash Fiction made popular by SMITH magazine (smithmag.net).  Many thanks to Larry Smith of Smithmag for writing in the Introduction to the book.

The most concise and widely cited example of flash fiction is the story Ernest Hemingway penned, allegedly to settle a bar bet: “For Sale: Baby Shoes. Never Worn.”

I hope you enjoy these short memoirs, most are from the imagination but others reflect daily life in all its pathos and glory. Below are pdfs of the book that can be downloaded at no charge. If you download the book, please leave a review on the Barnes & Nobles page.  A printed copy of the book can also be ordered from Barnes & Nobles.

Samples of my Micro Memoirs:

    • Runaway bus ended my midlife crisis
    • I prefer wearing armor to suits
    • I keep rehearsing my final bow
    • My 72 virgins are octogenarian nuns
    • Glad birds don’t need singing contracts
    • Took Put On Pants off bucketlist
    • Wife’s future tombstone: “I’m with Stupid”
    • Like shooting stars, we blaze briefly
    • My scarecrow finally admitted he’s hay
    • Winter memory, nurse describing the snowfall
    • Wife’s deleting paragraphs from my eulogy
    • Left cocoon, but still no wings
    • My race horse is nicknamed Shortcut
By banjomandan51

Fifty-Fifty (My first attempt at song lyrics)

I would like to learn to write songs and this is my first attempt:

Fifty-Fifty 

You can have the pink flamingo strutting
like a superstar model among the weeds.

If I can have the cooing mourning dove
From the feeder as it scatters seeds,

You can have the red barn, the Mickey Mouse
hiding in the loft, the bird’s nest by the door,

if I can have the treehouse in the red oak,
with its birch bark roof and pine plank floor

You can have your top secret skeletons
in soundproof closets, I won’t say a word

if I can have my imprisoned dreams freed
then watch them sprout wings and soar like a bird

You can have the Fort Knox aquarium
with schools of goldfish shipped from Wall Street

if I can have the greenhouse and Venus Flytrap
that went vegan and refuses to eat meat

You can have the butler, the one named Jeeves
who taught you English and made great lemonade

if I can have the email and phone number
of Mademoiselle Arnaud, our former French maid

You can have your top secret skeletons
in soundproof closets, I won’t say a word

if I can have my imprisoned dreams freed
then watch them sprout wings and soar like a bird

You can have the pool to swim at midnight,
the overflowing birdbath that quenches the parched lawn

if I can have the yard of scampering chipmunks,
the howling alley cats and lovesick toads croaking until dawn

You can have the entire house, window to window,
the roof and basement, all the hardwood floors,

if I can have the screened porch at sunset,
the neighboring galaxy, any aliens knocking on the door

You can have your top secret skeletons
in soundproof closets, I won’t say a word

 if I can have my imprisoned dreams freed
then watch them sprout wings and soar like a bird

 

By banjomandan51

Colossal – Art & Visual Ingenuity

I really enjoyed this blog so check it out when you get a chance. Also, please let me know of writing/art websites that you recommend. – Dan

Colossal – Art & Visual IngenuityWebsite 

About – I like to describe Colossal as a blog that explores the intersection of art, design, and physical craft, specifically artwork that is tactile, physical and non-digital in nature. Each week you’ll find roughly 20-25 posts on photography, design, animation, painting, installation art, architecture, drawing and street art. There are frequently posts about things far out in left field, but generally Colossal is a reminder that in this digital age there are still countless people making incredible work with their bare hands.

A Postcard from Konanga

A Postcard from Konanga

Having a wonderful time; wish you were here; took a tour yesterday, saw cyclops children peering thru 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; one must bow before three-legged dogs to show respect; 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 to the place where storks are shaped like letters of the alphabet.

Copyright Dan Campbell

 

By banjomandan51

Portrait of Adam

Portrait of Adam

At first, it’s just a swirling dust storm
that covers the wall, but there,
in the lower left corner, he stands.
He’s nude, head shaved to bone,
twisted nail veins flow into raised fists.
Between the flap of overhead fans,
the distant sound of pounding on a forge.
A snake with sentry eyes cords
around his neck like a crucifix.
By chance, a ray of light thru the window
lands upon the apple, making its core
glow through the dust.

Copyright Dan Campbell

By banjomandan51

Avian Mid-life Crisis

Avian Mid-life Crisis 

I don’t need much room to sing
said the bird in search of a cage.
This world is just too large for wings.

I’m tired of flying from Winter to Spring,
who needs this mindless pilgrimage?
I don’t need much room to sing.

And all those hours spent scavenging
for worms are too much in middle-age.
This world is just too large for wings.

Don’t you preach that I’m forfeiting
my bird heritage; I’m sick of your outrage.
I don’t need much room to sing.

I’ve sown my bird seed, had my fling.
Clipped feathers serve as lovely foliage.
This world is just too large for wings.

Behind bars, I can chirp all evening.
A cage is not a prison, but a stage.
I don’t need much room to sing.
This world is just too large for wings.

Copyright Dan Campbell

————————————–

(This poem is a villanelle. The villanelle has been around for about 300 years, and has origins in Italian and French poetry. It has a complex rhymed pattern, which makes it challenging by rewarding to write. What makes a villanelle unique is the repetition of rhymes, and the order in which they fall. The pattern is five triplets followed by a quatrain, and the first line of the first stanza is repeated in its entirety three more times in the poem, in Line 6, Line 12, and Line 18. The third line of the first stanza is repeated in Line 9, Line 15, and Line 19.)

By banjomandan51

Fishing for Poems

Fishing For Poems – published in Dark Planet

by Dan Campbell

Photo source: watergremlin.com

I slip into boots at 4:00 a.m.
Throw rotting fish heads onto the paper.
Lay strands of net between the lines.
Slip jagged hooks onto my fingers.
Plunge baited hands into the darkness.
I fish for hours,
Sometimes days.
Sweating ink under the sun.
Hooking words ripped from the heart.
Words with razor fins that burn.
Words that eat their way to my elbow.
Words that end without surrender.

Copyright Dan Campbell

By banjomandan51

Sleeper Car Reflections

My book of poetry, Sleeper Car Reflections, is available from Publish America:  http://www.publishamerica.net/product704.html

This collection of poems reflects the author’s journeys to other countries and cultures, as well as to the shadows of the human spirit. Several of the poems provide a hilarious viewpoint of human nature, while others show us how to look differently at life’s everyday miracles that are often ignored. Poetry should never be boring — it should always be interesting and sometimes disturbing. This collection of poems definitely fulfills these criteria.

By banjomandan51