Archive for the ‘Secular poetry’ Category

THROUGH THE NAKED EYE

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THROUGH THE NAKED EYE

With careful steps I place my feet

between large boulders that hug the ground

and rocky mounds of prickly scrub,

and listen with earnest ears the sound

of raptors large that soar in flight

to peaks: their summits reach the  skies

 far beyond my naked sight.

Where is one greater, a scene to view

a mountain sought, on land or sea

where one’s eyes can travel to

 these lofty, high majestic heights

for the traveler passing through?

_____________

Poem by: Joyce E. Johnson – 2013

THE RETURNING SAILOR

The below story poem is a narrative ballad I wrote many years ago. I posted this last June on my blog, but am re-posting it for this week’s word prompt on Geraldine’s Woven Dreams: A Creative Prompt Blog. This week’s word prompt is alive. I hope you enjoy the story and comments are always welcomed.

__________________

THE RETURNING SAILOR

Down the coast and out to sea,

a voice, a whisper beckons me.

It is the sound of her calling my name.

Would she still love me, a man with my shame?

Will she remember the hands that caressed

her face and body, and how I confessed

of the love and tenderness for her in my heart,

wrenched and torn, when we had to part?

Now, I’m returning and will look for her,

alive with the burning desire to stir

the love we shared when I left for the sea.

I pray she’s still there, waiting for me.

There was a fight. Oh, God! What a mess.

It was late that night. I drank to excess.

I did not know, but did not care

that her husband knew of our love affair.

Coming alive with a fist to my jaw

intent on surviving once the knife I saw

I sprang with shifting feet in dread,

landing a blow with my right to his head,

then felt the piercing pain and might

of flashing silver turned crimson bright.

With his knife to my flesh, and muscle it tore.

Bleeding and enraged I came down and bore

the knife I captured, to his chest then came

in self-defense went at him the same.

His breathing stilled, and he lay dead.

Was justice served this way instead?

I went away broken, feeling despair

leaving her behind, her grief to bear.

Like an anchor weighed down

with heavy remorse

wherever I sailed, wherever my course

I could not forget how she once loved me.

Now I’m returning from a dark, cold sea.

_________________

Poem by: Joyce E. Johnson

THE PROMISE OF SPRING



When I look out my window

And I see fresh snow

I wonder when, and where is spring.

But, to every season

And for all, I know

There is a right time

For all that blooms has yet to open.

Maybe not now: they are but buds,

But nurtured they will grow,

And with that they promise

That spring is here,

The season will blossom,

And the time is right

For my lilies to bloom.

_______________

Joyce E. Johnson – 2013


COMING TOGETHER

 COMING TOGETHER

Like a word, or a sentence, a phrase or verse

it is but a piece, yet a necessary part;

But to the reader, must impact, or connect

and weave it must, down into their soul,

each word a necessary part of the piece,

like threads or strands fit to the form

they weave in and out, perfectly placed,

side by side, and through the grain,

all coming together like one as a whole

 the story made stronger till unified;

But, if one word weaves not to shape,

hold the story, mold or create,

it must be pulled out, for it will weaken

 the piece of work or art just made;

then the finished whole of a project completed

will stand alone, and be made strong.

Often times it’s much like life

trying to fit together as one

like the phrases or words

created and shaped:

 its become  the lesson for

the weaver in me.

_________

Joyce E. Johnson, 2013

The Night The Lights Came On At The Plaza

The below story is fiction. Formatted to be read like a poetic prose. It is my submission for this week’s Friday Fictioneers writing group based on a photo prompt, hosted and led by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Comments and feedback are welcomed.

*************

I’d not been back in years, but the memories still fresh.

All that happened out on the square.

The night the lights came on at the Plaza.

The years passed slowly. I had no news

where to look, or if he’d married.

Then I get a call and he wants to meet.

At the sidewalk café where we sipped our wine, and

I lost myself in his aqua blue eyes.

He left suddenly, with no explanation.

A man too mysterious, with too little to give back.

There he is, waiting and watching,

like a spy coming out of the cold.

Joyce E. Johnson

*******************

WAY BACK WHEN I COULDN’T COMPUTE

WAY BACK WHEN I COULDN’T COMPUTE

Way back when I was young, and in school there was once

A time when I couldn’t ‘download’ or ‘install’.

My brain would not ‘process’, and I felt like a dunce.

I needed a tutor, but who could I call?

I suffered through ‘overload’, a ‘surge’, and a ‘crash’,

Didn’t ‘click’, or ‘hook’ on to every ‘program’ taught.

There was always the ‘geek’ who caught on in a flash

They could ‘update’ and ‘process’ every ‘dot’ and ‘dash’.

To be like him, or her I needed to ‘upgrade’.

But how to get my brain to ‘compute’,

‘Protect and secure,’ every ‘password’ and ‘name’,

And ‘send’ and ‘mail’ it all back to my brain

Where it would stay ‘saved’, ‘backed up’, and remain

Forever in ‘memory’ with no loss, stress or strain.

Joyce E. Johnson

The above poem was submitted to Reason 2 Rhyme using a Monday word prompt

*****************


Posted August 27, 2012 by Joyce in Poems, Secular poetry, Writing

Tagged with ,

Poem – THE RETURNING SAILOR

THE RETURNING SAILOR

Down the coast and out to sea,

a voice, a whisper beckons me.

It is the sound of her calling my name.

Would she still love me, a man with my shame?

Will she remember the hands that caressed

her face and body, and how I confessed

of the love and tenderness for her in my heart,

wrenched and torn, when we had to part?

Now, I’m returning and will look for her,

alive with the burning desire to stir

the love we shared when I left for the sea.

I pray she’s still there, waiting for me.

There was a fight. Oh, God! What a mess.

It was late that night. I drank to excess.

I did not know, but did not care

that her husband knew of our love affair.

Coming alive with a fist to my jaw

intent on surviving once the knife I saw

I sprang with shifting feet in dread,

landing a blow with my right to his head,

then felt the piercing pain and might

of flashing silver turned crimson bright.

With his knife to my flesh, and muscle it tore.

Bleeding and enraged I came down and bore

the knife I captured, to his chest then came

in self-defense went at him the same.

His breathing stilled, and he lay dead.

Was justice served this way instead?

I went away broken, feeling despair

leaving her behind, her grief to bear.

Like an anchor weighed down

with heavy remorse

wherever I sailed, wherever my course

I could not forget how she once loved me.

Now I’m returning from a dark, cold sea.

*************

Poem by: Joyce E. Johnson

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