I Age (V2)
Arthritis and
aging make it hard,
I walk gingerly,
with a cane, and walk
slow, bent
forward, fear threats,
falls, fear
denouement─
I turn pages, my
family albums
become a task.
But I can still
bake and shake,
sugar cookies,
sweet potato,
lemon meringue
pies.
Alone, most of
my time,
but never on
Sundays,
friends and
communion,
United Church of
Canada.
I chug a few
down,
love my Blonde
Canadian Pale Ale,
Copenhagen long
cut a pinch of snuff.
I can still
dance the Boogie-woogie,
Lindy Hop in my
living room
with my nursing
care home partner.
Aging has left
me with youthful dimples,
but few
long-term promises.
Crypt in the Sky (V2)
Order me up,
no one knows
where this crypt
in the sky
like a condo on
the 5th floor
suite don’t sell
me out
over the years;
please don’t
bury me beneath
this ground,
don’t let me decay
inside my time
pine casket.
Don’t let me
burn to cremate
skull last to
turn to ashes.
Treasure me high
where no one goes,
no arms reach,
stretch.
Building for the
Centuries
then just let it
fall.
These few
precious dry bones
preserved for
you, sealed in the cloud
no relocation is
necessary,
no flowers need
to be planted,
no dusting off
that dust each year,
no sinners can
reach this high.
Jesus’ heaven,
Jesus’ sky.
Note: Dedicated to the passing of beloved Katie
Balaskas.
Priscilla, Let’s Dance (V2)
Priscilla,
Puerto Rican songbird,
an island jungle
dancer, Cuban heritage,
rare parrot, a
singer survivor near extinction.
She sounds off
on notes, music her
vocals hearing
background bongos,
piano keys,
Cuban horns.
Quote the verse
patterns,
quilt the pieces
skirt bleeds,
then blend
colors to light a tropical prism.
Steamy Salsa, a
little twist, cha-cha-cha
dancing rhythms
of passions, sacred these islands.
Everything she
has is movement
tucked nice and
tight but explosive.
She mimics these
ancient sounds
showing her
ribs, her naked body.
Her ex-lovers
remain nightmares
pointed daggers,
so criminal, so stereotyped.
Priscilla
purifies her dreams with repentance.
She pours her
heart out, everything
condensed to the
bone, petite boobies,
cheap bras,
flamboyant G-strings.
Her vocabulary
is that of sin and Catholicism.
Island
hurricanes form her own Jesus
slants of hail,
detonate thunder,
the collapse of
hell in her hands after midnight.
Priscilla
remains a background rabble-rouser,
almost
remorseful, no apologies
to the counsel
of Judas
wherever he
hangs.
Willow Tree Poem (V2)
Wind dancers
dancing to the
willow wind,
lance-shaped
leaves
swaying right to
left
all day long.
I’m depressed.
Birds hanging
on-
bleaching
feathers
out into
the sun.
MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON
MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON lived ten years in
Canada during the Vietnam era. Today he is a poet in the greater Chicagoland
area, IL. He has 283 YouTube poetry
videos. Michael Lee Johnson is an internationally published poet in 44
countries, a song lyricist, has several published poetry books, has been
nominated for 6 Pushcart Prize awards, and 6 Best of the Net nominations. He is
editor-in-chief of 3 poetry anthologies, all available on Amazon, and has
several poetry books and chapbooks. He has over 453 published poems. Michael is
the administrator of 6 Facebook Poetry groups. Member Illinois State Poetry
Society: http://www.illinoispoets.org/. Do not forget to consider me for Best
of the Net or Pushcart nomination!
No comments :
Post a Comment