Away from myspace until I feel better

UPDATE Sept 30. I'm going to stop saying when I'll be back since I no longer know. I'm having a very hard time with the meds and can barely focus or think. Thank you all for thinking of me.

UPDATE:

I'm still down, but with a bug this time as a result of all the crapola involved in ridding myself of an infection which I hope is gone now. I see post notices come and want to come read but I can barely see straight right now. Take care, all of you.

Pris

Original Messages

I will try to at least check messages if I get a notification but it may not be timely.

Thanks,

Pris

12:26 PM - 19 Comments - 13 Kudos - Add Comment

Becoming Mom

Mothering Sara  (new title)

Sara never wanted a child,
was afraid she might drop it,
feed it wrong stuff, not notice
sopping wet diapers.
She's terrified of childbirth,
white masks claustrophobing her
with push push, breathe breathe.
Childbound, she won't be able to run
in the rain, hold seances with fairies,
or disappear until dawn, floppy hat
drawn deep over her forehead.

Now Norman's child is inside, thumping.
She's seen the sonogram--he already has fingers.
She talks to her belly, explains
what a bad mother she'll be.
Wonders if he'll forgive her.

At the park, she lurks near the new mothers
to eavesdrop about diapers, formulas,
first steps, and magic first words like mama.
These women smell of lilac and powder;
their eyes flash with confidence.
If their baby tripped they would catch it,
kiss its boo boos, know how to soothe.

Sara watches till they leave,
sits in the park imitating their words,
the tilt of their heads, how their hands
danced through the air over the buggies.
Hopes she can be more like them.
Hopes it will be enough.

(Some of you may remember my verious Sara /Norman poems from before. I'm still not happy with my title ideas so this is just a working title for now. Title suggestions are most welcome)

9:05 PM - 25 Comments - 30 Kudos - Add Comment

Truth and Other Lies

Huddled under Nam's deepening shadow
we drank too much wine,
ate burnt turkey, neglected
while wading the Hawaiian surf.

We strung shells into necklaces, 
talismans for our husbands to take back to war, 
promised friendships stretching to forever,
but it's been years now since we spoke.

I fall dizzily to ground
ear the tremor of grass blades,
hear old laughter and bare feet 
sprinting across lava sand,
see youthful hands grasping for 
futures never meant to be held tight.



Pris Campbell
(an older one)

Published in November 2002 MiPo Journal

3:23 PM - 20 Comments - 28 Kudos - Add Comment

Regarding my poems

I remove most of my unpublished poems after about 7-10 days. Too many journals are saying on the blog is 'published' in their eyes since it can be found on a search engine but many are making exceptions if you remove the poem soon. Personally, I think having a poem on a blog both gets a poem out there and it also gives name recognition, which can only work in favor of a journal's readership. I don' t mind at all removing a poem when it's accepted and keeping it off for the duration of publication. That' s reasonable.

 All of the poems that work for me eventually go onto my website at:

Poetic Inspirations

Visit there if you enjoy my poetry. You'll see ones never on my blog there.

Pris

4:33 AM - 28 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment