The Poetry Marathon

Think, quick nap before I drink

brew, slow cool, askew

score, unfinished, beneath snores.

– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022

The stand, but not upright, uptight

letting fatigue drag me where it may

leaning against structures at night

spewing words, streaming plays

off the page, it makes no sense

over cobblestones, under a fence

how could I let them get away?

demand them return,

but stubborn, they stay

too exhausted to will them back

they frolic and tease me, slip in cracks

confusion blocks my only stand

my body buckling with sleep’s frond

waves will away, like a wand

but then, I cry, ‘please do return

so you may help my poem burn!’

listening then, my words now stand

back on the paper

clutched firm in my hand.

– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022

Trapped betwixt the woods and swamp

the truck is broken, stopped

like a love now stumped, bumped

tenderness began this mess

or lack of it, long after white dress

no more caress, relations either

bi-yearly, except for something other

allowed, but now an addict’s problem

eyes on screen, just can’t stop ‘em

no soft words, just anger mumbled

talking once calm, now hearing fumbled

you dare advise, when yours is marred?

Decisions she must make, but stuck

like his sputtering, stuttering truck

cares enough to strive, revive,

with tender tries

this broken thing

before love stings.

– Sandra Johnson, June 25, 2022

In a clear, small caddy

emotion eggs they sit

each one makes the eater feel

the feeling face on it.

Should I choose the first one,

frazzled, scrambled in both ends

second, worried, like I get

when itchy rash won’t mend.

Third, I like the very most

happy, sun side up

next one, scared eyes wide

must be jalapeños inside

I dare not touch that pup.

The back row, I can imagine now

sad, shocked and sick, and how

that one’s uncooked, and pallid

will never in mouth be swallowed.

The very last emotion, angering

this one’s blown out, yolk strings dangling

need this one when phone is ringing

unknown call, confront some spamming.

I’d love to share emotion eggs

they may just come in handy

love and peace omelettes I give the world

‘til together it’s just dandy.

– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022

Photo credit: Tengyart on Unsplash

I shall have a quick second breakfast

after all the words I wrote past

in between five poems last

snooze, yet not oversleep

bagels smeared with cheese

with coffee, take

keep awake

hand and

brain.

– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022

There should be a Veterans’ City

where former military ain’t treated shitty

none would beg down in the streets

or lose benefits, drunk and beat

in this town, treated so sweet.

Parades, they’d hold them once a week

Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines

even reserves, police, firefighters, EMTs.

all be lauded, applauded, and preened.

Gents with sweat-filled, epileptic nightmares

missing legs, arms, full of fear

would always have the best of care

Slowly brings light from black despair.

– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022

Joy, even in fear and pain

infected toe, with pus and stain

out a week to heal and drain

a glimpse of retirement

doing whatever the week will bring.

Happiness, despite one oozing digit

is easy when sleep-in days are in it

sitting, reading, playing games

keeping company with my canines

and lizards, jumping in the vines.

Even podiatrist, he could mend

my tolerance for sharps, he did extend

a kindly clerk, became my friend

her prayers brought panic to an end.

Joy, a moment it did seem

but while it lasted, a real-life dream

then poetry comes, and extends the stream

continuing my jubilee thru workweek’s regime.

– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022

My dragon is a loving pet

perched atop my castle, yet

he needs not a largish cave

just three-feet-tall

with wings a-wave.

His flames, they warm my hearth of old

and next to me, he heats bed cold

when hunger comes, he does a trick

catch, then kill, and braise it quick.

If criminals should come to call

they’d laugh at him, but then soon fall

his razor claws around their ears

and flee they would, with smoking rears.

My friends all love this purple guy

they travel far to meet and fly

and anytime we want to see

our most favorite country

France, we swiftly soar to thee.

Reality, I’d trade ye any day

to own this wee dragon, and stay

happily flapping in the sky

content to live and play with Fire.

– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022

Blocked

pen shocked

mind fuzzy

in a tizzy

blank page now dizzy

missing words, it’s crazy

adverbs, nouns, adjectives all

no objective, no topic, fail.

What happens when ideas run dry?

– Sandra Johnson, June 25, 2022

I lust for sugar

many sweets I crave

just as strong as a drug

it lures me, kills me

makes me bug

like lunatic I rave.

There is no power greater

than any sugarnado

the addiction spins, and later

makes me sick, a hater.

Yet always return to the hive

like a bee, I always thrive

secretly, I feed, and grow each comb

my stomach, resembling mama’s womb.

This sweet lust, it must be stopped

or else soon eat at me

turn my body into mush

to die, horribly and untimely.

So I must end this insane dance

all sugar, cut off this lulling trance

instead choose natural, healthy fruit

to wean, finally give lust the boot.

– Sandra Johnson, June 25, 2022