Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam War era. He is a Canadian and USA citizen. Today he is a poet, editor, publisher, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, Illinois. He has been published in numerous small press magazines in 27 countries, and edits 10 poetry sites. He is the author of "The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom" and several chapbooks. He has posted poetry videos on YouTube (https://www.youtube,com/user/poetrymanusa/videos.) Visit his Facebook Poetry Group and join https://www/facebook.com/groups/807679459328998/. His website is at http://poetryman.mysite.com/.
The Seasons and the Slants
I live my life inside my patio window.
It’s here, at my business desk I slip
into my own warm pajamas and slippers-
seek Jesus, come to terms
with my own cross and brittle conditions.
Outside, winter night turns to winter storm,
the blue jay, cardinal, sparrows and doves
go into hiding, away from the razor whipping winds,
behind willow tree bare limb branches-
they lose their faces in somber hue.
Their voices at night abbreviate
and are still, short like Hemingway sentences.
With this poetic mind, no one cares
about the seasons and the slants
the wind or its echoes.
California Summer
Coastal warm breeze
off Santa Monica, California
the sun turns salt
shaker upside down
and it rains white smog, humid mist.
No thunder, no lightening,
nothing else to do
except sashay
forward into liquid
and swim
into eternal days
like this.
Common Church Poem
Sitting here in this pew
splinters in my butt
I spend hours in silent prayer.
I beg Jesus for a quiet life.
Breathing here is so serene.
Sounds of vespers, so beautiful
dagger, so alone, unnoticed.
You can hear Saints
clear their eardrums
Q-Tips cleanse mine.
I hear their scandals
I review mine.
From the dawn, dusty skies
comes the time when
the eagle flies-
without thought,
without aid of wind,
like a kite detached without string,
the eagle in flight leaves no traces,
no trails, no roadways-
never a feather drops
out of the sky.
~Michael Lee Johnson
The Seasons and the Slants
I live my life inside my patio window.
It’s here, at my business desk I slip
into my own warm pajamas and slippers-
seek Jesus, come to terms
with my own cross and brittle conditions.
Outside, winter night turns to winter storm,
the blue jay, cardinal, sparrows and doves
go into hiding, away from the razor whipping winds,
behind willow tree bare limb branches-
they lose their faces in somber hue.
Their voices at night abbreviate
and are still, short like Hemingway sentences.
With this poetic mind, no one cares
about the seasons and the slants
the wind or its echoes.
California Summer
Coastal warm breeze
off Santa Monica, California
the sun turns salt
shaker upside down
and it rains white smog, humid mist.
No thunder, no lightening,
nothing else to do
except sashay
forward into liquid
and swim
into eternal days
like this.
Common Church Poem
Sitting here in this pew
splinters in my butt
I spend hours in silent prayer.
I beg Jesus for a quiet life.
Breathing here is so serene.
Sounds of vespers, so beautiful
dagger, so alone, unnoticed.
You can hear Saints
clear their eardrums
Q-Tips cleanse mine.
I hear their scandals
I review mine.
Flight of the Eagle
From the dawn, dusty skies
comes the time when
the eagle flies-
without thought,
without aid of wind,
like a kite detached without string,
the eagle in flight leaves no traces,
no trails, no roadways-
never a feather drops
out of the sky.
~Michael Lee Johnson
