2023 Poem Ten
Untitled
I am the poet laureate of the beach just before dawn.
Of the moon and the tide dancing- lovers destined to never touch.
Each wave that laps at the sand is a cry to hold the moon;
longing to wrap their arms around her.
Hour 22 2023
SILENCIO
For going on twenty-two hours
I’ve been quiet about the state of our country
but I’ll be damned if I’ll write about pizza now
rather than address what needs to happen,
especially with this highly perfect sign appearing
right now, as if to say, like the old hymn,
“Here I am, send me.” And so yes, I want this sign,
SILENCIO, not just silence, but SILENCIO to be in
every courtroom, every corner of that man’s life,
so that everywhere he turns he is reminded, STFU.
We do not want to hear one more peep out of you,
not one word. Then and only then may justice be served.
Oneirataxia
Slipping between
What’s real and what’s a dream
One moment you’re gone from me
The next you’re here
Smiling pleasantly
I know what’s real
Reality is that you’re gone
You’ve been gone so long
I sometimes forget
What you were like when you were here
But then it happens again
I come home and there you are
Making dinner or on the computer
As if nothing has happened
To you at all
I try to tell my friends
Convince my family
I keep sleeping so easily
Between the two it’s getting hard
To remember what’s real
It feels to nice
Seeing you again
I just want to hug you
To talk to you
Tell you how I’ve been
But reality sets in once more
You’re not real, I tell you as much
Tell you, “This is just a dream”
To which you reply, “Yes, it is.
“But you can stay if you want.”
I jolt awake
Heart racing
Mind wondering
What could you have meant
When you said I could “stay”?
It’s been years since then
And some days when reality
Hits too heavy, too hard
I think about your offer
And wonder
Should have taken you up on it?
20 Remember when
Fireflies listen by windows
Swooping bats sneak a peek
Buzzing bugs want a taste
Mouse in the corner waits
Embrace summer happenings
Hide n seek with your pals
Games of tag before dark
Gotcha last won’t last
Yet another shade of me 3am
I’m falling swiftly
I don’t know
what to do
how to say that
where to turn or
even why
Every time Someone
asks me
I know the right words
to say-
the ones that won’t
raise suspicions
I’m fine
ok
everything’s good
no problems
nothing’s wrong
anything I can
so they don’t see
just how broken
I really am
asking for help
is not wrong
I know that
but you turned
me this way
Where asking for someone’s
help is like betrayal
We should fight our own problems
and not talk about them
to anyone
You had such a problem
with my talking to him
you hated it- loathed it
Said why did I need him
I had you
Having you is great
It’s one way to cope
but when you are the problem
You need a third party
for a sounding board
Why am I even explaining
myself to you-
You don’t care
Your only concern is
you con’t control me any longer
You can call me anything
bitch
whore
slut
loser
crazy
anything at all
I don’t care
I know the truth
I know that I’m not always there
I may not be the sharpest
tool in the shed
the prettiest crayon
in the box
But I’m me
A mixed bag of
crazy
sweet
quiet
mouthy
loud
sarcastic
and so much more
Pizza Musings – Hour 22, Prompt 22
Lately, I feel
all the fighting, unreal
my toppings should not
cause friendships to stop.
There’s pineapple, whew
causes quite a to-do
arguments ensue
with spam, they say eww!
But pizza’s like people
no two the same, or equal
toppings they vary
with four cheeses, or nary.
.
Some people are hot
peppers sprinkle a lot
and pepperoni, to boot
keeps a dude at salute.
Some, they are tougher
cheesier, meatier
thick crust they do have
like people who’re bad.
Sweet ones, they have many
tart apples and berries
with Gouda or cheddar
these girls make it better.
In the end, they all rock
like different socks
whatever may thee choose
just do pizza for you.
– Sandra Johnson, 9-3-2023
23~19
drippy days
hoodies in the dark
vermin thriving
playing in the park
death lives with me
we are not friends
luv #4
luv iz yellow
a ray of spring sunshine
luv iz red
a fiery covering igniting
luv iz blue
a cold breeze on an august day
luv iz purple
a royal crown adorning a regal space
luv iz black
a priceless gem
Lost Art of Legible Handwriting
At some point in my day-to-day writing, it appears
I lost my cursive muscle.
My handwriting had morphed into
a poor man’s Comic Sans with my own
spin being little “connectors,”
a pretense to cursive, I suppose,
without any real effort to be actual cursive.
My shame was private
until now.
I’m in solitary cursive rehab,
and the results are painful.
To the eye, and to the memory
of my once effortless cursive.
Someone told me – and I hope this person
was wrong – that cursive is no longer
being taught in school.
At the risk of sounding creaky,
penmanship isn’t an old fashioned thing
to be discarded because we can text one another.
It’s a personal expression. To write a lovely letter
in distinctive handwriting is to honor the art of correspondence,
and, hopefully, the person with whom we’re corresponding.
And, where would the study of graphology be without
handwriting? What do I want my handwriting to say about me?
That I’m resilient, and, if I keep practicing, elegant in my scrawl.
HR-10
Writers block is hell
This sounded great a minute ago
Let me just take this out
Put this line here
Maybe that line there
No, no, no wrong
It’s all wrong
Crumble it up
Throw it out
Let’s begin this again
You got this, its all gravy
If I can put this together just right
Writers block is hell
Hey this sounds alright now
Let me just put this in
Put that line there
And this line here
Yes, yes, yes alright now
It’s all better
Straighten it up
Put it away