Trolling a Troll

Ever been approached by someone and  thought something like this?

Trolling a Troll, 1/29/2015, Michael N. Johns

Hey, back off, there, who invited you?
Thanks for the attention, but, um, just, ew!
Don’t pretend to like whatever I’m drinking,
Don’t think I’m interested in what you’re thinking,

It’s not that you’re not a wonderful …thing,
Really, it’s me; you’re not my kind of …thing
My place is my place, your place is yours,
I’m surprised you’re bi-pedal, not on all-fours!

It’s not that I’m not just filled with intrigue
It’s just that, um, you’re… in a different league!
I hope you can find someone whose love is true
Try again, I just know there’s someone for you,

In the grand scheme there’s someone for everyone
It’s me: it’s not me, but meeting you’s been really fun.
I hope you’ll quickly accept my suggestion,
Before I suffer from reversed digestion.

Fishin’ Trip (A Country Song)

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.  Oh, this is SO old it comes with it’s own back story.  Long years ago, my wife’s brother challenged me to write a country song with “as many of the stereotypical elements” as I could pack in.  I missed the references to the train, the rain, and of course, momma, but this was the first one I offered.  In a later country song I do mention those.  Maybe I’ll find the other country song someday, for your listening pleasure.
*
Fishin’ Trip
*
I just got back from fishing, but I didn’t get one bite
That’s just how I’m living; there ain’t nothin’ goin’ right
I forgot my cooler, had to settle for drinkin’ Sprite,
I forgot my fishin’ licence, and then I got in a fight!
When the game warden came up to me, I was fishin’ from the bank
I would have been in my boat, but it prob’ly would’ve sank
He asked me for my license and he told me that I stank,
Then I looked in my wallet and the space for it was blank!
*
Some days there ain’t nothin’ goin’ right for me!
It’s in my head to stay in bed and drink till I can’t see.
*
I said that I forgot it back at home, and he said, “Oh.”
“Well if’n you ain’t got it here then it’s time for you to go.”
I asked him if he might just let it slide this time, you know,
But he got mad and roughed me up like some bull at a rodeo!
That game warden shot at me and said, “Get on out of here,”
I sure am glad he missed me, it’s still ringin’ in my ear!
There’s a bullet in my Evinrude, but I’ll be back next year.
Then I got home and found out that the dogs drank all my beer!
*
Some days there ain’t nothin’ goin’ right for me!
It’s in my head to stay in bed and drink till I can’t see.

*
At least I know my baby loves me; she is all I care about,
So I went down to her strip joint to see if she would go out,
She got down off that table top and slapped me in the mouth,
And she asked where I’d been all week and then started to pout.
When she was finished workin’, we got in my pickup truck
And drivin’ home we talked things out, but my pickup got stuck,
I tried to pray, but ain’t no way God heard me ask for luck:
Can’t get my truck out of the muck, and she’s too tired to … push.
*
1, 2, 3,
Some days there ain’t nothin’ goin’ right for me!
It’s in my head to stay in bed and drink till I can’t see.

05/30/2003, Michael N. Johns

Please Hear My Confession

Please Hear My Confession, Michael N. Johns, 1/21/2015

Bless me, Heavenly Father, for I have sinned.
I don’t deserve any blessing, but I ask anyway.
It feels like it’s been a lifetime and a day
since my last confession,a prayer on the wind.
At life and love, I’m far from winning.

And since that time, I’ve failed continually,
Any “prayers” mentioned under my breath
Weren’t worth saying or repeating by me,
Or answering by You, at least not with a “yes.”
There is no end to all my sinning.

I’m sure I’ve had perpetually impure thoughts
About everyone, from Abbess to Zookeeper,
Mostly in passing traffic, daydreams, or the halls.
Feeling jealousy, murder, adultery and hate were
Not the end, just the beginning.

There is no love in my words or actions,
Except my narcissism, like it’s own religion.
It’s not my fault I think I’m near perfection
Until You show me Your expectations.
Then I’ve struck out, from first to seventh inning.

I’ve only gone from there to petty seeming things,
Wanting what I want, like a five-year-old,
With a temper running from thoughtless hot, to vengeful cold.
I am truly sorry for these and all my sins.
Without Your mercy, my soul is spinning.

Perigee

Perigee, Michael N. Johns, 1/20/2015

***

Waves sing softly, washing the shoreline,

Just the edges, gently cleaned with every pass,
Evidence, damage, removed with the tides,
Leaving wet sand glinting, pristine, smooth as glass.

*

I need the tides to wash my life’s shore,
To free my heart and mind from chaos and debris,
In the same way the waves gently restore,
Come, cleansing waves, to my soul, but tenderly.

***

Your Arms

Your Arms, Michael N. Johns, 1/12/2015

A second in your arms is too long a time,
If after that second I have to let go.
And eternity in your arms is too short.
I just thought you should know.

December Daydream

December Daydream, 1/6/2015, Michael N. Johns

I might as well have been a million miles
Away from swaying palm trees and terra cotta roof tiles.
The shovel slowly moved the cold snow like dry sand.
The winter wind bit my ungloved hands,
And I daydreamed:

There was a beautiful lady on a sandy beach,
And cold drinks of something warming just within reach,
She laughed that tinkling laugh like soft spoken chimes,
And we rested there, sharing wedges of a Key Lime.
How real it seemed.

The driveway and sidewalk were nearly clear,
From the white blanket lowered by the atmosphere.
The neighbor’s Christmas lights blinked, covered on the hedge,
I saw green grass peeking out of my driveway’s edge.
I daydreamed more:

My beautiful lady, with a gleam in her eyes,
Gave me a lusty wink, to my delighted surprise,
She started toward our cabana, running through sandy heat,
Left me wrestling to rise from my shifting, low seat,
There on the shore.

Reality chilled my fingers and my ears,
How sad, how quickly a good daydream disappears,
Back to the snow piled edges of a shoveled drive,
Not a blizzard, but enough to remind my back that I’m alive,
This is my life.

I surveyed my labors, felt a relieving crack,
As I stood straight, then turned to adjust my back,
The door opened, and I wondered, is this a dream or not?
My beautiful dream lady called, “Come inside, the coffee’s hot,”
I love my wife.