Poetry from J.J. Campbell

Middle aged white man with a beard standing in a bedroom with posters on the walls
J.J. Campbell

in the middle of writing a poem

i always love when

my arthritis starts

flaring up right in

the middle of

writing a poem

i have only

survived these

years by finding

pleasure in the


god help us all

when that stops



love letters to female prisoners

is it possible life

has passed me by

possible all the

former lovers

weren’t the ones

to make the mistake

all the old guitars

collecting dust

all the things

i tried for pussy

this pen served me

as well as any of


i might as well be

writing love letters

to female prisoners

and as the mundane

starts to swallow me


prison becomes

a relative topic

modern day slavery

someone is always

making money off

of someone


walk in the park at dusk

here come the virgins

the terrorists were


all the freedom we

gave up to feel secure

now our own nation

points the gun at each


kids can’t play outside

you can’t walk in the

park at dusk

and god forbid, don’t

you dare be mentally


too bad we can’t make

money off of them

if that ever changes



trying to steal my heart

an angel with dark hair

panties begging to be

yanked off

a smile that seems to

be too good to be true

the latest trying to steal

my heart although, i am

a willing victim

this one wants to get to

know me enough so she

can travel across the

country and fuck me

my inner child starts

to sprint

but the battered soul

inside knows there is

no way this will ever

come out good

all the while, i’m trying

to play it cool

i certainly believe i’m

due a fucking break


words are not enough

the spanish princess cries

herself to sleep in my arms

complains about the pain,

life and all the miles between


i feel helpless, know that

words are not enough

fall in love with an introvert

and come to terms with a

brand new level of frustration

stuck in the old century of

love letters and flowers,

boxes of candy and a glass

of wine at sunset

how in the fuck did so

much time pass us by

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in suburbia, wondering where all the lonely housewives have gone. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Cajun Mutt Press, The Rye Whiskey Review, Misfit Magazine, just good poems and The Beatnik Cowboy. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)