http://slow.writerscafe.org/Shemena The original writings of author Shemena Campbell en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776057288 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Angriest poem I've ever written; about toxic people I couldn't shake. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/1779041/ I am reluctant to leaveThe songs that I hearThat hang in the air likeDragonflies and arrows,Child hums and whispers.You will have to walk to meThis time, because I am Enchanted by what I have minedIn your absence, and I can'tJust now shift my gaze.There is nothing in the distanceAs stunning as the d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/1225216/ About being freaking out instead of admitting, about being found out, about the virtue of weakness. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/1029595/ "Why are you explaining? I'm not confused." http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/829155/ I don't want to be loved.I want to be coveted.I want it notedHow my back archesWhen I pick up a child.I want to be translatedTo pressure on chest rising upward.I don't want soliloquyNot parsed to an intakeOf breath passing tensePassage to lungs.Be quiet, I already knowwhat's important to meAbout you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/695439/ Observations from an ICU http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688439/ Depth can swallow you whole.For some earned,For me a thing thrown,Not placed, and hence nothing speaksLike grace.So, how easy to loosen my grasp onAny intruder who wouldPull out the garbage hoarded under the sink.But I don’t, I don’t.I get away with nothing. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688438/ I like to sit on the edge of cold rocksBy the sea and listen to slow notesSung deep in the throat, and I'd doThings that reduce me toHear it fight with the wavesThat slam up toward my feet like a drunk man'sFist toward a chin outside a bar at 3am.It culminates in something like silen.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688437/ There was a woman who crossed the streetIn front of my car todayAnd she walked past my pathIntersected meProud in her decayBut not really luminous In her age.She was thin.This was right after coffeeOn the garden roof with you;Deli sandwiches in the hands of secret sharersCa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688431/ We Americans, we United StatersWe freeway skatersWe have made true Alexander's febrile dream,A fitful sleep, collective and willingBarbarians, all of us one. We Americans, we glad hands,We weal the land, We course the wounds in our cars andThey do not heal, but they do no.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688430/ I'm a tangent line, the string is broken,And I don't mind.My breasts are heavy,And everything I carryIn my arms, and on my backThey're heavy.Soft, softly those fingers,Soft and small on my palm,So gentle,They press the hours away,Away, and quiet the minute,From slow to still... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688393/ I used to dream about Bucky Balls,When I was stressed about the future,Great (soccer) balls of carbon ringsJailed me, but it felt like ridicule.I would run my fingers alongImaginary (pencil) lines,That made hexagons of energy,Discrete and symmetric,And they felt like electric shocks... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688392/ Conducted out to the peripheryTo unneeded, useless placesJust like all the others, all of themBrimming with clinging,StingingAspiration.Here is a pathAnd a promise of sortsOf being heard above the multitudesMaking the same noise -UnlikelyOf course.We are not wanderingCh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688391/ I hope I can find itIn these small distractions.The glimpses out of the windowOf stone silo, furrowed soilAs I push into perfect fifth.That one picture of you,That wedge of blue.And snow suspendedDirectly under street lightsAnd over small, slender handsHolding red plastic flags.A sweet, smooth, soft.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688384/ Every year of my life,Winter has relented like divorce.Sloppy, undignified,The rage of a drunk wife supplantedBy what was inevitable,The sweet breath of springLike a fingertipSlow and cunning on the back of our necks.And that first glittersnow thatHypnotized us with beauty awe,That memory only serve.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Shemena/688382/