we came together
more like a dragonfly
with torn wings,
essentially broken
yet able to find colors,
in a world, weakened with grays

i am still Melbourne
tied and bound,
unwashed city with
fewer clean spaces
than you remember

the sacrificial pot,
boiled and scrubbed,
we dipped toes in
and painted references
to holy light
from the twilight of stars

or it was the telescope
pointed into the universe,
from your room,
giving me astral
predictions

The long wait,
can not leave this place
to far in between
how much more
can I take,

I can hear
Mr. Jones knocking
at my door
hands begin to shake
is there no escape

Blood pulsating
need screaming
in my head
YES, YES, yes,
NO!!
where is the out

what must I do
to be rid of this burden
who goes by the name
of Mr. Jones

"body aching,
have the shakes
Jones coming down"

.
dwelling:
a shady hovel

furnished:
single bed
orange crate
and a cardboard box

a dimwicked porch lamp
foretelling
no solicitors of friendship

left alone
sparring with thoughts
...about thought
from mute books
that can never take back their words
stalking
and hounding
their cagy ways
until "gotcha, you slickery little weasels
snagged by your own glibby tales"

a deep breath ensues
a soothing sigh of relief

the mystery is still unresolved

Sometimes I feel
like a sad sack-
a worn out old man
with clown facial wrinkles.
I know when I reflect,
stare out my window
at the snow falling
from my bed,
my back to yours,
reflecting on my pain-
ignoring yours-
I isolate your love,
lose your touch
to another-
forgetting,
it is our bed,
not mine,
that I lie in.

-1999-

Leaves in December
By Michael Lee Johnson

Had I listened as the chickadee sang of winter's coming, I would have let my line stay cast a bit longer on those lazy summer days, or netted a few more salmon in the cold spring waters. But I was mustered in the deck of love's cards, feeling my own drizzle within lake shimmer and skies as blue as Egyptian Lapis.

Oh she was a beauty, all tanned and tall, red and black wool shirt, those short denim shorts and hiking boots that made her hips lift and fall just a bit more than required. I often wonder if she knew – probably. She was a smart cat.

You got your pocket full of ten-dollar words,
all precise and proper,
way too educated for a man like me ...

except;
I can see the want-to in your look,
the squirm in your seat,
where the shiver-me-here
is apparent ...

and me;
unable to contain myself,
the whisper of words is all that's left ...
I want you

“When my pain is bleak
And relief is fleeing
My thoughts become weak
With recklessness”

“Agony brings infamy
To my heart of pain
And the peace of Christ
Excels my thought of rashness”

“And meds for coping
Lessens my sadness
Lower my woes
Of high duress”

“And peace from within
Derived from up high
Quiet my thoughts
Of suicide”

There are times when you say no,
when long hours of work and fatigue
conspire to take away your passion,
negating all desires you have for me.

These are days frustrating,
hapless interludes in busy lives
neither patience nor acceptance
can lighten or assuage,

For then my need is hurtful
and desire unrequited, this passion
I have for you as far from
being fulfilled as it can ever be,

The trees are so active today
fanning the air and clouds around
as if they are all in a fray
and throwing pine cones to the ground

All the birds must prove their skill
at landing on the limbs which sway
whether on ridge or tiny rill
earning hazardous flight pay

The air is filled with pollen's haze
as tree pods release their loads
which will settle down for days
on ground, cars and even toads

if i were there
i would tell you

winter is facing up
to its past mistakes

no rain
turned to
damp meadows with
muddied hooves

if you were here
you would say

i've never lived
a discontented season
but you are not shakespeare
and i am not grieving

a death i did not feel

past mistakes find themselves
buried like tall oaks
we can chop them down
but the roots live

rotting where we cannot see them