------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the neon nights of my youth
 

listening to an

old elton john

song

 

thinking of the

neon nights of

my youth

 

where the drugs

lifted me to

endless heights

 

where the drinks

made me invincible

 

where women

seemed to still

be interested

 

where the yellow

brick road seemed

like it was still

possible it always

existed
-------------------------------------------------------------------
drink for courage
 

some people drink

for courage and

others are trying

to cope with the

pain of life

 

some like to unwind

and others think of

the magical powers

they suddenly posses

 

i find it more likely

these days that i'm

drinking to hopefully

end all of this way

sooner than the

powers that be

intended

 

plus, arthritis has

made it rather

difficult to hold a

gun or tie a fucking

noose

 

so, it's either the

bottle or a good

hose and some

duct tape

 

when the bottle stops

helping to write these

poems

 

be kind enough to

check my garage

if you don't hear

from me for a few

days
-------------------------------------------------------------------
the retired life
 

two cups of coffee

 

fall asleep in the

sun like a cat

 

i tell my mother

to enjoy the retired

life

 

she doesn't

 

can't come to terms

with getting older

and not being able

to do certain things

alone

 

i'm always there

to help

 

even though most

of the time she

doesn't bother

to ask

 

i tell her pride

will kill her faster

than any disease
---------------------------------------------------------
wars have been fought over less
 

soft brown skin

 

years of regret

 

a lover's lament

 

it was us against

the world

 

now we can't see

past each other to

accomplish anything

 

wars have been

fought over less

 

and no matter how

much either side

wants to give in

and let the calm

set in

 

pride and the ego

always get in the

way

 

a lack of

communication

will be the end

of us all
-------------------------------------------------------
the smallest nugget of joy
 

you ever noticed

the death poems

come easy

 

but how you

languish over

the page for

love

 

for happiness

 

for even the

smallest nugget

of joy

 

but death

 

that cold reality

 

the cruel mistress

that always laughs

at your pain

 

it's the old routine

or perhaps

 

you always

understood

 

that death was

always a part

of life

 

just a part that

most are unwilling

to talk about or

even consider

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last quarter century, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Disturb the Universe Magazine, Carcinogenic Poetry, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)