Pris Campbell's Blog, page 3
August 1, 2011
Older haiga published in Simply Haiku 2008
Click to enlarge and read the haiku. Photo take at Lake Worth Beach, FL
June 30, 2011
Stunning duet with Stevie Nicks and the finalist on Hulu
I took my love, and I took it down
I Climbed a mountain and I turned around
and I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
'Till the landslide brought me down
Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life~~~
Mmmm mmm mmm
Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too
(Interlude)
Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
children get older
And I'm getting older too
I'm getting older too
So, take my love, take it down
ooh, if you Climb a mountain and you turn around
If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide will bring it down
And If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well maybe the landslide will bring it down
Oh the landslide bring it down.
June 29, 2011
June 16, 2011
The June 2011 Dead Mule is out!
Four poems of mine can be found in The Dead Mule. Lots of good work in the issue, especially Michael Parker's chapbook.
May 29, 2011
For the Veterans
Wikimedia has given permission for free use of this photo. It's among the most moving of many I looked at in considering what to post in honor of Memorial Day.
Pris
May 26, 2011
Paul Newman Blues now availible
I have 25 personal copies of Paul Newman Blues,the mini chap published by Full of Crow, to sell. Cost is four dollars in the U.S. with one dollar postage and handling. To make it easier, I created my own paypal link for the book, but I accept checks, too. Contact me if you live outside of the U.S. First 25 sales will be it. As you'll see on the link, Full of Crow has been unable to update their chaps or sales online.
Go to THIS LINK to read about the book and find the paypal link.
Go to THIS LINK to read about the book and find the paypal link.
May 20, 2011
Another poem in Rusty Truck
Doing Time
Enjoy, and leave a comment if so moved.
I'm still not on much. Now it's bronchitis. One day all this shall pass.
Pris
Enjoy, and leave a comment if so moved.
I'm still not on much. Now it's bronchitis. One day all this shall pass.
Pris
May 7, 2011
Mother's Day Video
I made this short video about my mother. She died in 1996 at the age of 89. RIP Mother. I love you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2M6KdwITFw
(there was no embed code to put the video in directly)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2M6KdwITFw
(there was no embed code to put the video in directly)
April 30, 2011
Making Love, a poem by Rebeccan McClanahan
Why make? I used to wonder.
Is it something you have to keep on
making, like beds or dinner, stir it up
or smooth it down? Sex, I understood,
an easy creaking on the upholstered
springs of a man you meet in passing.
You have sex, you don't have to make it,
it makes you - rise and fall and rise again,
each time, each man, new. But love?
It could be the name of a faraway
city, end of a tired journey you take
with some husband, your bodies chugging
their way up the mountain, glimpsing
the city lights and thinking, If we can
keep it up, we'll make Love by morning.
I guess it was fun for somebody,
my grandmother once said. By then
I was safely married and had earned
the right to ask, there in the kitchen
beside the nodding aunts. Her answer
made me sad. In her time, love meant making
babies, and if I had borne twelve
and buried three, I might see my husband
as a gun shooting off inside me, each bullet
another year gone. But sex wasn't my question.
Love was the ghost whose shape kept
shifting. For us, it did not mean babies,
those plump incarnations the minister
had promised - flesh of our flesh,
our increase. Without them, and twenty years
gone, what have we to show
for the planing and hammering, bone
against bone, chisel and wedge,
the tedious sanding of night
into morning - when we rise, stretch,
shake out the years, lean back,
and see what we've made: no ghost,
it's a house. Sunlight through the window
glazing our faces, patina of dust
on our arms. At every axis, mortise
and tenon couple and hold. Doors
swing heavy on their hinges.
I love her poetry!
The poem came from this link:
http://poetry365.tumblr.com/post/66350099/making-love-rebecca-mcclanahan
Hit the back arrow to return to this blog.
Is it something you have to keep on
making, like beds or dinner, stir it up
or smooth it down? Sex, I understood,
an easy creaking on the upholstered
springs of a man you meet in passing.
You have sex, you don't have to make it,
it makes you - rise and fall and rise again,
each time, each man, new. But love?
It could be the name of a faraway
city, end of a tired journey you take
with some husband, your bodies chugging
their way up the mountain, glimpsing
the city lights and thinking, If we can
keep it up, we'll make Love by morning.
I guess it was fun for somebody,
my grandmother once said. By then
I was safely married and had earned
the right to ask, there in the kitchen
beside the nodding aunts. Her answer
made me sad. In her time, love meant making
babies, and if I had borne twelve
and buried three, I might see my husband
as a gun shooting off inside me, each bullet
another year gone. But sex wasn't my question.
Love was the ghost whose shape kept
shifting. For us, it did not mean babies,
those plump incarnations the minister
had promised - flesh of our flesh,
our increase. Without them, and twenty years
gone, what have we to show
for the planing and hammering, bone
against bone, chisel and wedge,
the tedious sanding of night
into morning - when we rise, stretch,
shake out the years, lean back,
and see what we've made: no ghost,
it's a house. Sunlight through the window
glazing our faces, patina of dust
on our arms. At every axis, mortise
and tenon couple and hold. Doors
swing heavy on their hinges.
I love her poetry!
The poem came from this link:
http://poetry365.tumblr.com/post/66350099/making-love-rebecca-mcclanahan
Hit the back arrow to return to this blog.
