Best Camus Poems

Camus-Pieces
           by Odin Roark

Might it be…

Lives are merely spent
Putting fragments of one’s picture
Into place?

Is it...

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Coconut tropical oil 
Glistening on my skin
The scent intoxicates me
As I bask in the sun
And drink in the beauty
Of the sparkling Mediterranean Sea

It’s only for...

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“Possessed”



The scarlet of her heart opens
where she blooms deepest
from the cuts 
of Past’s insanity
her windows 
full green undressed
him, in his mind;
he confessed,
in quiet reflection, 
he...

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"In the midst of winter I found there was within me an invincible summer.
That makes me happy because it says that no matter how hard...

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The Dilettante Diaries: "All Roads Lead Home"



All Roads Lead Home
Poems
Stories
Detours
Stepping Stones

All Roads Lead Home

(Lovejoy-Burton/October 2018)



"Where we LOVE is home -     
home...

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Inspired by and based on L’Étranger by Albert Camus


I'm a stranger to you, even stranger to me
I'll pass you by like a memory
Of innocence and...

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To me, you are purely ephemeral;
We are irrelevantly real.
And I am left with no one but myself,
With this hollowness I feel.

And still, I am hardly...

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The dew indiscriminately

wept for all things living and dead

on this early autumn morning.

Its cold droplets caressed the leaves

while lingering sap-starved leaf stems

clung precariously above

and each...

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Should I kill myself, 
or have a cup of coffee? 
-Albert Camus- 


Being dead is blunt, 
numbing and offensive. 
Yet it is life and not...

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Occupations are not 
all useful, like when Sisyphus rolls
and nobody cares. Even Camus
can’t justify my love
of quantum or calculus, when it’s burn-lonely
rolling out the integrals:...

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I lay spread-eagle in a field orchard; 
Surrounded on four sides by long-grown, green grass
On a dry, October's noon. Nonchalant.
I watched a small squirrel climb...

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As Sol arises, greets the morn
the soon test taker wails,
"I'm doomed! If I had only read
The Canterbury Tales!

Or more of Samuel Collerige,
or Wordsworth, Yeats or...

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"WINTER"


the beautiful season 
of suspension
where we find 
our true selves

hibernating

under sacred blankets
of wisdom won 
dreaming of all 
the days past, gone 

in the never complete

and...

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There was a poet from France,
Who thought he really could dance!
Up onto the Eifel tower he went, 
Not walking straight but really quite bent.
Whoops and ooh-la-la!
Onto...

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you are in				                      ...

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