Wednesday, September 1, 2021





The Redemption


My eyes green 

are 2 glass windows 

into the past. 

I keep the blinds 

pulled down tight. 

Carnell knowledge

is a Biblical definition of sin.

I live in darkness,

the shame of those early years.

I pull myself out

redemption in old age,

a savior,

before the grave,

I flatter myself

in a mirror, no reflection.



Alberta Bound (V4)


I own a gate to this prairie

that ends facing the Rocky Mountains.

They call it Alberta-

trails of endless blue sky

asylum of endless winters, 

the hermitage of indolent retracted sun.

Deep freeze drips haphazardly into spring. 

Drumheller, dinosaur badlands, dried bones, 

ancient hoodoos sculpt high, prairie toadstools.

Alberta highway 2 opens the gateway of endless miles.

Travel weary, I stop by roadsides, ears open to whispering pines.

In harmony North to South

Gordon Lightfoot pitches out a tune-

"Alberta Bound."

With independence in my veins, 

I am a long way from my home.



Tiny Sparrow Feet (V2)


It's calm.

Cheeky, unexpected.

Too quiet.

My clear plastic bowls 

serves as my bird feeder.

I don't hear the distant

scratching, shuffling 

of tiny sparrow feet, 

the wing dances, fluttering, of a hungry

morning's lack of big band sounds.

I walk tentatively to my patio window,

spy the balcony with my detective's eyes.

I witness three newly hatched 

toddler sparrows, curved nails, mounted

deep, in their mother's dead, decaying back.

Their childish beaks bent over elongated,

delicately, into golden chips, and dusted yellow corn.



Beach Boys, Dance


They dance and drum to their songs.

Boogaloo Boys, Beach Boys, still band members die. 

Revolts and rebellion always end in peace, left for the living. 

Even the smoking voice of Carl Wilson dies

with a canary inside his cancerous throat called "Darlin."

Dennis Wilson, hitchhiking, panhandling with the devil Charles Manson,

toying with heroin, he's just too much trouble to live.

Check their history of the living and the dead; 

you will find them there, minor parts and pieces

musical notes stuck in stone wall cracks,

imbibe alcohol, cocaine.

Names fade, urns toss to sea

dump all lives brief memories,

bingo, no jackpot.




MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage County, Illinois. Mr. Johnson is published in more than 2033 new publications. His poems have appeared in 42 countries; he edits and publishes ten poetry sites. He is the administrator of six Facebook poetry groups; he has several new poetry chapbooks coming out soon. He has over 533 published poems to date. Michael Lee Johnson has been nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards poetry 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016/2 Best of the Net 2017, 2 Best of the Net 2018.  231 poetry videos are now on YouTube

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