Poetry from J.J. Campbell

Author J.J. Campbell
Author J.J. Campbell

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last quarter century, most recently at Under The Bleachers, Misfit Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Raw Dog Press and Red Eft Review. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

————————————————————————————————————————the alcohol works better these days 

another rainy afternoon 

another shot of bourbon

for the pain 

they tell me to stretch, do

a little light exercising, go

for a walk 

that always makes me laugh 

these “experts” don’t have

a bad back and arthritis

head to toe the alcohol works better

these days 

they worry about my liver
i don’t i’ve lived over a decade

longer than i ever wanted 

the end can arrive anytime

she wants


a soft suicide 

her love was like a soft

suicide the wrists

would bleed

but eventually

give up much like

her the stars


aligned we never

saw each

other again the only time

i ever saw

any lucky



allowing all the dirty thoughts

i’m the dirty old

man i used to read

about in my teens sitting back and

watching allowing all the

dirty thoughts to

wash over me in

a fever old enough to know

these thoughts would

get me arrested if

they became action but, having lost

the ability to smile,

i get the feeling a


of sorts is coming



wanted to be a gypsy

i once had a woman

who always wanted

to be a gypsy tell me

to seek out a mystery

on the north shore and

all my troubles would

be taken care of 

i asked her to be more

specific and she said

the adventure would

be worth it that was a quarter

century ago, i didn’t

take her advice i’m alone and lost

my desire to travel

years ago


multiple vials of blood 

i have a feeling

i’m living my future 

physical therapy

sessions medical facilities

on the other side

of the county strange women

concerned about

pulling sticky things

off my chest hair it’s the only pleasure

i can find anymore

that doesn’t cost mean arm or multiple

vials of blood the thought of death

resting comfortably

around every corner