The Poetry Marathon

Tiny lights zoom below

the treeline near the cottage, oh

fireflies flitting to and fro

if I could bottle catch them, wow

release my lethargy, and how

a strange illumination see

on my table captive be

when some porridge I do eat

and I’m sweating from the heat

when electric is storm gone

corners masked in dark alone

my fireflies give me peace within

until I set them free again.

– Sandra Johnson

Did you mean what you said

in that text I just read?

all those thumbs down

a run of smirks and frowns

I think emojis are a brain fart

when I can’t create art

or I can’t find the words

these tiny pictures are absurd

translate emojis – say what?

I oughta give this prompt the boot

but instead I’ll cut this short

without an emoji or snide retort.

– Sandra Johnson

Covid 19 is its name

slithering snakelike is its game

come from China, virus be

has changed the world eternally

some surfaces it stays for days

infected breath, the devil plays

the elderly, infirm it preys

so we shut down economy

inside houses, no more free

and outside, only essentials be

unless you have to shop, oh gee

and then we found our shelves empty

of soap and paper and TP

and then New York and New Jersey

numbers climbing, jumping so high

like Freedom Tower touches the sky

then slowly, shops they open more

somewhat starts feeling like before

but protesters, summer renters galore

Memorial week, they crowd the shores

and just like that, social distance

was all ignored, people in a trance

from growing bored inside their homes

and baring teeth to see justice done

now, stricter rules as spikes in cases

sadden our once happy faces

but you can’t see the sad no more

a mask hides that, In public and stores

but in Covid numbers there’s light

recovery worldwide is 99 percent, that’s right

and maybe someday, after November

we’ll see no more Covid monster.

– Sandra Johnson

Ideal, a favorite sushi place

mango, crab and rice to taste

peach mochi melts on my tongue

quesadillas, shrimp and queso food

cheesesteaks blaze my heart and mood.

Sitting home, green things I spy

scaly, soft, with cunning eyes

munching crickets I supply

joy comes easy when they play

and let me pet them all the day.

Smell of flowers in a garden

gives my weary heart a pardon

colors bright green, mauve and blue

set my eyes on fire too

mistfall on a morning walk

hearing noises in the park

just the crickets, a doggy bark

makes my soul jump all a-jerk.

Kissing, hugging during movie

with my love, it makes me boogie

a favorite tune, we jump and dance

around the living room with our pets

like to treat each other too

cooking when we’re in the mood

for salty, sweet or sour food.

Just a happy little giggle

when child’s piggies I will tickle

my heart jumps to see them smile

when they attempt to stand awhile

something new, always a pleasure

paint with yogurt, ice cubes colored

banging toys, making clutter

baby’s love makes life matter.

– Sandra Johnson

This old carved heart

sappy, bleeding part

from unhealed wounds

and unmet needs.

Or wretched heart

love once anew

now grows dull

and withered too.

The sap, like tears

our hopes and dreams

turn into fears

days turn years

house in arrears

homeless in cars

celing’s the stars.

Be still, old heart

a memory

you could possibly be

of sunshine through the trees

and lilacs smelling sweet

your head at my feet.

Maybe, dear heart

love died too young

a mourner touching

crying, sighing so

at the grave below.

And yet, this heart

might merely be

a promise of eternity

your hand inside mine

our bodies, entangled vines

love growing with time

like sweet aged wine.

– Sandra Johnson

Grandma, I sure miss the way

you’d tell me stories every day

and cook me dinner without delay

when deciding to prolong my stay.

At thanksgiving, always such a treat

is where the family’d yearly meet

for turkey, ham and tasty sweets

and then a tournament, cards they be

pinochle winner, a trophy get ye

let’s not forget the rivalry

watching Cowboys/Eagles on TV

what is best, the love we give

hugs and kisses when we leave.

Any time we needed her

the house was open, and with care

she’d talk to us or leave us be

and things would soon be alrighty.

Dear Grandmom, used to be such fun

Tall Pines camping, in shade and sun

yummy casseroles, and pies galore

a campfire and some yummy s’mores

swimming in the campground pond

and watching fireworks at day’s end.

Most of all, we loved the way

you taught us how to live and pray

the church is where you’d always be

and followed your example we

so then could live eternally

and meet you again, heavenly.

– Sandra Johnson

How do I get rid of weight?

I shovel food, and stay up late

binge watch my favorite sitcom

don’t bug me if my game is on

and then I sleep till noon, not fun

pretty soon the day is gone.

My middle, see

is haunting me, probably till eternity

battling the bulge is hard

every pint adds to my lard

sitting mostly with TV

cellulite is after me

even when my thighs are thinning

it’s crunch time and I’m not winning.

Solution, difficult but true

flour and sweets I should not do

if tummy trimming, get off the couch

go exercise, get outta the house!

and sleep, I must get regularly

then flatter tummy will I see.

– Sandra Johnson

The recipe for recovery

is to first, please admit

that your world is simply shit

life is a shambles

with its choking vines and brambles

and powerless you are

can’t do food sanely anymore.

Second, you need a gallon of faith

belief in a higher power

or something, anything

that gets you through the hour

a shoulder to lean on

a helpful book to make you strong.

Third, a sprinkle of trust

turn life over, you must

into God’s loving care

he’ll have lots

of help to spare.

And fourth, most importantly

write down all that ails thee

every little bitty sin

to wipe your old slate

clean again

to heal those things

that once had you pinned.

Fifth, a smidge of confidentially

take it all and give it away

admit each wrong before the nighty

to yourself, a friend and almighty

and life will soon be quite alrighty.

Ingredients six through twelve, see

be entirely and fully ready

a pinch of humility

admitting harm to others quickly

log continuing inventory

meditate, and pray daily

and share this blessing

so others be free.

– Sandra Johnson

If I were famous

are you kidding me?

this girl’s not ready

eyes all on my mussed face

any day, any time or place

can’t even peek out

to let the dog run about

without prying eyes

I’d need a disguise

or a pseudonym

to protect my double chin

and how old really

is that Gucci bag, 1993?

how is she famous?

what is her namesake?

I have no stylist to sleek

no salon once a week

no designer clothes

but I’ve got my Walmart shoes

my sharpies, paint and pencils steady

Prismacolor, always ready

to draw new adventures

alternative universes

coiffed hair, shimmering lips

salon painted, hair snipped

a frou frou pooch

and those cars, phshaw!

two or three, classics all

up there on the 35th floor

skyscraper, painted doors

my office, the view

that’s famous too

can’t find me here

windows tinted, and dear

go walk my dog

I can’t handle the smog

and typing, it’ll do

to make me popular, too

WordPress at the ready

best seller, hold steady

the novel of dreams

but so real it seems

the heroine so familiar

that someone wants to kill her

her beauty adored

in fabrics she can afford

and if ever she gets shook

by a fatal gun, look

she can close the freaking book.

– Sandra Johnson

If moonshadow were following me in the gloom

i dare not think of what doth loom

nor turn my head to see the ghoul

or else my limbs would freeze, and who’ll

be there to aid, to help me flee

the shadows caving in on me

a nightmare I can ne’er escape

one that plays on and on, and scrape

my knee in falling into thorns

moon’s shadow it has now borne

a sinister darker reflection of it

and underneath thee, I do sit

cowering at its murky slime

shuddering in the mist and grime

the shadow reaches out with lies

its gnarled hand touching, blinding eyes

and then alas, it muffles mouth

my screams are mute, north, east and south

I startle then, awake, and spy

my pillow’s the shadow

summer heat is the why

I awoke in a sweat

and did not dream-die.

– Sandra Johnson