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Troy Camplin
167 followers -
Interdisciplinary Scholar, Poet, and Playwright
Interdisciplinary Scholar, Poet, and Playwright

167 followers
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On Patterned Ground
The rocks are richly ranged in round Through looping layers lifting leaps Of swirls that swell in swings and sweeps. Are flying fairies' feathers found, Their cries increasing? Credit creeps Through looping layers lifting leaps Of swirls that swell in swing...

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On History
The restless river runs deep red While on the bank the people glance With love, make children, song, and dance. They come, enjoy the festive spread--- The river tries to make a trance--- While on the bank the people glance With love, make children, song, an...

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Rivalrous Planning
Blood is blinding, bleating blackened Rivers. Read around. The rivals Lust for long and limber ladies Mocking manly murmurs mild. But Horses heft their humans -- Hades Fires flash and form the fairies Winging where they wish we were -- Dragons drink then, d...

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On the Value of a Poem
This poem isn't worth a dime. It's not!-- No one will pay me--magazines will send Their thanks--and when I see my poem hot Off of the presses, that's where it will end. But do not worry, some will say--the day A person pays for poetry with cash Your poems w...

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A World in Fragments
You look at me and you don't see it---I Seem just like you, or maybe I look worse, Or better---I'm a white man---do you see So many others just like me? Deny Your eyes---they lie---I differ---that's a curse To you---I have a mind you try to flee. You see in...

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Beyond the Two
I've conquered you to bring you peace-this war Was for the follies you embrace--let go And in your freedom you will not be poor- I've saved you from yourself so you can grow. Don't hold on to your shabby, wretched home For if you do you'll be put in the g...

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I Hear the Trumpet Calling
I hear the trumpet calling all the souls To bathe in trumpery for all their sins And take the trump to make sure each one wins. Each digs around to find the frigid coals That will not warm the water in tin bins To bathe in trumpery for all their sins And ta...

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The Coming Winter
We've lain in luxury for much too long, Transformed ourselves to snowflakes, finding wrong In every tiny thing---our weakness winds Through every aspect of our lives---our minds Are melting, slush. We're neither manly nor Womanly---we're serious and soul-po...

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What You're Not
You're not a poet--do not be ashamed You're not a poet--very few can sing Or play an instrument, compose a song Or symphony, or paint a picture, draw Realistically or write a novel, play, Or television show, or act on stage Or in a film or on the television...

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I am the Poet
I am the poet in the tree Up hear no one comes after me I'm free, a flea upon my knee I am the poet in the tree I am the poet in the bush And here my lyrics need a push There is a thorn here in my tush I am the poet in the bush I am the poet in the grass I'...
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