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Barbara Campbell Poem
My name is Mr. Happy.
Spelled H-A-P-P-Y.
Also known as Pappy.
Spelled P-A-P-P-Y.
I am the Mr. Happy Pappy guy.
And, I hate to see kids cry...
I hate to see kids cry.
So... Smile, Smile for a while
In a happy smiley face style.
Can your smiles be in a pile?
Smile, Smile for a while.
Wear it proudly for a trial.
Can you wear it for a half mile?
Smile, Smile for a while.
Put a laugh in the smile pile.
Can it last for a whole mile?
Smile. Smile for a while.
Make it your own style.
Can a laugh and a smile
Walk down the aisle?
Smile, Smile for a while.
Put a giggle in the pile.
Can they go single file
For half past a mile?
Smile. Smile for a while.
Smiles, laughter, giggles in a pile.
Together they go more than a mile.
Remember me... Mr. Happy Pappy
When I'm not around.
The place where you imagine
Is the place where I am found.
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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Barbara Campbell Poem
At peace with the outdoors,
Where life's creatures roam
Within nature, I am at home.
The North East is where I grew.
My roots I barely knew.
As the seasons drift,
I accommodate the shift;
Embracing them all.
Feeling most alive during fall;
A time bright colors enthrall.
The wind touches me like an old friend.
Our movements dance and blend.
Arms with body sway as hands flutter around;
Flapping until they rest and fall down.
I may appear fragile;
A belief unfounded.
I am by nature;
Born well-grounded.
As birds and insects gently fly,
People sit or stand nearby
Admiring beauty, as if they see
An inner sweetness inside of me--
A commodity untapped and sought,
Without pride, I embrace that thought.
My arms branch out
Towards the southern skies,
Thankful for all it supplies.
In time my outer skin loosens and cracks with wear,
From the wind's motion and the sun's glare.
My girth is another rough gauge
Of the circles of years that determine my age.
Lovers have engraved their affection;
I am a part of life's connection.
And when my form of existence does cease...
Just as before I began, I will end in peace.
08/23/15
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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Barbara Campbell Poem
BE HAPPY
Choose your emotional tone,
With others or when alone.
The feelings we truly know,
Are not of another’s control.
Happiness within;
Lose, draw, or win.
Emotional health—
Is accepting oneself.
Behavioral inspection,
Absent rejection.
A non-critical detection,
Of lack of perfection.
The right to be wrong
Either weak or strong
The wisdom to say,
“Doesn’t have to go my way.”
Expression of your inner voice--
Happiness can be your choice.
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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Barbara Campbell Poem
I consume that aroma of fresh roasted coffee beans; Oh, that very first sip!
A perfect 205 degrees; steaming, but not so hot to burn one's lip.
It should be sweetened with sugar, but not overly sweet.
A couple or three teaspoons of "sugar in the raw," a treat.
The cream should be half and half, but never too milky.
A heavenly sensation, not too mild or strong; smooth and silky.
This caffeinated elixir that awakens the delicate buds on my tongue, is for me,
The anticipation of stimulation, craved by a person with adhd.
Barbara Campbell for contest, "Poems That did Not place and More" (coffee)
09/06/15
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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Barbara Campbell Poem
Pushes moves objects
Carries flowers lovely scent
Partner's rain snow sleet
Can touch can't be held
Presence not visibly seen
Complex paradox
Cooling blowing force
Invincibly powerful
Surfer's challenger
Nature's friend or foe
Unpredictable movement
Storm's mischief maker
Breath of life cries out
Energy generated
Cycle continues
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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Barbara Campbell Poem
SMILE
There was a pretty girl who never did smile;
Her annoying braces were hidden for a while.
When she was a pre-teen,
Her pale legs were never seen.
In adolescence, she hid all her glasses.
Unable to see well, did poorly in classes.
As an adult she refused to walk very far,
If she were to fall, there might be a scar.
At retirement age people would say,
“Give us the secret of looking your way.”
She proudly said, “As to wrinkles there’s not a trace;
Since I never smiled there’s not a line on my face.”
B. Campbell
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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Barbara Campbell Poem
I lived in a rural area until I was twenty years old. My home was adjacent to a farm where corn was grown and locally sold. Maples and pine trees clustered across from the uneven country road. I can still remember fragrance of flowers and pine that smelled so softy pretty. This pastoral scene was not far from the city. Only a few houses were near. Occasionally was spotted a rabbit or deer. A small number of cars passed. In the evening, their lights, amidst pitch darkness were cast. Unforgettable was the sight of fire flies blinking with their evening light.
A stream ran along a group of trees; a place forbidden, but as you know, that is exactly where children go. It was a few yards from the only childhood home I’ve known. My brother placed a board across the stream below. I was coaxed to go; moving cautiously slow. I trusted him; that is why, I still try. Not too far away was a little general store. The size did not matter, for there were candies and goodies galore. My sister and I engaged in all sorts of talk, as we took this freeing countryside walk. The threesome could sometimes be found playfully leaped around, and picked blackberries when seasonally found.
The house was quite small in size, and of three bedrooms comprised; my parents’, the one shared by my sister and me, and the other, for my brother. The dwelling still lives in my unconscious mind; I’m still there in dreams, where reality is blind. Arguments blemished the space, with memories stuck fast in place. There are also glimpses strong, where laughter belonged. That was the place where a dog named, Brownie, was born and lived thirteen years. My sister, older brother and I, with the saddest of tears, placed his large white tin bowl over his memory site. His name on the bottom; I was assigned to write. About two decades ago, the house was taken down without glory; part of my bitter- sweet childhood story. A spiritless group of professional offices now stand, on grounds, that once was my family's home and land.
09-04-15
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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Barbara Campbell Poem
Chameleon clouds
Tempting mesmerizing view
Pretty in pink shades
Kaleidoscope sky
Striking explosive colors
Majestic image
Dreamlike remote clouds
Uniquely asymmetric
Rorschach perceptions
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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Barbara Campbell Poem
Positioned at the end of a line
Or
Between one line and another
Preventing confusion and clutter
A traffic cop
Signaling to stop
Fewer mistakes made
If more attention paid
The sentence not written by me
I knew where I should be
End of story...period
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Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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Barbara Campbell Poem
Could anything transcend the seduction that permeates the kitchen
More than freshly baked cake?
I love to deeply inhale, fantasize; and then partake.
Anticipating the marvelous marriage of my sense of smell and taste,
My mouth starts to water… a slice to be embraced.
Dark chocolate, rich and moist, with just a touch of vanilla in the flour.
What could be more passionately devoured?
Yet, I staunchly refuse because I choose to savor
This gloriously sweet mixture of flavor,
Enticingly covered with vanilla butter cream.
Well, maybe just one morsel taken on my finger---
A cake lover’s dream.
09/16/15
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
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