Cottony Clouds

The winds of winter push
cottony clouds
before the moon
in the dark of night.
I remain,
missing more pieces
than I can gather.

The air is numbing cold 
and my shadow
has
disappeared into
frozen snowdrifts.

January
is an unforgiving month,
like
a lover in distress
who sacrifices 
reality for a dream.

There are always doubts
about
whether great love
equals great pain.
There are always doubts.

I am nostalgic and yearning
for the warmth 
of an afternoon sun.
I long for summer
I long for July,
lovely July
when
I was whole
and your smile
danced around me.

I remember
the heat
and I remember
the crisp white sheets.
I was that lover
who sought
but never saw.

Unemployment

To keep body and soul
People need jobs 
A good job, a great joy
Improves man's morale

But when a man lacks a day job
His joy vanishes throughout the day
A dependent he becomes 
Brooding all day long

Long period of joblessness
Long period of joylessness
A psychological distress
That wrecks psyche

Massive unemployment
Attracts pervasive poverty
And escalates crime rates
Evils hide in unemployment


A struggle to get a job
A positive move 
That can save man 
From the pains of poverty 

If you're jobless
Get tangible activity, legit
For your daily bread
Steer clear of idleness
Idleness attracts lawless acts

-----------------------------------------------------------
gently on the shoulder
 

i found you naked

in my bed sleeping

so quiet and i snuggled

up next to you

 

kissed you gently

on the shoulder

and told you

i love you

 

i woke up alone

 

a note on the pillow

saying thanks, you

need to buy some

toilet paper

 

i laughed and then

realized what you

used that towel for
--------------------------------------------------------
thirty some years ago
 

you ever remember

the time we kissed

under a bridge on

a rainy night thirty

some years ago

 

how all loneliness

left us

 

two souls determined

to take on the world

 

sharing cigarettes

at three in the

morning

 

two weeks later

 

you would be gone

to some other place

 

i never saw the

world the same

again
---------------------------------------------------------------------
in science class
 

earth shaking like never

before and some idiot

thinks it is the wrath

of god

 

and soon the sun will

give in to the moon

and some genius will

take it as a sign from

god to shoot up a school

or rob a few banks

 

it is pretty easy to see

who was actually paying

attention in science class

and who was busy

daydreaming about

a life they could

never ever achieve
---------------------------------------------------------
slowly come to terms
 

tears race down

my face as i slowly

come to terms with

my inevitable demise

 

i've squeezed more

talent out of apathy

than is probably

allowed

 

be thankful they

allowed you to

go this far

 

most of your types

end up in institutions

or cemeteries

 

i have a modest

urn in mind

 

ashes to be spread

in the pacific ocean

 

lord knows i'll

never make it

there while alive
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
a proverbial box
 

shooting stars have

no wishes attached

to them

 

fear is a disease

that can trap any

soul in a proverbial

box

 

sometimes i think

it would be better

to burn the fucker

down than figure

a way out



J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is stuck in the suburbs, plotting his escape. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Black Coffee Review, The Asylum Floor and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Musings on the Flowering Spring of Everyday Souls

[Originally published in Soul: {Anthology of Poems} & in Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self] 


“Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding. --Albert Einstein

Perhaps some vexed fire breathing mythical furor will immolate the
          anthropomorphic earth
Already smarting from desecration and disparagement from fellow
          anthropoids,
In a cataclysmic Inferno although already in attrition in exchange for change,
In exchange for contrition for what and who we’ve wounded,
A temporary impedimenta involving pondering our own failures to evolve
Beyond things that are tinged with an altered hue from our own…
A phalanx of obstinate, bellicose, secular, egalitarian democratic misfits flock
          the streets in gripe
Bellies full of Teutonic pragmatism & visceral dictums of right and wrong;
Adopting pioneering separatist ideologies of dissent against imperialists
Akin to The Great Pilgrimage to the Americas, a leitmotif of displacement and
          resilience
Throughout human history; proselytizing the proletariat to join their cause
          with an odious sneer!
But who am I? Perhaps a perennial philosopher:
“Cogito ergo sum” or “I think therefore I am”
Thank you Rene Descartes for your rarefied ideologies…
I am an evolving being willing to listen to others involving
In the daily duties of being human, what choice does one have? But there’s
          always a “choice”,
We can “choose” to evolve or we can simply dissolve by default…
I am grateful to be here on earth, grateful for the power of “choice”
Even as the world around me is seemingly crumbling…dissolving…
For over the years I have come to know that:
“Everything in [our lives] is happening to teach [us] more about [ourselves] so even in a crisis be
grateful…live in a space of gratitude…” Thank you Oprah Winfrey for your proletarian approach to philosophy! 

We are in a crisis of polarity that is deflowering our gardens
Pitting brother against brother, sister against sister, wives against husbands,
Dispute ideas and beliefs don’t invalidate & dismiss the people who have them,
don’t give up on each other, all deserve to be heard and understood;
Yet we still have to remember even as we hurt, we don’t have to suffer,

          However!

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with
scars.” Thank you Khalil Gibran for your tarry
          pansophy.
Open your heart to your scars, befriend your scars, let wounds of
The past strengthen and heal you rather than weaken & hurt you;
Even as we get angry, we don’t have to forfeit our ability to be joyful,
It is not happiness that makes us grateful, it is gratefulness that makes us happy…

We can find our strength in our weakness, for “God’s strength is made perfect in weakness”
Thank you Corinthians: 2. Keeping in mind that the early mystics
          perceived
God without subjecting him to tangible proof…
Name calling is the last refuge of the monosyllabic;
Be mindful of your words and resist engaging in
Gratuitous verbal violence of the morally virulent and their unconscious ilk

Amidst the clamor of contrived and nebulous directives for divisions;
Know that what’s meant for you will never miss you and
What misses you was never meant for you,
Anything that has your attention becomes your energy and manifests itself into your existence,
Evoke Immanuel Kant’s first rule in his categorical imperative
          philosophy:
“Don’t use other human beings as a means to an end”
Remember! we are products of our past not prisoners of it…
May the best of your yesterday be the worst of your tomorrow!


Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured Haitian-American Poet, Educator, Author of four books and literary arts student at Harvard University online. His latest publication "You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self"  & other titles are available at all Boston Public Libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, University of  Wyoming, Askews and Holts Library Services in the United Kingdom, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, amazon etc...  He has been published in prestigious  publications such as Muddy River Poetry Review, the Cornell University Press anthology Class Lives: Stories from Our Economic Divide, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene among others...Visit him at http://www.authorsden.com/jacquesfleury.

TAPESTRY OF NATURE

Bye, bye winter, bye snowfall.
The spring season is making its beautiful call.
The flowers look like stars.
It is not very far.
Do you know the bees?
Make their honey on the trees,
Kissing the gardens, healing scars,
And the flowering has started.
Green, green world, all are saying bye to cold,
Verdant carpets covered the cold.
I like seasons like spring.
It tells the story of the nature.

  VOYAGER  

In the broad outlay where dreams take flight

Beginning of a life journey.

Douche in golden light,

With each sunrise,

A chance to renew

With the past and present memories.




In life, a vast journey

Experience weighs

Dealing with pain and joy in every moment,

They were my teachers.

Just like the river,

I wish to flow through peaceful valleys,

Like a gentle dream.




Roads have different destinies.

Winds have their own way of blowing,

Let us move forward with our hopes and dreams.

In our journey,

We learn and grow.

We fail, we win,

However, we get up and achieve.

  Heights

From these Heights we can see it all,

The place of it. Things as they are.

Things as we imagine them to be.

Bays and small harbors, beaches

And boats. These are the pictures

We take away, cameras full of this,

Memories filled with what we saw

And what we thought we saw. This

Is a place we read about, a place

We’ve filed away, getting ready to

Talk about. From the Heights it all

Became clear, the people become

Pieces in this puzzle, live as best

They can, surrounded by the natural

Beauty of the place, playing their

Part on the edges of what tourists

Bring to it, see and imagine. Natives

Of places like this live at the bottom

Of the Heights, live on low wages or

Play their parts in the unemployed.

From these heights the native population,

The day-to-day people of places, like

This, almost disappear into the beauty

Of this place.

 

   What We Take Away

All these fat cats roll by

Filling up their afternoon

And their excursion bus

With jokes and jawing

Spying, commenting on

As they make their way

Make their day going about

The business of tourists

Getting their photos to                                                                                         .

Bring home, spending as

That group does, on things

That fit expectations back

Home, refrigerator magnets

Another pen or coffee cup

With their destination’s name

In bold bright lettering – while

Some go off for duty-free items

Watches and jewelry. They’re

Here then gone, making very

Little impression on the place

They’re passing through on

Their way to the next day.

 

                   This Cold

This cold, this coughing, this sneezing

Followed me down here to the tropics

With its sunshine and warmth. Followed

Me down from the north with its snowing

And cold. Followed me as I tried to escape

Escape the inevitable. Booked this cruise

Island to island here in the Caribbean, and

It must have snuck aboard, stowed away

And waited. I heard it in the distance at first

Somewhere in the audience at the stage show.

Then it slowly approached me, nearer and

Nearer at dinner, behind me in line as we

Disembarked in the last port. I should have

Recognize his noises, coughing and sneezing

But I mistook who he was after. He was some

Other person’s cold, something they brought

Along to share their vacation. But early this

Morning, too early for me, I woke to him and

His various wiles – his stuffy nose that begins

To run, his short bursts of coughing, and his

Scratching at my throat. He followed me, he

Watched me for a time planning his next move

And now he’s here, my winter cold I thought

I could leave behind but couldn’t.