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Johnny Cammish

Johnny Cammish

Shadows

It’s been said that
I’d love a shadow
If it smiled at me.
I smile and agree:
Talking to people
Online is like
Talking to shadows
And I met you
In person first -
I have seen you
In flesh and
I was awed
Even before your
Lips met mine
So if I can love
Your shadow -
I can love your all

Otras obras de Johnny Cammish...
Before the leaves were crushed underfoot

A sudden gust of wind and through a shiver I see a tree explode sparklike leaves shaken free a wide brimmed hat blocks the view
Diamond

Come now, don’t tell me to shine l… It’s cliché for one, and false for… Must I really quote the dictionar… Yes I will be 'that guy’. Is it so bad I like to be correct…
Love by Degrees

Through trouble taken, and confidence shaken, through stress and pain, hard work yet little gain, I have fret endlessly.
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Disruption

Syllables swim through your texts Perhaps not for you but I feel The rhythm, the pull, the give Back and forth and The pause.
Chains

I know your nightmare; nothing is… In life you linger, lost in dreams… You project pain far, poison what… All betray your best, banish what… So, wounded within, who can lift t…
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Coffee

Coffee is something of a ritual Standing tall, I repeat the mantr… “Flat White Please” Sometimes to go but best to stay As I sit and stare at your eyes
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Lakeside

Stood in the dark stopped on the pavement beneath th… that I can’t see but I know is th… because I can smell it. looking at the lights on the lake…
Blink

As I see her across the road, I want to call out ‘Wait!’ I dream of running after her, Of magically fixing things.
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Flint

I’m a flint head; impressionable And oh so crude Battered and worn by Her rough usage
'tis the little things

I spy a wrapper on the floor A small thing, hardly a major chor… And yet, no - it shall remain and cause strife and no small pain… It’s just a wrapper - but who’s?
Icarus

Wings of wax and feathers plucked From your breast (not literal, min… But it sure felt like I was flyin… We’d laugh and you’d call me Icar… Always in danger of being
Air

Listening to the gale blow, I recall the banshee of memory, Spectres of what was haunt my thoughts, And I recall the pain,
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You

In truth, There is no 'you’ You are but a lie, a clue You flatter yourself thinking, That my entire thought unceasing Is but on one individual,
 2
Socks

Socks have a good life. They spend their days on separate feet complimenting one another yet not pressed together;
 1
Morning

And then, waking the breathing slows And relaxes the tightly clenched jaw, unfold the huddle of limbs
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