The RedemptionBy Michael Lee JohnsonMy eyes green
are 2 glass windows
into the past.
I keep the blinds
pulled down tight.
Carnal 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 BoundClick to listen to Alberta Bound
Alberta Bound (V4)
By Michael Lee JohnsonI 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 FeetListen to Michael read ‘Tiny Sparrow Feet’
Tiny Sparrow Feet (V2)
By Michael Lee JohnsonIt'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 BoysListen to Michael read from ‘Beach Boys, Dance’
Beach Boys, DanceBy Michael Lee JohnsonThey 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
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. 233 poetry videos are now on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos. Editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762; editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses available here https://www.amazon.com/dp/1545352089. Editor-in-chief Warriors with Wings: The Best in Contemporary Poetry, http://www.amazon.com/dp/1722130717.
Star addicted
Looking up in the sky
I miss those
Who missed me
And those
Who were my dears
I forget drink and hunger
I keep my eyes stable
I observe each movement of star
From the roof of my house
By looking into it
I travel from hell to the heaven
Suddenly, a noise distract me from heaven
So, I come to the hell again
When i see around me it's been morning
And mom is awaking me with a cup of coffee
Stars make my dreams sweet
Really, stars are priceless
That's why I always sleep with stars
Without stars, I can't sleep
So, I have been addicted from it.
The Untitled
rocks and I
are found often
in unexpected places
a shoulder of a road
a shelf in a book case
we don't get along with others
we don't expect much
we aren't courageous
rocks and I
are often referred to
as things like
he is hard to get to know
or it has no name
he is common
it has no shape
you've heard of
rocks come from mountains
you can find them at their bases
I come from the sun
I came here once
and refused to return
Spotting Robert Creeley on Allen Street
I find it hard
to imagine him
in a grandstand
sitting with everyone
looking down
squinting to see
that agon explicitly
his mind is on
other things
certainly the grass
the mound count in
but circumspectly
he knows love
and speaks of it
not as fans do uncomfortably
he brings to it scrutiny
in every word gives it
due and you rackingly
feel as alone as
you are meant to
At a time when many Americans feel that we may finally, after over 150 years, be coming to some form of recognition of the Black experience, Michael J. Robinson’s From Chains to Freedom gives voice to the pain and loss suffered by so many long ago. Only time will tell if this moment will be the change we are seeking but Michael’s poems will live on, regardless.
The poems here are tightly constructed images of the slave experience with the sea and salvation the only comforting companions to the world they were forced into.
This collection provides a history and imagery that cannot be forgotten. They are designed to be reread and reconsidered for their messages. Recently poetry has enjoyed popular recognition with several collections nudging out novels on the NY Times bestseller list. Hopefully this interest will extend to such vital collections as From Chains to Freedom as it a work that deserves to be recognized. It serves as a historical reminder of an American mindset that is too easily misrepresented in our culture. It brings the pain of the past to the present.
Success
To get you,
I clash a lot,
I gazed many times
while dreaming of you !!
I honoured you,
And questioned
"Why I am standing here?"
Finally, I came to know, only to get you !!
I came to know,
It isn't easy to get you,
So, I promised myself,
I never resist my dream because of you !!
To get you,
I was just like lunatic,
I couldn't analyse it.
"Who am I ?"
It wasn't detrimental,
To get you,
but wasn't easy to get you !!
I decline my incline,
I think it was your omen,
To me,
to be grabbed by me !!
I never get noble,
I always rushed,
To get you,
To the rowdy,
you are rare.
But to me,
Without you I am bare.!!
With the grace of god,
I want you,
And can't express my joy to be the devotee of you !!
