Are you ready?

Hi poetry friends! Sandi Johnson here. This is my third year in the marathon and second attempt at the full 24 hours! I’m excited and can’t wait to get into the poetry zone! I live in Houston but originally from New Jersey. Hot is the key word down here. Good luck to everyone!

Godzilla Alebrije – hour 23, prompt 23

If pet imagined, it would be

my beloved Godzilla, all healthy

bright and bubbly, neon green-y

my spirit guide, alebrije

perching on my shoulder near

watching o’er the others there

soothing my worries,

healing my fears

an acrobat he’d sometimes be

run of the house, he’d jump with glee

back and forth, from knee to knee

when I miss that creature live

I rub ghost belly and watch him thrive

closing eyes in love sublime

he brings back his real face to mine

lime green, long tail, around finger entwined

and when the day is almost gone

I put him in his terrarium

where he was king anole

and others loved him,

including mum

and soon he rests

on invisible tree.

(I miss you, my sweet baby.)

– Sandra Johnson




The World’s an Ashtray – hour 22, prompt 22

The world’s a giant, sooty ashtray

holes in walls, with smoke-black stains

our sins, the earth’s full burning pain

the trash, we dump in bucket loads

glass on sidewalks and crushed in roads

they cut the ground with fractured nodes

each hole spies a different window

where shadows lurk, and poisons go

or ghosts of once a rugged life

got tired and offed his scathing wife

then he himself, with stabbed knife

graffiti it will sometimes be

the smoking offal of gangs and rings

drugs, they rot people about

smacked loves and lives near inside-out

drunks they wreck the homes and highways

then steal the lives of others‘ days

pollution, the final slow demise

as it kills our land and skies

and construction, always promising trees

I know that I will never see

land finally will a desert be

and burning, screaming volcanoes

will torch what’s left in fiery throes

when ashes cool and finally mend

creation can begin again.

-Sandra Johnson

(Muse photo courtesy of Unsplash)



Sleep! – hour 21, prompt 21

What am I longing for so deep?

yeah, that’s it, I need sleep!

fluffy pillows

beckoning blankets

eyelids closed

my brain on hold

wish the sandman

brought extra pajamas

tryptophan, or melatonin

I long to make so many zzzs

in between lines of poetry

poems remaining, only three

till slumber I shall meet thee

and darkness closes down on me

and if I rhyme before I wake

I pray a poem I don’t make.

– Sandra Johnson

Ode to Light – hour 20, prompt 20

Light, I sit and wait for thee

fragmented in my iced tea

ripples reflected in coffee

while I arise to meet the day

gold shining ball blinds my work-way

speckled alight the balls of dew

catch the sun on flowers too

it’s dimmer, when babies slumber take

and glowing, while I’m wide awake

while writing poems and tomes alike

or shimmering snake-like in the waves

moonlight beams are all the rave

and sunset, purples, oranges, blues

ends the day, but light’s there, too

fires my imagination anew

and right before I sleep and dream

my phone’s glow is the last I see

till sunrise brights the day with glee

or should I die, in wonder, me

where luminous gates and heaven be.

– Sandra Johnson

No pleasant dreams – hour 19, prompt 19

No pleasant dreams, says I

it seems

a nightmare’s more

of what’s in store

with heaving lungs

and paling tongues

I cannot promise you good rest

your sleep will haunt you

horror’s best

no breath, you fear this most of all

ne’er reaching rail before you fall

deep in inky darkness all

damp and cluttered, closed-in walls

a King I see, his throne is high

adorned with flashy sharpened knives

all it takes is just one cut

and screaming, goes your mangled throat

but he envisions life from death

you come back, jester instead

if laugh, you cannot this king make

your impaled head upon his stake

and startled, then you shake awake

a macabre book beneath your pate.

– Sandra Johnson


A Covid Christmas – hour 18, prompt 18

This Christmastime

I really fear

will not be the same this year

our feast, nearby the parents’ tree

the veggie train, and artichokes three

faccia di vecchia, even thee

will not be made for you and me

no trading presents, bows all bright

or watching kiddos eyes alight

because the world is not alright

Covid, it steals our joy and here

we stay home, no thanks or cares

no loving hugs, or kisses there

for our mothers, fathers warned

protect and keep them far from harm

we’ll only have a video Zoom

that’s so impersonal, feelings down

this holiday, it wears a frown

we’ll wish a Christmas present next

we’re back together, health intact

joy, hugs and love

come rushing home

and Christmas lights

all cheery and bright

will keep hearts happy

next holy night.

– Sandra Johnson

CD vs Vinyl – hour 17, prompt 17

CD you see

it screams, why me?

soon to be

defunct, like analog TV

maybe soon, repurposed

as furniture, refurbished

something shiny, maybe jewelry

is what may become of me

you see, my older cousin vinyl

is resurrecting, no longer idle

because of new technology

diamond stylus, sound quality

record shops are popping up

the Sweet Spot is our favorite hub

Steve and Stuart, our sound gurus

guide us to a funky groove

or find our jam, both old and new

so CD, don’t be yet blue

of your kind, they have a few

but beware the big bad turntable

young customers, not just elders

are piling in to buy these jewels

till demise, CD may meet soon

unless you find a happy home

in some disc player, no longer alone.

– Sandra Johnson






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