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Scott Campbell Poem
History should happen in pen of ink,
not pencil of lead.
It must not be erased, or hyper-spaced,
or gently changed by those who think
their own wishes instead.
We often say, "It is what it is,"
and fully believe that to be true.
If that is the case, "It was what it was,"
is also true too.
Yesterday's lessons cannot go unlearned
unless we succumb to the fear of the past.
Today's bravery is to look into the face
of the cancel culture and say,
"We renounce you," at last!
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2021
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Scott Campbell Poem
A horizontal stroll through life
is one way to do it,
fairly safe for you.
Stepping sideways, carefully
avoiding catastrophe;
such as falling off the roof
or plunging through the floor.
Things you have not done before,
or even wish to do.
A vertical sprint to life hints at an edge,
living life up to it!
Climbing and striving artfully, also
avoiding catastrophe.
Things you have not done before;
learning that falling or plunging
may be things you adore.
Perhaps a combination jog is best,
neither perpendicular nor parallel;
a sort of sprint-stroll, or stray-dash,
which also includes a rest.
All things you have done before,
or wish to, or wish not to do.
Whether up or down or side to side,
your walk is always you.
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2022
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Scott Campbell Poem
You never meant anything to me anyway.
If I twist my wrist and thrust it down,
I flick my hips and slip away.
If I smash my forearm into your grill,
this is how I get my thrill.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
I am just a player, playing for fun.
But when I begin to play for money,
I flick my hips and slip away.
Sometimes, brutality and reality collide.
Brothers and players stand side by side.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
Well-off fans and super-rich owners,
to the players, are nothing but donors.
I flick my hips and slip away.
The players always give their all,
but always are expendable.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
I flick my hips and slip away.
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2021
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Scott Campbell Poem
...with apologies to Ogden Nash
You think you may have missed the astounding
part of you.
The high tide.
Thoughts and things you had missed,
because of you, little gifts not written down.
Lazy, never-to-be-spoken poetry.
Perhaps an intra-personal disagree
caused an absolute apogee.
And so high the low whale,wary of the deep,
but also, the shore,
will speak forevermore.
A whale of an idea for those
terrestrial walkers of beaches,
and for those who walk inshore.
I offer something more…
If you find nothing you can hold in your hand,
then think again.
And pray that the last gasp from
the blowhole of a whale
will bring you back to high tide,
and pull you back in.
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2023
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Scott Campbell Poem
I am the man who sits under the overpass.
I'm just a blink when traffic is moving,
but more closely-eyed when cars go by slow.
Some pause in inquiry, wanting to know if I'm okay.
Others pull over and offer help to me,
to which I say,
I am fine.
They drive off bewildered,
pondering their comparative, comfortable lives.
They cannot understand why I do what I do.
To every person in every car that passes by,
I say,
I'm not sitting here for me,
I'm sitting here for you.
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2022
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Scott Campbell Poem
Some of those closest to me
are concerned my poetry
does not rhyme
every time.
I do not complain,
but try to explain
that total symmetry
is not important to me.
The meaning of a verse
is, for better or worse,
the point of a piece.
Rhymes are just grease.
Mental lubrication to let words slide by,
while I try
to impart a certain feeling,
repulsive or appealing.
This frees myself and my reader from the
tight restraint of what seems sing-song.
But maybe just this once,
I will kind of go along.
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2022
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Scott Campbell Poem
The lowest branches get lights,
decoration,
adulation,
attention.
Upper reaches sway, snap in the dark,
break and turn loose their leaves.
But never receive a mention.
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2022
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Scott Campbell Poem
We may sit in the sun,
remembering the fun
of our youth.
Then a bee buzzes by,
to remind us
of the truth
That flowers are pretty
and to the bee, sweet.
But memories can hide a sting
we wish not to repeat.
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2025
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Scott Campbell Poem
When I think of a poem, "as lovely as a tree,"
I ponder what sacrifice was made for me.
More than lovely smooth white paper
on which to write poetry.
The bite to its bark must have caused pain,
slicing through wood-skin turned
so thin that I could write on it and be real.
And all I can do is apply some ink
to help it heal.
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2022
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Scott Campbell Poem
Please, re-read the title.
In a haphazard way,
I discovered it is not so.
Simply by moving the chair in my backyard
to a different spot,
I discovered a new view.
Perhaps an angry angle of fence.
Are the neighbors aware?
I do not care.
I will stand my brown ground and
bright green leaves which grow as family
who should never leave me.
So give life all you have got
and move your chair to a different spot.
Go ahead and till brown ground and
grow green leaves and
live life...a lot.
Copyright © Scott Campbell | Year Posted 2022
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