Jeffrey McCambridge was born in Grand Rapids Michigan at 3: 30 in the morning as stars shot overhead, and has since then been on a quest to find the greatest light known to man through poetry and words. more »
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Jeffrey McCambridge Poems
Dance of Dreams
We dance with the rhythm Of leaves and grass Wind in the trees And lakes of grass.
We wear black to remember A day we rather forget; We lost one of our own The unsuspecting target.
In Loving Memory (Sean Bell)
When the sky matches the day And things seem to be in balance Because the heavens are a dark gray Our hearts are weighted down
Door of no Return
I stare at the door of no return Leading to the path of Free Fred Steel pulsing through my veins
I He sits upon his thrown Free of metaphor and myth
The Magic of Numbers (Ten Fingers)
What type of magic Is there in the names We give numbers?
Los Bebos Anaranjados
The wheels have been stopped And the machinery no longer works Like it once had, in the days of gold, Long since gone by.
Lilies in the Field
The ink is long since dry And the pens are all gone The eyes have stopped looking It’s been written so long.
Blossoms of Heaven
I tread ashes and amber flowers Lilly hills, and melancholy truths As the ritual of my legs Is preformed with fatal accuracy
Reflections on the Pool
The night sinks below the horizon To dance alone with the stars (I wait for you, my love with an empty heart)
Please Don't Rain On My People
The poet dreams As he makes his way Through streets paved With the screams of children.
Three Quarters (3/4)
The silence of night pulls at the strings of my heart. her dark expanse
Between the hidden fruits And secret fires The untamed mists clear A paths, lightly tread
Now i'm afraid my dear The end of the party is near And It is time for the guests To depart to with the rest
Comments about Jeffrey McCambridge
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Dance of Dreams
We dance with the rhythm
Of leaves and grass
Wind in the trees
And lakes of grass.
Flow like the breeze
On a cool summers day
Tall like mountains
Deep like the valley.
Now that I’ve found it
Together we dance
Through the trees, greens
And mounds of ants;
Until the day
The wind blows you away
Or the rivers flow
Takes you out to sea;
In another world
How perfect it would seem
In more than my dream.