DREAM: A PROSE POEM

We were kayaking in a library. I kept bouncing
my oar on bookshelves that hooted like owls
with each bump. Albino otters, like ideas, popped
in and out of the water to examine us with question
mark eyes. And then, they turned into torpedoes,
shot upstairs over a waterfall and exploded like
fireworks by the Astronony shelves. We paddled
into the History section and red water oozed like
molasses from cracks in the shelves. It seemed
that we paddled for centuries to escape History.
And then we floated into Philosophy and could
feel the weight of thick volumes shading the deep,
still water. Finally we reached the white waters of
Poetry. We plunged our oars into churning couplets
flowing over jagged verses and rode a rhyming
rollercoaster current for days.

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Copyright 2010

BAGHDAD STREET PATROL

Gunfire in the afternoons may be weddings or
maybe it is meant for you

"O-guf!" means "Stop!" but it never stops
the suicide bombers hell-bent for you

Foogas, a gel of homemade napalm
is a sticky ornament worn for you

"Kell America!" scribbled on the overpass
is graffiti sentiment for you

Bombs packed into car trunks and under
trashpiles are ticking surprise presents for you

This poem, scrawled in blood, is a gift, mister
president, especially for you

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Copyright 2010

MOMENTS

Lucky are those for whom
time does not scatter like

cockroaches running from light
but flutters from bud to

bud savoring the sips
of that first Spring breeze

floating through the window
or now, sipping cool notes

that flow from the fountain
of a bubbling banjo melody

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Dan Campbell Copyright 2010