MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON
IRANIAN POETRY LADY
(V2)
The first time I saw your face,
cosmetic images, dust, dirt, determination
fell across your exiled face. Coal smoke lifted with your simple words and
short poems.
Your meaning drawn across a black
board of past, rainbows, future
fragment, still in the shadows.
Muhammad, Jesus twins, only one
forms a hallo alone.
One screams love, drips candle wax,
lights life, shakes, love.
I encrust your history in the
Ginkgo tree, deliverance.
I wrap in the branches the whispers
in your ears a new beginning.
I am the landscape of your future
walk soft peddle on green grass.
I will take you there. I am your poet, your lead, freedom clouds
move over then on.
I review no spelling, grammar
errors; I lick your envelope, finish, stamp place on.
Down with age I may go, but I offer
this set of wings I purchased at a thrift store.
I release you in south wind,
storms, and warm in spring, monarch butterflies.
Your name scribbles in gold script.
Night, mysteries, follow handle,
your own.
HARVEST TIME
(V8)
A Métis lady, drunk-
hands folded, blanketed as in
prayer
over a large brown fruit basket
naked of fruit, no vine, no
vineyard
inside-approaches the Edmonton,
Alberta adoption agency.
There are only spirit gods
inside her empty purse.
Inside the basket, an infant,
restrained from life,
with a fruity winesap apple
wedged like a teaspoon
of autumn sun
inside its mouth.
A shallow pool of tears mounts
in his native baby blue eyes.
Snuffling, the mother offers
a slim smile, turns away.
She slithers voyeuristically
through near slum streets
and alleyways,
looking for drinking buddies
to share a hefty pint
of applejack wine.
CHEATERS
(V3)
I am tired of cheaters
online, weary eyed crossword
players complicated chest moves
drift dancers, lies, laid soft
peddle,
shared pillow, dark closet
dreamers.
Campaign gossip whispers,
infidelity, sex objects shoved up
orifices
in open or private places.
Sex shops open late, consummation
nightclubs, cities dark corners.
Two doctrines of selfishness
you should know about
penises and affairs most are short.
Flesh and fights, scabs, cheaters
in the night.
ONE-LEGGED GOOSE
You see me in the parking lot
hobbling, avoiding cars.
I am that one-legged Canadian goose
guest of the wild.
You toss me a handful of mixed
birdfeed.
I am your morning wing flapper
picking up leftovers
by sparrows brown wing doves, yet
grateful for charity.
I learn to survive dipped in red
resister North then South
traveler, lifelong, mute to
borders, I cross the line.
I thank you poet, bouquet,
crossword flowers
gusty winds mix carnations.
Cheap, reasonable costs in depth,
death, within religions,
tones of god Zeus, one space to
Mary wept.
Those cheap carnations at the foot
of the cross.
One-legged goose singled out.
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
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