Open Mic Poetry

Poetic Works
All work should be considered as copyrighted material.
Please participate in open mic!

All Open Mic Participants: We need YOUR help in launching the World in Bloom Project! Please go to the World in Bloom web site and CREATE A PROJECT that makes a difference. Thanks in advance!

Silly Men In Suits

silly men in suits gather around the

coffee machine to talk

silly men in suits try to think

the exact same thing as everyone else

and live in fear of getting

caught out

silly men in suits fear

being left behind

silly men in suits

go to the same exercise clubs

go to the same bars

if the boss says so

silly men in suits will

walk across hot coals

and if the guy before them

burns his feet to shit

they point and laugh

silly men in suits make big plans,

big campaigns, big strategies

silly men in suits go home

and fuck their wives

and if their wives don't come

that's just too bad

who pays the bills anyhow?

silly men in suits turn the heads

of women

silly men in suits like that -

it's always good to have options

silly men in suits

work to corrupt democracy,

undermine regulations, laws

manipulate everything so that

all goes according to plan

- their plan

silly men in suits

assemble, reassemble,

the same faces reappearing always

it's sort of comforting actually

silly men in suits believe

there's no tomorrow besides tomorrow

and if things don't turn out as expected

they're genuinely surprised

no Plan B ever crossed their minds

silly men in suits believe in their own

good intentions

and anyone who believes otherwise

is just plain rude

silly men in suits are

silly men in suits

and they don't think they're silly

'cause their suits ae so spiffy

and they are too

check it out....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - oh, and as if happens, I do own a blue suit. My shoulders are now so big I nearly Hulk Hogan he thing when I get into it. Cheers.....)

Greg Cameron


they rushed to embrace their destiny

and ran out in front

of a


the whole thing


the Late News

if I'm not


(Greg Cameron, Poem, Sept.,2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - cough, hack!....)
Greg Cameron

Madame Bovary Was Another Bored Housewife

pen in hand

Flaubert frowned at the

blank page,

yawned, looked around,

then proceeded to write

any old damn thing....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, Sept., 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - don't think I've done this one before/rough past few da ys/sigh....)
Greg Cameron

Black Hole in My Hand

see the black hole in my hand?

you stand in the kitchen

cigarette in your well-travelled lips

trying to look like you don't care

and maybe it's not an act

let's smash the dishes

let's take off our clothes

and wrap ourselves in curtains

the toilet invites

let's jump in

outside the birds mock us

children riding by on bikes

give us the finger

cars honk

trucks hit manhole covers

bang! bang!

jangle! jangle!

clank! clank! clank! clank!

coffee cups on the counter

the clock ticking around its own circle

I hate your posturing

you hate me

your jeans are too tight, honey

the floor casts an unseemly reflection

the last fork is in the toaster

there's nothing but war on the television

we're not going to march in

and shoot the idiots next door

so we'll take our stand here

see the black hole in my hand?

take it, squeeze it

do you feel it?

oh God,

do you feel it!?

(Greg Cameron, Poem, Sept., 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

I'm a Wiccan(Not a Witch)

if people think of us at all

they imagine Satanic orgies under the moon

Aleister Crowley depravities, excrement, sex

in fact, Wicca predates Christianity

the goat's head a Pan figure, not Satan

the ceremonial dagger is blunt

never used to cut hearts from babies

and, yes, although there is nudity,

no one kisses the devil's rump, no one performs

sex acts on a woman dressed as the Virgin Mary

I belonged to a coven in a small town

a sedate circle of respectable people

bank manager, doctor, and so on

we sat in the sacred circle, carried out the rites

white candles burnng around the perimeter

the wine cup passed around with smiles

and if anyone got an erection

we all had a good laugh

some people were shy about taking their clothes off

naked, your soul - not your body - lets go

the shackles of our materialistic society

drop and you are free

Wicca is white magic

we firmly believe black magic

rebounds against the user

there's no evil within us

what about you?

join us -

why don't we all join hands

in a circle

and pray to the God and Goddess

coming together

in Eternal Union....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, Sept. 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - hmmmm. this is a really old poem, predating my graduate work at Queen's University. In spite of appearances, this is not an advocacy piece. I don't recommend Wiccan beliefs any more than I would any other supernatural beliefs. I'm simply writing from the standpoint of a Wiccan. I was exposed to Wiccan beliefs early in life so the subject matter naturally appealed to me. This poem was part of a 'suite' of poems I once sent to Malahat Review, getting a peevish response. You'd think they'd like this particular poem there. Oh, well. Whoever sent this back last did not include the final page of the poem so I had to write a new conclusion to the poem. I doubt if I'd write a poem like this now, but that was me then. Best wishes....Greg)
Greg Cameron

I was going to a·pol·o·gize
but I blocked her instead
just like Norton blocked an attack
as I got to this website
only different

she was a lot of things to me
but that will never again be


put shit in a suit

and it'll walk in step

with those around it

people will clap it on the shoulder,

shake its hand,

say it's quite the guy

cutting quite the figure

it'll turn heads, perhaps

even sweeten the pot

make a liar a celebrity

lies will shout down the truth any time

publicity will wash all linen,

take out the toughest stains

when a liar smiles

the light is so bright

all darkness dissolves

all that's wrong seems right

truth will recede into the background

as the liar steps into the foreground,

grabbing mit, laughing,

and always smiling

tell a lie, write it really well

every word in its place,

the seeming inevitability of the thing

how it simultaneously stands up

and stands apart

it'll be enshrined in universities

the rise and fall of reputations,

careers - an icon around which

factions will align,

schools hold forth

put nonsense on the screen

it'll flash and flicker

people mesmerized by the spectacle

smarter people will say,

"of course, it's nonsense -

that's the fun of the thing - hurray!"

put rubbish on a computer

and around the world it goes

has its day, sparks conversation,

exchanges, some heated,

some dismissive

then dies away

a group of words among many

lingering at sites

no one visits

erect lies in the City Square

monumental lies casting long shadows

no one will particularly remember

who put them there, what was

their motivation, what went

into the making of these lies

who stands to gain, who to lose

people will be confused

- they don't like confusion -

they'll lose interest, go about their lives

subsequent generations will debate

but in the end

it won't really


even for those who profess

to care....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)

Greg Cameron

Rita: Sorting Things Out

I weep for you, I deeply....

the endless refractions of

teachers, employers, relatives

to pull them into

coherence, a single view


not a mere matter

of getting your head together

you climbed over the fence

slogged through the marsh

with your brothers

blue jeans, rifle in hands

the ducks heading for

something other than home

casually you interrupted

the flow

the jolt against your shoulder

sent them wheeling to the ground

you were a good shot

visited your boyfriend

in the hospital, broke his leg

skiing, hit a rock, tumbled into

the snow, a wonder he didn't

break his neck, he sat in a

dirty blue housecoat - his leg, the

cast on a stool, smoking

said, "The little bastards making

a racket all the time!" and

they were were, running in and out

screaming like they'd never been

sick in their lives - you talked about

mutual friends and he asked about how

you were getting along at school

not so good but it'll all be

over some day, won't it?

the time, not the first time he beat you

a swipe of his hand split your

cheek open - blood - and you screamed

you were leaving, this wasn't

working out - at least you weren't

married, had no ties - it didn't

matter to him, a firm believer

in familiarity breeding contempt

you packed up, left, wondering

why you ever took up with

in the first place

and you felt like

the biggest fool in the world

worked in a bar, wearing a striped

shirt and baggy pants, made

your ass look prematurely fat

the regular grind, bringing drinks

to the tables, smiling even when you

were thinking of something else

you drank too much yourself and,

strange to say, no one pinched you

couldn't feel a martyr to your

sex - you looked at the businessmen,

office women, workers, what

an egalitarian arrangement

and you smiled - you never smoked on

the job, never got sick, never

insulted a customer

it was so boring

Mrs. Thompson wrote on your

report card what a fine singing

voice you had, what an excellent

speller you were, how you joined

in everything and you never got into

trouble - you skipped rope, sometimes

you threw chestnuts at other girls

but you didn't punch, pull hair

and you never felt a ruler on your

hand - Tina used to play with you so

did Sheila - you never got your dress

dirty - you were so popular and

you were going to grow up to be

so beautiful

with sobs and tears you sorted out

the pieces of your life

arranged it all into a pleasing

picture and you smiled as if

you had accomplished something....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, August, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - um, there is a really old poem, as in pre-Queen's University old; I don't think I've ever posted it on the Internet before, fingers crossed; I could explain some things here, but I don't have time; it was part of a group of poems that got a peevish rejection from Malahat Review once upon a time; oh, well....)
Greg Cameron

Gets Ya, Doesn't It?

your suit makes you sweat

your past is press-dried

your tie strangles you,

but your big teeth jut out

as you tell the same joke

for the umpteenth time

you are aware of the

ever-waiting embrace of irony,

but you persist, in

spite of the infinite regress of things,

in striving for direct gesture

something unemcumbered

by the distraction

of subsidiary meanings

your mind narrows

as your behind broadens

you have hair on your knuckles

an age-spot above a thumb

your prick smells worse

than days of yore

you contemplate with melancholy

shit-stains in your underear

as you tell another stale joke

your taste the fear in their laughter

and it turns you on....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, August, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

I'm in love with you
I want you
And I already have you
But I want more

Your boyish charm
The sweat on your brow

I wish to be the bead of saliva on your lips
Live in the forest of your jaw

I want you in a way you couldn't possibly ever want me back

I crave

In There

you've ended up in her line-up

and when you're paying for you stuff

she notices your eyes

upon her

and she flashes a smile

as if to say,

"I'm still in there,

am I not?"

(Greg Cameron, Poem, August, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron


forever it not such a

long time

let us start out now

before it's

too late....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, August, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - this poem is dedicated to the memory of Mick Farren.)
Greg Cameron


you take it home,

put it on the table,

plug it in

it springs into motion,

leaping up as if to

embrace you,

dancing, whirling,

kicking, swinging

it puts on quite the display

finally you tire of the thing,

unplug it

and as it winds

to a halt

it looks up at you

with great plaintive eyes,

disappointed that you

should choose

to do so....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, August, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)


I want to lie in every single folicle
Of your amazing face

Inhabit every pore
Swim in your juice
Lick every cell
Taste every thought

Obsession is not the word

Show me the way
To blind the pain
Suffocate the fear
Snuff the pretense

You can't even fathom
Subjective stance

The ghostly reflection
Only to nick the surface of your amazing ness....
Single-sided admiration

Disappearing Act

you had taken her for a walk

in which all attempts at conversation

had shuffled to a halt

you have brought her home

you press again only to find

she thinks comics are for kids

and nothing will persuade her otherwise

books send her to sleep

'poetry' is a pejorative word

classical music is as dead

as a doornail to her ear

your interest in guinea pigs

would provoke her laugher

she thinks better of

and as you prepare coffee

in the kitchen

you talk loudly of something

that passionately interests you

she sighs, looks out the window

at a robin who

flies into the sky

and disappears....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, august, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

The left-sided facet

Of my heart

Smoked purple-wine glass


I found you inside

Your face pressed up against it

I know you
I know you

I feel you

All that I can't shake

It lies in your eyes

The left-sided facet

Of my heart

Smoked purple-wine glass


I found you inside

Your face pressed up against it

I know you
I know you

I feel you

All that I can't shake

It lies in your eyes

The left-sided facet

Of my heart

Smoked purple-wine glass


I found you inside

Your face pressed up against it

I know you
I know you

I feel you

All that I can't shake

It lies in your eyes

The left-sided facet

Of my heart

Smoked purple-wine glass


I found you inside

Your face pressed up against it

I know you
I know you

I feel you

All that I can't shake

It lies in your eyes

The left-sided facet

Of my heart

Smoked purple-wine glass


I found you inside

Your face pressed up against it

I know you
I know you

I feel you

All that I can't shake

It lies in your eyes


Life grabs you


the throat

and squeezes hard -

real hard -

till you realize

at last

it's really


(Greg Cameron, Poem, August, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

To Annette And Everything Else Washed Up On the Beach

"a stuffed animal never talks back"

and it never stands in your livingroom

thumbs in belt-loops, insulting your parents

or leaving you pregnant after many fine words

heading for Alaska of all places

no, the pink toy bear sits on the dresser

smiling till its stuffing falls out

and you dump it in the garbage can

vaguely sad as if it were a pet

a stuffed animal never tells the truth

about how you'll grow older

and things won't get better

and you'll feel like a thwarted adolescent

even when you dye out the grey

a stuffed animal never smirks

over your inadequacies, your pettiness

it never waxes satirical

about how everything eludes your grasp

and if, frustrated, you punch it

never will it strike back

or walk out or tell you

exactly what it thinks

let it sit there watching you

never laughing, never remarking,

never thinking....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - forgive me if I go on about this a bit, but I remember virtualy everything about the creation of this poem. It was sometime in the 90s - a very hot Sunday afternoon. I had been watching an old beach party movie on a Yank channel with Annette Funicello et al. Actually, I liked the movie. And, in spite of the mean title, I do like Annette Funicello and I absolutely love that song. At one point, Annette sings that song - I was just blown away by it. I immediately started to think up 'mean' variations on the whole thing and, well, it virtualy wrote itself. This poem has been booted around for years and years. Here it rests, I guess. Have, as they say, a good one....)
Greg Cameron


she squirts blood from her eyes

this blood will paralyze you

you struggle and twitch,

but you just can't move

she watches as you sink

to the ground - your eyes,

unblinking, watch her

she pads slowly over,

proceeds to rip you to pieces

and swallow them whole

she then picks a nice place

to settle down

and digest her meal

in peace,

her expression saying


(Greg Cameron, Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - just read an article about a certain kind of lizard/that's all....)

Greg Cameron

How do I chase it
If the dream never

Comes comes
Comes comes comes
Comes comes comes comes
Comes comes comes comes comes
Comes comes comes comes comes comes
Comes comes comes comes comes
Comes comes comes comes
Comes comes comes
Comes comes

What else is worthy?
To breathe your breath
Feel your feelings
Want your want

Have to have
Give to give

All in the name of
Reception of pain

Glass of tears
Rejection dose
Ill say no before you get to
I won't let you not want me
Cut to the chase

Reciprocation is ever lost




His Pockets

he dances and prances his way

across the stage

he would reach for the stars,

but he'll settle for the yucks

he has them in his hands

though they be not

terribly critical

he arouses thought

but not too much

he reaches forth, contorts,

plays to high and low

with a knowing wink to the former

even though he is not

entirely at home there

he tilts and twirls

trods the stage

with steps alternately

light and heavy

tireless is he

but also troubled

for when he moves

he - and only he -

hears a clinking

which puzzles him no end

for he knows his pockes

are empty....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Happy Times In Kingston, Ontario

I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it
I don't think you can do it

(Greg Cameron, Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - a found poem of sorts, incidentally....)

Greg Cameron

Jack, 1968

twist the pieces off one by one

carefully, don't break them

in the boy's mind a vision

not the clunky old Ford in the garage

no, a hot rod, a speed demon

screeching around the track to

the victory cup and pretty women

painstaking, he builds a tiny car

to his conception, never going too fast

paying close attention to

the instructions in small print

he knows when to leave it

play records at a friend's place,

baseball, biking, or lie down

read the car magazines

trying to remember all

the parts of a car, what tires to use,

oil, car polish, spark plugs

run with the winner, use...

dream of a day when he can

cruise around town, show off to friends

polish his car lovingly

till then the smiling women in bikinis

sit on the hoods, taunting

piece by piece the car forms and

he smiles, envisaging himself behind the wheel

apply the paint sparingly, don't want it

to dry in blobs, don't stain the desk

keep it over the newspaper

finally the day comes when he

applies the decals, racing stripes, flames

and puts it on the shelf beside

the coin can and the comic books

it will sit there a few months

then, tiring of his creation,

he will take it to a place in the bush

a sort of model car graveyard

and smash it against a rock

leave it, his dreams having turned

to another car....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, july, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - an old poem, folks - as far as I know I've never posted this poem before...hope fully....)
Greg Cameron

have you even looked up the word nerd to find out the meaning? For fucks sake another sheeple in the wanna be hipster glasses crying about no one liked her 10 years ago in school bitching and whining maybe thats why people didn't like you and if you tried to learn anything there instead of cry about people not licking your asshole the way you want them too maybe you would have learned to stand on your own two feet and not lean on others because you don't want to pull your own weight and get off your lazy slacker ass wasinting your life on trying to prove someone else is wrong and bad instead of living your life and trying to be happy. You don't even know how to be happy that shows very clearly while you spend your unhappy life trying to make other people unhappy. What a waste of ti me

she's not what she thinks she is
she views herself very differently
from the worlds eyes
no one no where sees you like you think you are
you have been fooled sad to say
and You chose to target me
what a fucked up tard of a mess of a plan you have
it makes no sense because your thought process is so far off and your brain is not mature enough to even want to know how to learn what you have needed to survive so in time your failure to even try will end your big problem and there will be no one to remember why you even wasted your freedom on like a fool

The House of Death

under an absolute white sky

this small yellow home is

the House of Death

but outside the children are playing

formally dressed but playing all the same

everyone except you

you sit huddled in the car, scared

they rap on the window

inviting you to come out and play

you sit rigid, not meeting

any of their eyes

one of them says,

"aw, he's too shy!"

and they spill off

over the hill....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron


finding himself possessed

of superior intellect,

superior perception,

he went through Life

seeing nothing,

taking note of nothing

things went by in a blur

a flitter, a flutter

till one day Death

looked him straight in the eye

- and then he saw

all too clearly....

((Greg Cameron, Poem, july, 2013, Surrey, B.C., canada)

Greg Cameron

Why is the asshole always the winner ??


pet the fat black bat

watch as it spits blood

onto a glass plate

on the table

then turns suddenly

grabs you by the wrist

and sucks contentedly on a warm

steadily pumping


(Greg Cameron,Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - this is a poem from 1998; don't think I've ever posted it before, but if I have, a)I've written a real lot of poems, y'know? and b) the last week has been hectic beyond belief - G.C.)
Greg Cameron

Fading to Black

having for the better part

of the day

pushed words about,

demonstrating his erudition -

in case there was

any doubt -

even dispatching a foe

quite neatly

with his 'wit'

he sits on the balcony

enjoying his wine

perhaps rather overmuch,

contemplating the immensity

of the sky

and the massive flow

of Time

as the day

most coyly

fades to black....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)

Greg Cameron

How am I
Supposed to hold back
All the things

I'm not supposed to say?

Refrain from hurting someone else and be caged forever
Or speak the truth and be free
At the expense of someone else???

"Rock and a hard place", indeed.
it shouldn't be this tough

Small Mechanical Dog

small mechanical dog sees you

yips, yaps, snarls,

bares its metal teeth,

ears click back,

yowls, yowls,

runs back and forth

as if to bite you

finally it works itself

into such a conniption

it burns itself out

expires with one final yap

and a thin finger of smoke


in the air....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron


you're addressing the crowd of your life

they hang on your every word

you're building to a climax

when someone passes behind,

tripping the cord

you stop -

your hands are caught


your mouth is open

but nothing comes out

you can't move a step

and if one looks into your eyes

it becomes all too apparent

your lights are


and with a distressed murmur

the crowd departs....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - it's been one of those weeks, folks....)
Greg Cameron

See, here's the thing...
It's this...
I'm completely and utterly obssessed with you..
Down to the very last hair on your

What is this feeling
This emotion
The notion that I can't be without your touch

Is it single-sided if the other party is in concurrence?
Is it a lie if the other pary knows
I'm lost and at a loss

I want you so far lost inside me


Tread Softly

in the morning of a day

of bright nothingness

you tread softly -

but behind you

lurks a big stick

that will squash you

when you least

expect it

like a bug....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, July, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Wet Day

you try to crawl out of your grave

but it's a wet day

you slide back in

they don't care whether

you're alive or dead

they cover you over

- cursing the weather

but not too loudly -

afterwards they'll talk of you

trying to see what little

you had in the way of

a good side,

drink a tad too much,

give a word to the minister -

who knows you never believed

but doesn't really give a damn -

and they'll forget you

a white bubbly tide

covering all

and no flowers will protrude

from your hole,

my friend....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, June, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron


the poetry has been drained

from her

drop by


and when you reach forth

and touch her

a piece breaks


(Greg Cameron, Poem, June, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

My breath was smelt and I was questioned
it's another dumbfuck on investigation
answer the questions that make no sense
and we go get a donut after this
Travis Ray Cole

She's been locked out of my heart so long ago and forgotten
like an empty
tossed away nothing left and nothing to say
She has used every card and played every play
Her chips aren't even real
as fake as her face
now and then her heart beats for me but thats the meds she takes to try and get a feeling
If she was indian her indian name would be no feeling
if she was worth it I would divorce her twice
Oh I still love her sister who doesn't pretend she's nice I bet you can't put me in checkmate now

Travis Ray Cole

Just So

I'm heading to the car to eat lunch

to the left

are two black dudes

sitting on the ground under the trees

smoking and eating lunch

one looks up, smiles,

and says, "How ya doing?"

I say, "Pretty good...and you?"

"Great," he replies, then gestures

to the sky and says, "I'm watching that

right now...." and at that moment

just beneath the sky

the sun glances off the greenish windows

of a tall building

just so....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, June, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Got It?

forget everything you know - or think you know -

and start over

- and we start right here!

you throw that switch over there

see it?

three things come on

you pay attention to the one

on the far right

a little menu pulls out

you go down it till you come to

here, you press it, and

you wait

a variety of things is going on

none of which directly concerns you

you just have to wait, wait

till this red light comes on

then you tap in the password

remember, you should have set

the password ahead of time, ages ago

no vowels, all consonants

at least seven letters

no numbers

wait just a bit longer

and you now have total access

it all depends on what you

want to do

and I suggest you have a pretty

good idea of what you want to do

changes are you're going to

want to do this or something like this

so, to do that you have to

pull this down,

press the green option,

this part of the thing is finicky

you have to do what you need to do

very quickly

and get the hell out

'cause if you don't

it'll all close down

a lot sooner than you

really wanted

and you'll be right back

where you started

and that isn't where you want to be

trust me

change what needs changing

move what needs moving

update numbers

delete numbers

scale down, flesh out

just do it

right then

at any rate, a red light comes on

press below that

a blue light comes on

press below that

the screen then asks

"are you sure?"

damn right you're sure

press below that

the screen then demands a number

type in '32'

not '23' or '51' or any other number

highlight and delete

anything you don't want to leave behind

and be sure about which is

which here, 'cause it can be costly

the screen asks you again

"are you sure?"

of course you're sure

press the black button

then it asks you


at this stage you might well wonder

remember what?

don't worry about that

but trust me -

you want this damn thing to remember

press the white button

this comes on over here

press green-red-green

wait just a bit

or sometimes more than a bit

but finally - you're out!

game over!

hopefully, everyone's a winner

and that is it in a nutshell

I'm oversimplifying, of course,

but why trouble your brain

with unnecessary baggage?


got it?

((Greg Cameron, Poem, June, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada))
Greg Cameron

Your Skull Splits Open

and as your skull splits open

the world bursts out in

raucous applause,

oblivious to your pain

or your impending death,

attending only to morbid spectacle

and if you think they give a toss

for anything you said or did

or if you think

you left your mark

instead of being like some

gigantic dog pissing on

an enormous post, only

to have it evaporate

in the mid-day sun

or if you think you were a genius

unappreciated in your time

to be appreciated at some

unspecified later date

well, you got another think



(Greg Cameron, Poem, June, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)

Greg Cameron

Letting the Cat Out

the birds are singing the same old tune

the sun should be abashed

just sitting there

doing nothing

the trees go for cheap uplift

the sky is polluted

even if it seem otherwise

but here at the breakfast table

we stuff ourselves with

junk that will kill us

out in the livingroom the TV is on

a voice assuring us

everything is under control

but we know better

I see anything other than Love

in your eyes

if your smile is ironic

the point eludes me

it's another day like any other

but each day lays a slab

upon us all

neither of us trusts the other

and Love - don't get me

started on that

the toaster flips toast

onto the counter

let's spread our choice of toxins

we'll wish each other another day

we'll kiss, conveying

God knows what bacteria to the other

I know you're the greatest thing

since sliced bread

if I might slice something

too thick

we go our own ways

knowing our ways

will converge again

we pick our way through our

respective minefields

we dodge bullets

rubber chickens

we secretly curse the other

and plot the other's doom

all I ask, my dear, is that

before you shoot me

in the back,

let the cat


Greg Cameron

I want you so far inside me
I don't know where I end
And you begin

Hell In Your Eyes

I see the Hell in your eyes, my love

I could just kiss you

till your teeth cracked

I could hug you so hard

you couldn't breathe

and you'd sink to the floor


I see the Hell in your eyes

it's bottomless, black

exhilarating in its way

and yet it's such

a long way down

doesn't it make you


I grab you, shake you, whirl you

but still I see the Hell in your eyes

it dances,

flickers with insolence,

refuses to go out

I see the Hell in your eyes

it permeates your whole being

leaks from your anus, your sex

your heart pumps it

steadily - thump, thump

it infects your laugh

inflects your words

it shadows your every gesture

run though you may

Hell is wherever you are

you sink to your knees,


- and your tears fall black

on the floor....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, June, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - if the Hell fits, wear it....)
Greg Cameron


no doubt carried away

by fervent error

they crucified a scarecrow,

waited for him to die

then, upon finding him

not alive, they

set fire to him,

watched his sparks

float into the sky

and though he was neither

saint nor saviour

they were haunted to

the end of their days -

murmurs of wrong,

blasphemy even

his legend grew,

stories multiplied

till at last

all sank to their knees

in fear and reverence

before figures of straw....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, June, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron


spittle does not




(Greg Cameron, Poem, June, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - rough night, folks....)
Greg Cameron


In this bed

All alone

I pray and hope
That you BRING it
Give it to me good
Split me in half

Drowning in your nectar
Slipping down my slopes

Unlock everything

We're free


you stand by the bed

she looks so peaceful

her hair streaming all ways

over the pillow

head turned slightly to the side

and even though she's

in deep sleep

- you can hear her breathe -

you can't resist the impulse

to stroke her cheek with

the back of your hand

she wakes with a start,

turns on your hand,

and bites

her teeth plunging in

you pull your hand away,

suck back the blood,

retire to a corner of the room,

sit, shiver a little,

and wait....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, May, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron


and when Death settles down

to suck you silly

booze and drugs are on the table

Pleasure is the only Reality

everyone's here

only the inhibitions gone

everyone's taking pictures

they'll end up on the Internet

degradation is frontpage news

but for now

upon their shoulders you go

glasses clink,

Stupidity itself laughs

you're the Man of the Hour

the Man with the Power

fists are in the air

but nowhere else

you give yourself up

to the Moment

just bask in your

moment of glory

and when Death opens her mouth

in a lascivious smile

you will know that

you have at last


(Greg Cameron, Poem, May, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - this poem is sorta adult, but what the hell....)
Greg Cameron

Cheap Little Man

you're a cheap little man

you hit the floor

with a clink!

you roll






finally you spin

come to rest

under a low-lying

piece of furniture

and try as I may

I just can't

dig you


(Greg Cameron, Poem, May, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

One of These Sundays

the piano rings up

into the afternoon

the sun bursts through

the livingroom window

to collapse upon the green carpet

the pink chesterfield

is innocent

of occupants

outside the grass is waggishly long

the barbeque moistened

a dark grey

with black chunks and powder

rolling in their own grime

the maple tree spirals upward

scotchcaps dot

just beyond the fence

ferns grasp for the apple tree

never reaching

slugs have their way,

go their way

somebody's doing something

in the basement

and just what the cat

is up to

only he



(Greg Cameron, Poem, May, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - improvisation, folks)
Greg Cameron

The Prize Portion

there's nothing left

nothing for either of us

let us divide nothing

between us

and sup as though

it were a good offering

- and tasty too! -

let us say grace

and thank a Higher Power

for the meal before us

hands off the table -

it's bad form to be hasty

I'll do the honours


you take the

prize portion....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, May, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - and as of this moment, I'm feeling kind of itchy. So there....)

(P.S. Another John Wilmot-y kind of poem, eh? Ah, so be it....)
Greg Cameron

This obsession hurts
Taking me by the throat
Not letting go
How do I shake this when I still want it so bad
A glutton for punishment
Addicted and allergic
Standing up for mediocrity
Signaling the wave of pain

I'm not done because you are
I'm not over because you have your toxic grip
Slowly sucking me down
My soul is caught in your undertow
It's time.


observe - they are here

let us throw down everything

and greet them

let us shower them with flowers

offer them wine, our bodies

let music and laughter ring

let us dance and sing

but should they

with cold smiles

mow us down

they would be

for all that


(Greg Cameron, May, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron
- - - wiki


I know you're bored and

things are getting on your nerves

neither the clock nor the calendar

would say the things we like

the day has overextended its credit

the night offers nothing

in way of diversion

the table stands on its own legs

the computer screen does down

to stay down

we've had too much coffee

you know everything I like

and don't like

you've told me very detail

of your childhood

it's like a cartoon I've seen

at least twenty times

we smile apologetically at each other

for not being more

we raise our hands

knowing there's nothing in them

we could cap each other's sentences

all evening

we know what each other is

going to say, going to think

we know exactly what we'll do

when we get up in the morning

what exercises we do

what cereals we'll eat

what TV shows we like

all the jokes

all the pet peeves

the very way we express ourselves

you start to tell me

something you've told me

a million times before

I smile complicity

and take your hand,

both of us knowing

the only thing worse than

the emptiness within

is being


(Greg Cameron, Poem, May, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - and, yes, it's "smile complicity" not "smile complicitly" - in case you think I don't know what I'm doing.... )
Greg Cameron

You're the Big Bad of my dreams, Steve.
Just one kiss before you leave.

We don't have to go there
You don't have to climb me like a tree

Don't get me wrong
My hands on you
The heat between my thighs
Carnal thrusts and sweat
Your scent on my sheets
My lust lingering and wet

No, we don't have to go there...

Just one kiss before you leave.
You're the Big Bad I dream about, Steve.

You don't have to climb me like a tree
We don't have to go there

Don't get me wrong
Your hands on me
The heat between my legs
Carnal thrusts and sweat
Your scent in my sheets
My lust is wet

Just one kiss before you leave


Into the Forest

ferns curl their heads down

cedar boughs bounce with a shrug

the coon hound looks up as if

wondering "what for?"

the car body sits by the fence

its shattered window

reflecting nothing

the apple tree sags

under its own fecundity

the blue skies promise much,

deliver nothing

even now you know

you're doomed

you wish you could

leap over the fence,

run into the forest,

go wild, absolutely wild

and peer out through the greenery

eyes gleaming

with reflected light....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, May, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Let's Pretend

have you been ill-served

by Fate?

ah, my dear

so have I

let us sit down,

join hands,


we're Great Figures

of Western Civlization,

and smile a little sadly....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, April,2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron


my hand in yours

the banality of the moment


your hair twists as

much as your lies

your eyes invite

to dubious adventures

we turn to each other

my arms encircle your waist

and you smile,

knowing at last

you've won....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, April, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Can ada)
Greg Cameron

Final Things

and when you settle into

your coffin

will you pull the lid shut yourself


will you have

others do that?

(Greg Cameron, Poem/Grim Fancy, April, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Part II

Oh, Steve
I never wanted you to leave

If only you could understand
My story unfolding
As I reach for your hand

Finger's laced together
I sense the gravitation towards my breast
The rapid rise and fall
Your hand is a kiss
A soft caress
Nothing more
Nothing less

In my mind
My hands arrest you
My mouth consumes you
I molest and abuse you
And you can't get enough

Only a dream
Never mine

Oh, Steve
I never wanted you to leave



it was in the morning

they turned up with guns

they said they were sorry about

the inconvenience

but we had to go

right then

it was for our own good

just temporary, they assured us

they had the guns

we went

they herded us all into a camp


sometimes we get food

sometimes they let us out

but we have to be back

before nightfall

where we used to live

they built a

huge base

buildings, fences, guards

trucks going in and out

they paved most of it over

but they said someday

we could go back

we had to be patient

but the trucks kept

coming and going

more buildings were added

great spotlights

the fence was electrified

we keep looking in

at what used to be our home

but they won't let us back

and they won't let us go

somewhere else....

(Greg Cameron,Poem, April, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canad a)
greg cameron

Oh Steve
I never wanted you to leave
The night you curled my hair around your fingers
Delicate and nonchalant
I pretended not to notice
I belong to someone else

Whore disguised in white
Beating off to cheap porn
While he plays his video games
And I wish for Steve
Who made me believe I was pretty

For a moment, his fingers in my hair
The subtle caress of my ear
Maybe it was the booze
But he wanted me

I did not move
But I wanted to
To straddle him
Probe his mouth
Hands everywhere
Clothes destroyed
Flesh on fire

Oh Steve
I never wanted you to leave


You Didn't Come

Truth blugeoned me

on the side of the head,

threw me from the car,

and left me in the ditch

then set out in search

of cheap motels, brights lights

and all-night gambling joints

for my part, I kissed the worms,

nursed my wounds,

read the labels of empty booze bottles,

wondered what the sky was doing up there

and I was doing down here,

let an empty cigarette pack

cuddle up to my brow,

wondered why people still smoke,

wondered why I like the smell

of gasoline, crave it,

then, shaking the blood from

my head,

I got up,

staggered around like

some Frankenstein's monster,

it was then your car came

bearing down upon me,

I was wide-eyed in your beams

in all fairness you braked

you were coming home

from a party at your cousin's

everyone got drunk except you

I reached forth and bellowed your name

even though we had never met before

you sat behind the wheel

you didn't come

because your mother always

told you to beware of strangers

and I was a stranger

wasn't I?

(Greg Cameron, Poem, April, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Darkly Beautiful

darkly beautiful

she tapped away, added, subtracted,

multiplied, took cards in,

ran them through, handed them back,

held forth bits of paper,

flashed smiles to old people

and one guy who made her

moist inside

she was yelled at, berated,

bullied by a stupid

fat-gutted boss with a

perpetually flushed face

and at the end of a very long day

she scampers across the parking lot

to the fast food joint she's

about to start a shift for

she pauses at a door,

wilts almost completely,

sucks in a breath,

then pushes on

to the other side....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, April, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
greg cameron

X Marks The....

I try to look

into your eyes,

but all I see

are X's

- and tears stream

down my face

as you rattle

in my arms...

(Greg Cameron, Poem, March, 2013, Surrey, B.C., C anada)
Greg Cameron

Power Struggle in the Thrift Store

I'm looking over the Oriental

rock CDs in the thrift store

to my left a boy and a girl

are playing in the toys section

I'm checking the surface of a CD

when all of a sudden the girl

cries out in ringing tones,

"You're not the King of the World!

Are you?...."

to which the boy replies

with haughty disdain,


(Greg Cameron, Poem, March, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - a true story, incidentally)
Greg Cameron

The Bastards

we rolled into town and

overthrew the Bastards

to make a point

we executed a few,

but the rest we returned

to positions of Power -

one must have continuity,

after all -

and so they bide their time,

knowing full well

someday their time

will come


(Greg Cameron, Poem, March, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

The Bottom

you stand by the pond

clouds precluding the sun

a leaf flutters,

lands in the liquid,

sending little ripples on their way

suddenly I'm there

mouth slowly opening and closing

you smile, reach into your pocket,

pull out a little can,

then shake a few flakes

onto the surface

I rise, nibble,

eat my fill, then

return to the bottom....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, March, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)

Greg Cameron

I don't remember your name,
I don't remember your face.
All I remember is your coin and the zipper of your Kangaroo shoes.
Someone you cared about gave you that coin,
your father, your grandfather, someone important but I don't remember who.
You were so proud of it when you showed it to us, it was your treasure.
You loved it, and I wanted it, I don't even know why.
I remember your shoes were under the seats of the bowling alley.
We knew you put the coin in your Kangaroo pouch, all I had to do was take it.
And I did.
I had it, it was mine. I wanted it, now I had it, and nobody saw.
I don't remember what it looked like or what it felt like or what it was, and maybe I didn't even care, but now it was mine.
I'd never stolen anything before, and I never expected what happened next.
I have never felt so wrong and bad in my life of 6 maybe 7 years.
I may have even cried, as I threw that cursed coin in the trash.
I remember the round ring of black plastic bag as it swallowed my shameful prize.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for all the unrest it's caused, and I hope it hasn't snowballed into mountainous proportions over the course of 30 years, as it has for me.
Please forgive me, so I can forgive my self.


I've fought hard

I've done everything I could

but I have nothing left to give -

except this

please take it

you might be intimidated,

but it's quite simple really

all you do is

hold it right in front of you,

point, and

pull the trigger....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, March, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - a metaphor, children....)
Greg Cameron

I am the catbox poet

vfxppqboecpy, wchrpshmqr , [url=http ://]mtrienadna[/url], wchrps hmqr

hcueyqboecpy, dhdjygduwy

Go For It

I feel sick

excuse me a moment while I

go over here and upchuck

ah - that's better!

better out than within

that's what I always say

what? you think this a

comment on something?

a code? a sign?

you'd have me out with it

as though the Truth were something

to be disgorged inch by inch

by some hapless cat?

you flatter yourself as

you never flattered me

I dab my lips

I don't wash my hands,

but I've had done with the thing

if you wish to pursue further

by all means

duck in!

(Greg Cameron, Poem, February, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Your Lies

your lies run down the wall

and across the floor,

reach, grasp

the colours intermingle

creating new colours

one is tempted to

stick a finger in

and taste

but perhaps that would be


it looks like more lies

are on the way

things could get quite messy

want me to clean up for ya,


(Greg Cameron, Poem, February, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Ca nada)
Greg Cameron

vlwygqboecpy, mxrwoekabh

vziuqqboecpy, maenlwquee

xsrovqboecpy, sxgjmymhnd

Waiting For Me To Die

and while you were waiting for me to die

ripe red cracks rippled through the heavens

sending sun and moon in search of

greener pastures

plants turned blue

rocks rose in the air

and popped

rivers paused, hoping for direction

but the news remained the same

TV stations preferring to ignore the whole thing

the Internet being none the wiser

I have, I'm afraid, no option

but to be myself

I tried other things on for size

but they didn't fit

I tried to fly but I

never left ground

I thought I was 'creative'

but nothing sprang forth

I wish I could hang around pool halls,

take up with unsavoury company

but they wouldn't have me

I tried to be 'respectable'

but they wouldn't let me 'in'

oceans are the world's spit

aimed at my face

screw them

earthquakes are geology dancing

volcanoes shoot their load

in ecstatic shudder

asteroids pass our orbit,

sticking out their tongues

at our utter stupidity

my wallet doesn't quite fit

in my pocket

my sunglasses don't work

and they took away all my cards

all ends are dead ends

you slam the door in my face

boy, that's new

but I tell you what -

I'm going to stand on your doorstep

flowers in hand

and though they may wilt

I'm not going anywhere

I'm not dying just yet

I'm staying right here

'cause I'm hellbound and determined

to give these goddamned things

to you....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, February, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - got multiple aches today/pity me, children....)
Greg Cameron

kfbfdqboecpy, qkzkpvegve , [url=http ://]dtuzmcgzbm[/url], qkzkpv egve

Who needs love when we've got propaganda
the girl of my dreams is only a stand in
On the corner of yesterday & never
maybe trying is not the answer
Travis Ray Cole

(warning - this is a poem of naked sexuality, as it were - if you don't like it, there's other things you could be doing....)


the late afternoon sun casts

its light upon the table

in the dining room

she came visiting

and she now leans over

the table in her orange shirt

she's not wearing a bra

and through an odd bounce of light

you can see her nipples

darkened against her shirt

you wish with everything

in your mind and body

you could take them in

your mouth and


but you say nothing,

wishing to remain


(Greg Cameron, Poem, February, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - just a poem, okay?)
Greg Cameron

Flush it
The world gets more fucked up everyday
the people are so stupid
and it only gets worse
maybe fracking with nuclear waste wasn't such a good ideal after all
Travis Ray Cole


a girl dances in the aisle

daring the boxes of cereal

to collapse upon her

her mother pushes in the

opposite direction

the girl twirls, arms outreached

to the arches holding up

the ceiling

- when suddenly she spies

a big teddy bear perched atop

some food display

her eyes light up

she runs to the

teddy bear

wanting to be eaten

and as she does so

the cartoon figures

on the cereal boxes

cheer her on....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, February, 2013, Surrey, B.C. Canada - it's been an unspeakably bad day/the less said the better/happy whatever....)
Greg Cameron

I dreamed a small plane crashed behind my neighbors yard & I put the fire out with the hose then called 911 but the number didn't go through a few times then when it finally did I got put on hold & they wanted me to leave a message. So then I called again and they wanted to know how I was going to pay for the emergency services credit card or cash? Then the woman wanted to chat forever & I had to get off the phone to show them where the plane crashed & the engine flipped into the neighbors yard, then there was a bunch of people climbing around who just came to see the s ights.
Doctor Catsburger's song about grits and grease

what a dream come true
to cum with you

The Black Eagle

don't blame me for the black eagle

it circles and swoops

eyes us both

- in case there was any doubt

on that score -

it's waiting for us to drop to our knees

it's waiting for us to falter,

give up, just throw up our hands

and sink back in the mud

it'll come down and

peck out our eyes

and that's just for starters

it'll strip every inch of flesh

from our skeletons

and we'll feel every single

bit of it

and it's all your fault

oh, i know...I deserve some of

the 'credit' for going along with you

in the first place

I was never much on the word 'no'

and in any event you made everything

look like all was well

or at least it'd all turn out well

everything flowers and sunshine

just follow the yellow brick road

everyone's on our side and opportunity

is knocking - just open the door

but that's not how it's been

now we're here in the middle of nowhere

the black eagle screams and circles

knowing we're too tired and hungry

we'll drop to our knees

but it's no good supplicating

just submit to the pain

as it takes its sweet time

and strips us

to the core....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, February, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

He Became Art

in spite of himself

he became Art

and he was miserable

the rest of the days

of his


(Greg Cameron, Poem, February, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron
- i hour payday loans pay day loans uk direct lenders payday inc albuquerque
large payday loans
Payday Loans UK
- payday laws in texas pay day loans uk no brokers no reference payday loan
payday advance barrie
Payday Loans UK


you say "halt!"

I stop

look a little foolish

shift this way and that

look up and down

whistle a tune very badly

I look at you

wondering what it is

what's wrong

whatever's going on

in your head

it seems it's been ages

continents have shifted

oceans have crept

to and fro

the weather has its ways

the sun comes and goes

the moon goes through its changes

till once again it's whole

- then begins again

the sand on the beach

never counts its own particles

the air itself seems to yawn

I remain

awaiting your word

but nothing ever


(Greg Cameron, Poem, February, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - boy, am I angry this morning/more about this elsewhere. ...)
Greg Cameron

All You Will Do

look at the house across the road

its eyes say nothing to you

where once Love flipped up its skirt,

laughed, and pulled the curtains shut

is but hollowness

idiots once sat on a hot roof,

shirts off, pink as lobsters,

looking at you

parties raged into the night

till laughter became anger,

fists thrown, and a red light whirled

through your curtains

once someone looked at you


then jerked the curtains shut again

another time pointing,

all gathering around to watch

biker wannabes held forth on the lawn

cars, bikes, women in tank tops

deep tiretracks

over the shoulder of the house

a light once blinked

from a house further on

noise, endless noise

cops - again and again

finally the place stands empty

gazing at you with nothing in its eyes

and nothing is all you feel now

eventually they'll tear it down,

build an even larger house,

slapping on the chipboard,

throwing lumber on the lawn

of the empty house next door,

and all you will do

is laugh....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, January, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Leave him leave him leave him alone
leave him leave him leave him alone

You have a pussy I have a dicka so whats the problem lets do it quick I can't get laid in germany she's not over it she's ready now she wasn't ready then indrustrail metal is what they call it its pop bullshit thats what she wants fucking nazi porn
carson won't help watch the kids mark went to jail so you have to leave
derrr herr


the birds rustle and flit

as I put the food

in the japonica

I notice

little necklaces of

tiny beads of ice

hanging from the limbs,

twisting themselves about

and I think

no one will die for this,

no one will pay sums

in downtown stores

- but this

is perfection....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, January, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada(
Greg Cameron

I Wish

I wish I could kiss you

in dreams of twists and swirls

you curl about, spread

as if dissolving into smoke

your hand reaches out

but never touches

your face slopes down

your voice as at a distance

I can't get a fix on you

you sing but

several different songs come out

I feel so tired

I could curl up in your lap

and purr

you say things,

but I can't make them out

perhaps all I feel is illusion

but I'd rather be here

you smile and

that perhaps is something

please forgive me

as you spread in all directions

and cover me

as a cloth....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, January, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - usually I have a chance to take a second look at these things, but I guess this is an existential gamble of sorts. Sigh.. ..)
Greg Cameron

Jack the Ripper

this isn't what you think it is -

I was a professional wrestler

many and many a year

if I might be so bold

I was a name

I made quite a bit of money

for a whole bunch of promoters

- and for myself, I hasten to point out

I'm mighty comfortable now, I can tell you

I was what you can an

easy-going hand, easy-come, easy-go

I was never one to start trouble

I mean, when I was challenged,

I defended myself

it's a tough biz - you don't stick up

for yourself and they'll walk all over you

I knew how to take care of myself

well, anyway, I ended up working for

Albert Foster's promotion

Albert was a funny guy

a genius really

ran a real hot, tip-top promotion

with solid wrestling on top

he was a whiz with the pen

creativity with credibility

that's what he stood for

he was also a sick son of a bitch

sometimes some punk kid'd come in

wanting to get trained as a wrestler

and, well, some wrestler would be

called upon to hurt the kid,

teach him what's what

he'd always - I mean always - watch this

laughing and clicking his tongue

with pleasure

you see a lot of this as a wrestler

but I never got off on such things

the quirks of genius, I guess

anyway, Albert, as a promoter, was obsessed

with these hooker types - tough guys

the promotion was crawling with them

there was enough hooks to hang

the wardrobe of an entire film set

he especially liked the graduates of

the Snakepit in Wigan, England

hookers all - now North American

promoters were often suspicious of

British talent, worried they'd go

into business for themselves

or some damn thing

it never happened, of course,

but they were a terror to the boys

just ask a professional about

Wright or Robinson -

it'll shiver their timbers

well, Albert had a prime one -

Jack Shaw - on board at the time

my God, was he something

purely as a technician

on a part with Billy Robinson

and just slightly below Karl Gotch,

if I might be a little blasphemous here

the boys in the biz had a name for him -

Jack the Ripper -

it was never bandied about in public,

of course

apart from the ring he was a perfect

gentleman - nice-spot-of-tea, dreadful-

weather-of-late-wot? sort

of guy - very handsome, but when you

got into the ring with him and he

thought he could get away with it,

he'd rip a limb out of a socket

like you'd rip a turkey leg

off an overcooked turkey

people with skills - like me - he'd

leave alone, but no one else wanted

to work with him - I mean, no one!

if you were hurt, he was pitiless

it was almost as if he wanted to

gnaw your bone

when he wanted to work, he was

as smooth as butter

anyway, we got along pretty well

and I was walking with him in the gym

when suddenly we run into Eddie Ryan

he's a big name now, but back then

he was known in the biz as a tough guy

a real hot fuse, quick with the fists

before he was in the biz, he was a

real barroom brawler, legit tough guy

that's how he came to Albert's attention

and he got initiated into our ways

funny - Albert usually liked to see

the bar boys tortured and sent packing -

he must have liked the kid somehow

now I could probably snatch him in a trice,

but if Eddie swung first

all bets would be off

well, Eddie is in t-shirt and jeans

just sort of jiving and hanging about

Jack looks right at him and smiles,

he says, "Hello, Eddie - fancy meeting

you - anything on your platter? - would

you like to roll a little in

the gym? - I hear you're a tough guy...."

and Eddie just stood there, his jaw

working but nothing coming out

he looks terrified and he bursts out

in sweat - and I swear you see this

big stain in his pants right where

his cock and balls hung - and he

most certainly was hung - and it

trickled down one leg, over one shoe,

and onto the floor

at last he jaws some excuse and

hightails it out of there,

one shoe squishing,

leaving a big pool behind him

Jack turned to me, smiled, and said,

"Nice lad - sure he'll turn some good

business one of these days, wot?"

and he took me by the shoulder

and we walked on....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, January, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - I tell you, Fate was conspiring against me even doing this today, children....)
Greg Cameron

Won't Stop

at midnight we'll gather

to sing strange songs

outside your house

you'll think here and there

you recognize the tune,

but you'll be wrong

it will fall apart

and reassemble

it will spread through your skull

and pop out the top of your head

you'll feel disoriented

as if you had lost your

reference points

and you no longer knew

where you were

dogs will howl

cats will hide

forget about calling the police

we'll be there

on the front lawn

and no matter what

we won't stop singing.....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, January, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

On the End of a Pole

the battle hasn't even begun

and here I am, waving

this damn flag

you haven't seen a thing,

but I've walked

through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Hell, Death has tripped me,

mocked me, shoved me around,

shown me who's boss

they gathered to throw stones,

but the whole thing grew stale

and they departed

the weather was wicked,

the wind lashed,

the rain pelted

I alone kept the faith

even though I was of little faith

but neither faith nor doubt

will save me now

I hold the flag aloft,

take perverse pride

in seeing it flap and flutter

and maybe I feel good

thinking there was something

worth fighting for

while the rest attended to tinsel

and sat entranced

by flickering lights....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, January, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

A Big, Black Spider

a big black spider comes

out of the sink

and says, "I know

this might seem irrational

or whatever, but

I know exactly who you are,

your strengths, your weaknesses,

your idiosyncrasies, all the

little stuff that makes up you -

and, well, at this stage

you might be getting worried,

but really you're no worse

than anyone else on this sorry planet

so you might as well lighten up

and enjoy the rest of it.

Do as you will. I'm not

responsible for all this...."

- and it retreats

back into the sink....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, January, 2013, Surrey, B.C., Canada - this surreal fancy is based upon the spiders
that come up through the sink in the basement/they're
aggressive buggers/they come right at you/in case you were wondering, which you probably w eren't....)
Greg Cameron


the sky is a blank cheque

for God know what

the birds whistle their way out of here

the tide eats the shore

but there's always more

where that came from

your smile exceeds your account?

but seeing you there

I want to wrap myself about you

and squeeze

I would tease your nose, your curls,

your chin

am I your mistake -

possibly the biggest to date?

you're not the only one

who can shrug

you've left your mark

I am your mark

try as I may

you won't rub out

you giggle complacently

hands on hips, I eye the sky

the sun is still there

and, as usual, it reserves comment

on our follies....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, December, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada - written in a fit of sneezing, literally/just wry whimsy, folks.....)
Greg Cameron


afterwards she wipes herself

it was much

it was really, really much

she didn't think she could

last that long,

but she did

no matter what

she doesn't feel clean

not that she worries

about being dirty

but at last she has it

- deep inside something aches

that isn't a goddamn metaphor

it hurts

but she's used to that

she's hungry

she's tired

she wishes the others

a good day

and she steps out into the sunlight

it's so bright

she blinks

again and again

it takes a while

but it's such a beautiful day

she had forgotten

what the sun looks like

she remembers going to school

and visiting her grandparents

and running in the fields

and teasing cats

and birds flitting

she starts to skip

and jump

the ache cuts into her

she stumbles a little,

feels for a moment

like she's going to pass out

it passes

thank God

and she walks on

quite briskly enough

thank you.. ...

(Greg Cameron, Poem, December, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada - just barely managed to get to a library to type this, folks - I wanted to wish you all a Merry Christmas and, if I might be so naive, for Peace on Earth....)

Greg Cameron

People in the world take the mortgage loans in different banks, because it is comfortable.
Stefanie Carpenter

Would It Be Fair?

"yes, we're back, people, we're back

we're coming to you live from Comedy Forever

and you're kind, you're much too kind

we've got a fantastic lineup for you tonight

and first up to bat we've got a powerhouse guest

one Adolf Hitler, that's right, Adolf Hitler!

right here on Comedy Forever

so without further ado

let's bring him out right now

ladies and gentlemen, on your feet

for Adolf Hitler - come on out!

how's it going, Hitler - oh, watch out for that,

here we go - so just how's it hanging, Hitler?

hmmmmm, yes, yes - you're closer to your goal?

as in football, or, as we call it here, soccer?

yes, yes...well, let me put something

to you, Mr. Hitler

are your ready for this? 'cause it's coming...ready?

Mr. Hitler, you've been accused of entertaining,

how shall we put this? - extreme views?

would that be fair? yes, yes...I know...

I'm one of 'them' - I could be accused of

harbouring certain prejudices, might I not? -

but we at Comedy Forever - we try to see both

sides of every issue...yes, yes...I see...

but how would that work? exactly...?

would you send them all on a boat back to...?

camps? you mean holiday camps?

or maybe work camps like the New Deal or


well, there's always something to be said for

working for a living, isn't there?

and it's not just 'us' - it's

gypsies and those godless communists

and what do you call them? nancy boys?

I see, I see...and your territorial ambitions

you just gotta have your space -

would that be fair to say?

yes, I see..but they're surely not

going to give that up voluntarily

yes, I read most of your book

just last night - it's a real pageturner

real from-the-gut sort of stuff,

wouldn't you say?

in prison? like..what's his name...

the Marquis de Sade?

no, I really did read it

I swear

you have the courage of your convictions

that you have

but let's take this down a little? -

do you still paint? draw?

really? how do you find the time?

no, there's isn't time enough

to do the things you really want to do

but is it true you actually earned

what one might call a modest living?

I see, but don't you want to ban...what do

you call it...degenerate art?

I see, I see...but that's not the most

tolerant position, is it?

don't you feel artists have the right to explore?

what? no one has 'rights'? none at all?

am I hearing you correctly?

well, I guess it wold be fair to say

you're a man of 'opinions' - are you not?

and they just keep on coming

and we're running out of time

oh, but before you go, I hear you've been

in a real hot thing with this chick

Eva - come on, you sly old dog you - she's

a real stunner - would that be

fair to say? - it's all over the scandal

rags - don't you just hate that? -

but we like to keep things moving at

Comedy Forever

it's been great having you, Mr. Hitler

give him a hand, a big hand

Adolf Hitler, ladies and gentlemen

but don't you dare move

'cause coming up next live

we have the one, the only

Mr. Bruce Springsteen

that's right...Bruce!

we'll be right back after these important messages....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, December, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada - if I must hold hands for the stupid, this is Swiftian satire - I'm trying to make a point - but if you don't get it, I can hardly be surprised these days. Cheers....)

Greg Cameron

(warning: for all I know this could be considered an
offensive poem - if you're squeamish about this, proceed with caution, I guess....)

Ah, Innocence

the curly-haired teacher

with the stupid medallion

has ducked out of the classroom

the board is a cloud

of erased chalk

one board eraser stands on end

against the board

near the teacher's desk

a globe at random tilt

leans a little away

from the desk

as if about to

tip off

- but in the rows of desks

at the yellow elementary school

the gopher-like girl seated

next to you

suddenly turns with a

mischievous expression

and bright red cheeks

and cries, "I'd like to

lick the shit off your ass!"

and she erupts

into bubbles

of giggling....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, December, 2012, Surrey B.C., Canada - all I can say is that this really happened/a fugitive memory from pre-Accident days, I'm afraid/just a reminder of what most adults suppress....)

Greg Cameron
- uop pharmacy canadian pharmacy review professional arts pharmacy
leesburg pharmacy


leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me alone

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me alone

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me alone

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me alone

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me alone

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me alone

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me

leave me

leave me

leave me

just leave me


(Greg Cameron, Poem, November, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada - this poem is about a state of mind and not really about anything in part icular....)
Greg Cameron

In the Dark

as a child you soon

discovered there was nothing

for you in the here and now

so you sought refuge

in the past,

lived there, breathed its air,

explored its limits, its glories,

drinking its charms,

gingerly unfolding it

as though it were some

yellowed newspaper,

wondering what it was like

to have been alive then,

heroically striving in

stark times,

moving amongst its simplicity,

accepting its reassurance,

and trying hard to make sure

future generations would look back

in awe and wonder

- and at night you'd curl up

with a black radio

in the dark,

listen to rebroadcasts

of old Shadow shows

coming from some station

in a city 50 miles away or so

you lived wholly

in the menace of the week,

the darkness that loomed,

the laughter of the Shadow,

the motifs, recurring plot elements,

the catchphrases

you immersed yourself in it

you felt every single bit of it

and your parents would smile

at your interest

in this thing

from so long, long ago....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, November, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada - is this poem, in a mundane sense, true? The Shadow knows....)
Greg Cameron

Watching the cops sell pills and speed around town talking on the phone while running thru red lights on the way to a free lunch. paying my fine at the captians window after I worked for it so much
finding the cop getting a blowjob next to kmart at midnight from the underage hooker. Serve service protection above the law they get away with murder
Travis Ray Cole


her hair is dyed a

blazing red

she chomps her gum with


her earrings dangle

about her shoulders

her chin couldn't touch

her collarbone

if she tried

her head twitches back and forth

then she stops,

looks long and hard

at you as though

you were the lowest form of

dirt on earth

with a little huff

she flips her gum over in her mouth

and resumes to chomp....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, November(but it feels like December, doesn't it?), 2012, Surrey, B.C., Can ada)
Greg Cameron

Cold Streets

the streets are cold

the church's steeple gives

the finger to the moon

the streetlights shed a

poor yellow light

she said she wanted to see

the pastor, but

she gets out of the car,

heads immediately for

the neighbouring bingo hall

where a great light

is barely constrained

by the darkness of

cheap architecture

and from which

drifts happy laughter

as dead leaves

scoot about the concrete,

one laggard lingering

as if trying to be contrary

and a block away

someone angrily

honks a horn....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, November, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada - as they say these days, based on a true story....)
Greg Cameron

Blue Afternoon

in the belly of the blue afternoon

Dad pauses to curse

how out-of-tune the

piano is -

then starts up again

with a little bounce

meanwhile, from an open window

in the kitchen

drift the sounds of children

playing, screaming

in the parking lot

but beside the piano

is the guinea pig cage

the guinea pig sits huddled

in the corner

and through the wires of her cage

she casts out at the world

a knowing eye....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, November, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Discarded Teddy Bears

a pile of discarded teddy bears

some of them this way and that

a few standing on their heads

but one pink teddy bear

stands quite erect

looking at you with its black button eyes

as if to say,

"I know how this looks,

I know I'm mangry,

I know I'm a pink teddy bear

and you're single with no children

and you have no conceivable use

for a teddy bear -

but please, please...could you take me

home with you? Please?"

and even though you don't want

a teddy bear

it's looking right at you

and you feel

the pull....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, November, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada - this poem, incidentally, is a companion-piece to the one I posted here earlier this week - inspired more or less by the same sights, etc. )
Greg Cameron


almost no one in the secondhand shop

two ladies with tattoos at the cash register

old man just sitting in the chair

near the front

you grab a book on

Christian fundamentalist aesthetics

then head for the compact discs

incredibly two you want are actually

in their cases

you help yourself to another, sealed

look at the vinyl

one potential find has an unfortunate nick

then head for the books at the back

strictly commercial, alas

now is the time to search for

what you really came here for -

large children blocks you could use

for balancing exercises you had in mind

not a single one

just like all the other stores

kids can't play with blocks anymore

so you head to the cash register

and the tattooed ladies smile....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, November, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

or I stab her in both eyes
happily until she dies

Now we have to spell stuff wrong on the shitternet of keywords include a commercial

Two years of this stupid ass following me around saying I am going to marry this nut hahahah I want to pull her left eyeball out and shove it down her throat & choke the bitch to death on it
I am not going to marry some mentally deranged dumbfuck

This Way

this way is Death, buddy

the traffic is heavy

cars come like a headbutt

lights flash their stuff to the streets

the pavement twists an insinuation

old lady pushes a cart full of stuff

old man, other side of the road,

going the opposite direction

just creaks along

garbage in the alley

a rat pauses to look

shops no one enters

the second-hand store has seen

better days

but gamely stands its ground

two guys talk loudly outside

the porno store

sign - "if it's been invented,

it's here!"

man passes, mumbling

poster in window advertising

an independent wrestling card

tough kid holds forth as he walks

to the two beauties alongside him

and hoods huddle outside

the police station, wanting no doubt

to keep their enemies


(Greg Cameron, Poem, November, 2012, Surrey,
B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron
- viagra address buy viagra 25mg buy viagra uk buy viagra in calgary
pills to buy viagra 100mg
- buck payday loans payday loans salt lake city online payday loans payday loans in pasadena texas
payday loans without bank account
- viagra acheter viagra prix en pharmacie acheter cialis france viagra pharmacie acheter viagra en linea
pharmacie acheter viagra
- antonio payday loans saskatchewan payday loans payday loans online up front payday loans
payday loans dayton oh
- day cialis generic buy cialis generic pharmacy buy generic cialis in shanghai
herbal viagra for women cialis generic
- of payday lenders payday loans in reno nv Payday Canada Loans payday loans in lakewood wa
payday loans chandler arizona
- supply ucla pharmacy canadian pharmacy online inpatient pharmacy
pharmacy drugs online

Early Saturday Afternoon

you look into the sky and

wonder why flowers don't grow there,

just sprout up and out

the red slide curls down

behind the yellow swingset

ants hollow holes in

the cracks of the rock wall

you fantasize of robins conversing,

of bees clambering

over the swings,

of swimming in slug slime

as the slugs themselves

make a discreet egress

a wasp buzzes the white porch

you trace zeroes in the

green slime on the

cements steps,

lines in the mud

around the tap

near a row of small trees

the hose lies limp in the grass

ferns reach through the barbed wire fence

flowers open all around

you look again into the sky

and think of falling deep into

the blue vastness

somehow this is freedom

you will never find it again

but for now you study

the redness of an ant on a rock -

pausing as if it had

forgotten something,

dismisses the thought,

then hurries on

to something

much more pressing....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, November, it is November isn't it?, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron
- pressione ipertensione polmonare viagra health risk long viagra prezzo menarini viagra 100
concorsi sul viagr a
- e libido disfunzione erettile come comprare il viagra ma viagra naturale brasile viagra disfunzioni erettili
viagra e prostata
- kauft fabrik viagra 100mg prix viagra en europe cialis effet secondaire forum viagra achat
exitant naturel prix viagra
- payday cash advance payday loans glendale ca payday loans payday lacrosse shaft
payday loan houston texas
- prezzo cialis generico prezzi cialis generico truffa acquistare cialis controindicazioni viagra emivita cialis generico
acquistare generico cialis 20 mg
- generic viagra buy viagra generic how long does cialis keep you hard order viagra
buy viagra in ire land
- to order viagra gives people buy viagra from india Viagra viagra buy coupons
price check 50mg viagra
- kamagra uk bulk buy kamagra cheap kamagra
oral gel kamagra online
- plus payday loans and dallas tx payday loan payday loans lenders
payday avenue login

She Remembers

she remembers living with her mother

in an apartment block

with a pine tree out front

she remembers shopping with her mother

at the grocery store at the strip mall

all the bluish and pinkish lights

the rows and rows of cans,


she remembers the cart, the cash registers

she remembers the cold days of winter

her breath curling up above her

in a great question mark

she remembers the red Toyota

with a stick shift

her mother used to drive

she remembers the library

and a second-hand bookstore

both so near

all the books she read

all the worlds - some of them strange -

she entered

she remembers trundling to school

clutching her book bag

so hard to her chest

her little tits hurt

and though Life has heaped

experience after confusing experience

upon her

and the variety of the world

has done its best

to bewilder and crush

she remembers sitting with her mother

Sunday afternoons

in front of the TV

with adult coffee

in hand

watching the old Sixties movies

they used to show

on a certain


(Greg Cameron, Poem, Oct., 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada - I'm in a real rush today, folks. Best....)
Greg Cameron
- generic clomid clomid online order luteal phase defect buy clomid online tomando clomid online
buying clomiphene order clomid


wind me up

I stutter-step across

the surface,

kicking up my legs,

swinging my arms,

my head going this way

and that

I make quite the display,

raise quite a noise

around and around

I go

but eventually I wind down

and stop,

standing smartly at attention,

awaiting as always

your touch....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, Oct., 2012, Surrey, B.C.,C anada)
Greg Cameron

nyJbLd , [url=]amiskutorpef[/url], [link=http://]wxdxbwjbtetn[/link],

oWkXh6 nuorqkbhzhmc
- 10 payday loans payday loans ft worth tx instant payday loans payday loan colorado springs
payday blog

fvfYje , [url=]rxippbiyooom[/url], [link=http://]fxlwcqbkdoll[/link],
- gel 100 mg cheap kamagra jelly sildenafil citrate kamagra side effects kamagra suppliers
buy kamagra online er ectile
- hipertensos citrato de sildenafil sildenafil nyc viagra precio como usar sildenafil en mujeres
euros sildena fil
- viagra online forum pfizer buy viagra from mumbai buy viagra online walmart
viagra buy in 2005
- buy clomid generic clomid at kmart clomid generic clomiphene citrate price
buy clomid online no prescription blurred v ision
- my payday loans arrowhead payday loans 3 month payday loans payday loan bellingham
loans til payday uk

rOkL6t qxvcvplryltl

This is just the pecreft answer for all of us
- sildenafil generic sildenafil sildenafil tablets sildenafil tablets 100 mg
cheap sildenafil online buy

- générique canada ada cialis generique alegra tadalafil generique cialis
cialis generique cialis


this particular opus starts out

in a spirit of amiable invention

and displays delightful craftsmanship,

each moment a genuinely enriching


the adagio, too, is a work of

radiant beauty

that awakens under the kiss

of this conductor

the final two movements, however,

represent a puzzling failure of imagination

with the composer turning to

turgid bombast,

bullying when he should be


yelling a the top of his lungs

when he should be


the conductor tries his very best

to convince,

but, well, I for one

remain unconvinced

perhaps those sympathetic

with the composer

will follow

but many will be struck

with disappointment

and genuine puzzlement

still, the first two movements

are undeniably charmers

my verdict? if I might resort

to the vulgar parlance of the age,

a guarded thumbs-up -

investigate, yes,

but proceed with


(Greg Cameron, Poem, Oct., 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron

Why don't I just marry the narc station
trying to set me up for something I haven't done
why don't I just marry the narc station
that sounds like lots of fun
Catsboogery boo

Let's Go

she jumped out of the mirror,

shook her hair all about,

then looked at me, smiled,

and said, "We have no time -

quick! Let's go!"

and she pulled me

away from here

to a world never seen

we saw so many

strange and wonderful things -

plants that reach out,

twisting landscapes,

exotic animals, multiple suns,

multiple moons,

a Night that is no night

and music, always music

we found home there

and that's where we stayed

I know you don't understand

I know you couldn't

I can tell you

but telling isn't enough

you'd have to be here

and that's not for you

but we're as happy

as two mortals can be

we join hands against

the passage of Time

and look to the wonders

in the sky....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, October, 2012, Surrey, B.C., Canada)
Greg Cameron
- hipertension en el tratamiento de sildenafil chile viagra viagra precio en españa venda de sildenafil
remedios caseros sildenafil
- generic sildenafil citrate sildenafil citrate order buy Sildenafil online sildenafil generic india
and generic sildenafil citrate
- de el tadalafil cialis tadalafil 20 mazda cialis generico tadalafil infojobs
tadalafil msds generic
- mdl generic clomid provera & pregnancy view topic clomid online clomid side effects clomid online order clomiphene citrate
men clomid without pres cription

Poems pruned on 10-15-12

poems_01-08-00 archive
poems_01-21-05 archive
poems_02-02-02 archive
poems_02-03-04 archive
poems_02-19-05 archive
poems_02-26-00 archive
poems_03-08-03 archive
poems_03-23-02 archive
poems_05-03-04 archive
poems_05-12-99 archive
poems_05-15-03 archive
poems_06-08-05 archive
poems_07-24-02 archive
poems_08-11-00 archive
poems_08-15-99 archive
poems_08-24-03 archive
poems_09-08-01 archive
poems_09-10-05 archive
poems_09-23-05 archive
poems_10-08-03 archive
poems_10-27-99 archive
poems_10-29-02 archive
poems_12-09-05 archive
poems_12-18-01 archive
poems_12-06-06 archive
poems_03-12-07 archive
poems_06-27-08 archive
poems_08-09-08 archive
poems_08-10-08 archive
poems_08-11-08 archive
poems_08-12-08 archive
poems_08-13-08 archive
poems_08-14-08 archive
poems_08-15-08 archive
poems_08-16-08 archive
poems_08-17-08 archive
poems_08-18-08 archive
poems_08-20-08 archive
poems_10-27-08 archive
poems_10-28-08 archive
poems_10-29-08 archive
poems_10-30-08 archive
poems_11-01-08 archive
poems_11-02-08 archive
poems_11-03-08 archive
poems_11-05-08 archive
poems_11-12-08 archive
poems_11-19-08 archive
poems_11-23-08 archive
poems_11-28-08 archive
poems_11-30-08 archive
poems_12-05-08 archive
poems_03-21-09 archive
poems_04-08-09 archive
poems_04-14-09 archive
poems_04-18-09 archive
poems_04-23-09 archive
poems_04-30-09 archive
poems_05-07-09 archive
poems_05-11-09 archive
poems_05-29-09 archive
poems_06-10-09 archive
poems_06-17-09 archive
poems_06-26-09 archive
poems_07-06-09 archive
poems_07-12-09 archive
poems_07-19-09 archive
poems_07-25-09 archive
poems_08-21-09 archive
poems_06-22-10 archive
poems_05-26-11 archive
poems_03-11-12 archive
poems_05-14-12 archive
poems_10-15-12 archive