--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
in the winter blues
 
stuck in another
waiting room
 
heat raging in
the winter blues
 
coat rack full
 
my imagination
hoping something
young walks in
soon
 
i don't think it
wants to dream
about the wrinkling
skin under three
layers of clothes
fresh out of some
vacuum space
saving bag
 
although,
it certainly has
dreamed of worse
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
plenty of happiness
 
honesty hurts
 
laughter doesn't
cure shit
 
money can buy
you plenty of
happiness
 
true love does
have a fucking
price
 
cheaters always
get ahead faster
 
and death is
a relief
 
it's up to the
user if it is
sweet or not
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i never asked to be born
 
on the cranky
days
 
i remind myself
i never asked to
be born
 
then i'll think
of my father
and the worms
six feet under
the ground
 
the anniversary
of the day we
put that fucker
down there is
coming up
 
suddenly
 
a smile
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
past any sense of reason

there's a darkness 
deep inside of me
that every blue 
moon or so wants 
to come out and 
play

stir some shit up

push the envelope 
well past any sense 
of reason

this is where i always 
tend to hold back the 
desires and do my best 
to just play it cool

but one of these days

they might as well get
the riot gear ready

madness has no timetable
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
high heels
 
the sound of high heels
on tile floors
 
scratches that itch i will
always have in the back
of my brain
 
of a long-legged queen
digging those heels in
my chest
 
with a skirt on short
enough that i can enjoy
the view as i embrace
the pain

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Yellow Mama, The Beatnik Cowboy, Terror House Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

When I must leave you for a little while, 
Please do not grieve and shed wide tears
Hug your sorrow, for I have gone to fetch for you.
Live and do all things the same
A day will come when you will feed your loneliness with gladness.
Remember, before bringing me forth 
In your arms you taught me to never lose sight even when time seems helpless
You guard me jealously like a Guinea fowl that guards her eggs.
When hospitals were far, you painfully brought out with gladness
A day shall come,
When your product will be in demand,
When others will look forward to seeing and shake hand with your production

You give me a life and a world
A day shall come when you will gladly see joy at you feet
And by your side, there's nothing we cannot beat
Sad are the hearts that love you
Silent the tears that fall
Living my heart without you is the hardest part of it all
It is with heavy heart and tears in my eyes
To think of the fact the way I came
A day shall come when your hand will reach out in comfort and in cheer
And I shall gladly sit by you and hold you near.

Song Title: Sands of Time 
Genre: Reggae

Chorus
Sands of Time (4ce)


Verse 1

As I examined what’s happening around me, 
I’m left with no choice than to re-evaluate my thinking 
Oh yea, Oh Yea (4ce)
The truth staring angrily at me
Staggering situations my eyes can’t bear
Excruciations my heart has endured
Frustrations becoming a part of me
My cold treatments to people around me
The failure that I’ve become
The losses I’ve encountered
My hopes being dashed
I began to ask to ask myself:
Would you leave those vices in the 
Sands of Time (4ce)

Verse 2

I expressed my dissatisfaction through my reggae music
Oh yea, Oh yea (4ce)
My left and right side brain made active
Feeling no pain but sweet sensation
Melodies pure and flowing
Sounds of courage being heard
Ray of hope arising
The healing power manifesting
The love that’s assuring
The brightness of freedom
Peace that’s bounding
Make me see the possibility of leaving the positive vibes in the
Sands of Time (4ce)

Verse 3

The world is witnessing catastrophes
Oh yea Oh yea (4ce)
People dying
Diseases and starvation abounding
Rights denied with no justice
Truths fast becoming myths
The yearning for materialism on the rise
Leaders clueless about the future 
But through my music,
Sharing the optimism of hope
Illuminating humanity rightly
Seeing the right to posterity

Are what I will leave in the:
Sands of Time (4ce)

My Life

By Michael Lee Johnson

 

My life began with a skeleton 

with a smile and bubbling eyes

in my garden of dandelions.

Everything else fell off the edge,

a jigsaw puzzle piece cut in half.

When young, I pressed

against my mother’s breast,

but youthful memories fell short.

I tried at 8 to kiss my father, 

but he was a welder, fox hunter,

coon hunter, and voyeuristic man.

My young life was a mixture

of black, white, dark dreams,

and mellow yellow sun bright hopes.

Rewind, sunshine was a stranger

in dandelion fields,

shadows in my eyes.

I grabbed my injured legs

leap forward into the future.

I’m now a vitamin C boy

it keeps me immured

from catching colds or Covid-19.

Everything now still leaks, in parts,

but I press forward.

Jesus and How 

He Must Have Felt (V3)

 

Staggering out Wee-Willy's

dumpy dive bar, droopy eyes,

my feelings desensitizing,

confusing my avocado fart,

at 3:20 a.m., with last night

splash on Brut aftershave.

Whispering to my outcast

self-sounding is more like pending death.

My body detaching from myself,

numbed by winter's fingers.

I creak up these outside stairs

to my apartment after an all-night drunk,

cheap Tesco's Windsor Castle

London Dry Gin—on the rocks.

I thought of Jesus

how He must have felt

during His resurrection

dragging His holy body

up that endless stairwell

spiraling toward heaven.

Most Poems

By Michael Lee Johnson

 

Most poems are pounded out

in emotional flesh, sometimes

physical skin scalped feelings.

It’s a Jesus hanging on a cross

a Mary kneeling at the bottom

not knotted in love but roped,

a blade of a bowie knife

heavenward.

I look for the kicker line

the close at the bottom

seek a public poetry forum

to cheer my aspirations on.

I hear those faraway voices

carrying my life away-

a retreat into insanity.

Poets in the Rain (V4)

By Michael Lee Johnson

 

All poets are crazy. Listen to them soak

sponge in early rain medley notes sounding off.

Crazy, and suicidal, we know who they are:

Edgar Allan Poe, Sylvia Plath, Dylan Thomas

the drunk, Anne Sexton, Teasdale.

This group grows a Pinocchio nose.

At times I capture you here under control.

I want to inspect you.

All can be found in faith once

now gone in time.

With all your concerns, I see

your eyes layered in shades of green,

confused within you about me.

Forgive me; I’m just a touch

of wild pepper, dry Screaming Eagle

Cabernet Sauvignon, and dying selfishly.  

We don’t know if it is all worth it.

I have refined my image, and my taste

continues to thrust inside your crevices.

Templates of hell break loose thunder, belches, and anomie.

Asteroid Ceres looks like you are passing gas,

exposes her buttocks, and moves on just like ice

on a balmy rock just like yours.

I will wait centuries, like critics, to review

this fecund body of yours-

soiled, then poppies,

poetry in the rain.

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 272 YouTube poetry videos. Michael Lee Johnson is an internationally published poet in 44 countries, has several published poetry books, has been nominated for five Pushcart Prize awards and six Best of the Net nominations. 

He is editor-in-chief of three poetry anthologies, all available on Amazon, and has several poetry books and chapbooks. He has over 443 published poems. Michael is the administrator of six Facebook Poetry groups. Member of the Illinois State Poetry Society. Do not forget to consider me for Best of the Net or Pushcart nomination!

For Good Health

Nothing

is more real

than music

in silence

and silence

in music

fortissimo

snuff box

blaring

Gesundheit!!!

Dog

your very footsteps

wobbly

into the future

waft

like a billowing

consciousness

small

among the groovy

solaces

of your mind.







Tri-annual Sprout


Sometimes it’s like

those two guys discussing

between themselves

when it’s just me

three gorging on my

reflection in the mirror.






Half Wit’s Domain


Raised (like free range poultry)

on a diet of

“stupid son of a bitch”

and all the fixin’s

I never measured

a small man

in a normal sized body

for Japan or Vietnam

little big man moniker

followed me in fights

I’d win

lose on purpose

pulp

danger took me places

power dynamics

in confined places

infighting

head butting

the groin

bashing

gouging

wise men

fear to tread.

-------------



circularity

deepy
dishy




mentioning a

coarse ribbon
gazoo




pylon wave

ha / ha

ah-woo
zing!




building &

stamped passport
you’re now

a bldg




dealt-a-force

ducked
or

deal



-------------



bio/graf

J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poems have appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of ten print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *Cinderella City* (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). Nelson’s first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead*, published by Post-Asemic Press in December 2022. Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Colorado, USA.