Confessions of a Handyman

Confessions of a Handyman
by Mike Camp

The latest collection of poems by Mike Camp. Divided into four sections, it deals generally within the areas of Love Stories, Religion, Nature and then Everything Else.

Mike Camp's artistic endeavours expand far beyond poetry to include sculpting, metal working, painting, and can be seen on his website at Mike Camp Designs. Also by Mike Camp: Tales of a Handyman

Table of Contents Here || Sample Poem Here

ISBN: 978-1-927541-45-6 | WMPub#1144 | 5½" x 85" | 68 pages; trade paper | $14.95


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I. Love Stories

One More Time

A Single Line

I Made It Through

The Visit

Be Careful With That Letter

Number 10

I Bid You Goodbye Most Reluctantly

If You Can Find

To Nicole

Will You Never Leave Me?

Never Once Did I Dance With You

II. Nature

The Slaughter of the Innocents

Springtime

Hands

One Gallon of Hot Water

What Did You Do Before You Were Born?

Homesteader Blues

My Silent Friend

I Really Miss

Bears

Tortured Waters

My Little Cabin

III. Religion

2010 A.D.

A Child's Prayer

For Richard Dawkens

Christmas Prayer, 1992

I Saw Christ Hitch-hiking

One Small Request

A Special Occasion Prayer

Cast Away

IV. Everything Else

The Quebec Ice Storm

In Memory of John Barry

I'm Afraid

The Cup of Cappuccino

Henry's Carriage

I Hate All Music

The Brown Bean Crock

I Got Me A Gold Claim in the Yukon

Middle Class Angst


A Single Line
By Mike Camp

A photographic memory, completely unrequested,
Engraves the faces, figures, and Iandscape vistas,
Upon the permanent copper ground,
Of my most willing subconscious.
That same random talent, carved in stone,
Your breath and kiss and caress and moan,
Activating ghosts of skin and thighs and succulent lips,
Emphasizing my present aching emptiness.
Even though it could never have lasted,
Because of major, emotions contrasted,
How do you physically erase this line,
Mortally cut, into the receptive metal of my mind?
A line which starts out ever so innocently,
And changes, always so relentlessly,
Into a limb and a face, a figure and embrace,
And finally, unfailingly, into a tortured tear.
A line...
A single, God-damn, heart-breaking line.
If I could but erase that single line,
The rest of your image would become unfixed,
And, free at last, made to fade, finally and forever, away.
I feel that soon I shall find this solvent,
And I will apply it with wild abandonment,
In joy at emerging from three years of darkness,
And I promise you, when this comes to pass,
I shall never cast, even a single fleeting glance...
In your direction again.



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