Short Camus Poems

I read Camus
in the front garden
in the light of
the streetlamp
across the street 
and thought about death

drum n bass played
from the house
across the street 

laughter, a cigarette
thoughts of 
grandfather suicide

laughter from across
the street. a tear
but it’s only smoke...

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We had the opportunity
A real dissipation of our emptiness
But why be like everyone else
We decided to court our boredom

It sat with us
Edged its way
Into fallow moments
Outside the pubs spill out
Violence is the nature
The child of their boredom

We shut the window
Turn our heads back to Camus...

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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: I integrate
myself into a human
-ist Existentialist here’s the point -ist
theory of why I am why I am
and when I differentiate my parents 
chide me. I gather the pieces again....

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I feel like I met my spirit today
Maybe it is the soft piano playing 
Or it was from the Camus I was reading 
Or maybe it is alignment I am feeling 
Between who I think I am 
Who I know I was
And who I will be 
It is the rock and the seas as one being 
It is beautiful it feels like free
It is the  feeling  like I let my spirit be
To finally know what it means to be free
It is to here the whispers of the universe clearly 
To know that you have picked the right journey...

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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 death 
that grips you 
so hard that pain 
is a plea for urgent departure 

The impromptu of suicide 
is interrupted 
by an intelligent question 

If a tree falls in a forest 
and no one is around to hear it, 
does it make a sound?" 

The Stoic moment 
of self destruction 
is momentarily lost 

The question deserves 
an answer....

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