Tag Archives: Marriage

Superhero’s Symphony

Superhero’s Symphony, Michael N. Johns, 06/09/2015

I stormed the prison walls at night.
I overcame the guards by stealth,
Seized the keys of your prison cell,
And thus, freed, you and I took flight.

If I were a super hero,
Bursting your bonds to rescue you,
This little story might be true.
Alas, it’s just a metaphor.

In truth I only wish it were,
So I could be your super man,
Your heart, the prize, and I its’ fan,
I labored, played my overture,

And won, I thought. Your heart was mine.
Our symphony had just begun,
The staves promised the sweetest run…
I played wrong notes on the next line.

“Stop the music, back to the cue,
Where’s the hero who won my heart?”
Tired, and headed back to the start,
Trudging slower, trying to get through,

It’s not easy, and you tease me,
Make me change, try, try again,
If I could be your super man,
I would just know, be strong, succeed,

Looking back I clearly can see
My heart’s locked in your prison cell
I don’t want out, the truth to tell
But I wish you’d come rescue me.


Safe Drivers and Traffic Accidents

My perfect, adored and adorable wife kissed me softly in steadfast ardor.
It’s been a perfectly adequate life, though I frequently wish for more.
And if passion, steady, can decline,
I could blame hers, but she could blame mine.
I fought the traffic and got in late, I reached for the door at the office’s entry.
My hand brushed another, hers acquiesced, mine imbued with chivalry,
And I held it open, “ladies first.”
Her full length skirt brushed by, my eyes, immersed,
In Springtime beauty: wood grain printed, slow turned gentle symmetry.
Her eyes noticed mine and I noticed hers, with mutual curiosity.
She must have seen my admiration,
Noticed reverent fear, sensed temptation.
I have been on life’s road in this direction, long enough I do not want to turn,
Says the conscience I’ve listened to for correction, my own spirit to discern.
I know the right things to do and think,
But my eyes never know when to blink.


Today in human history,
You may see significant happenings,
Today in news media, on radio, or TV,
You may see beauty, glorious things,
But nothing can compare to this, to me:

On April Tenth, some years ago,
Although eclipsed, the sun still shined,
The records would not show
Any meteorological record to find,
And few fortunate souls now know,

The sun hasn’t shone as bright from then ’til now,
Fine art has lost its’ glossed allure somehow,
No epic poems were written about
What the fairy tale mirror would have spoken out loud,
And nobody knows but you and me,
Though I alone know what I can see-
It’s you.

Your eyes, your hair, let me gaze a while,
Your laugh that makes me feel happy,
The mystery and beauty that is your style,
Things everyone who has met you can see,
And secrets I’ll keep that make me smile,

Those eyes, deep pools of perfect green,
Don’t rescue me, though I’ve fallen in,
This is my story and my favorite daydream,
For a lifetime, please, just let me swim,
Or drown remembering how good life has been,

So blessed am I, even you don’t fully grasp
That delight I feel when our hands clasp,
The joy of spending the time of day,
Even when we argue or have nothing to say,
The reason I’m happily spending my happily-ever-after
With you, through all life’s tears and laughter,
Is you.

Proverbs 18: 22 The man who finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtains favor from the Lord.

Morning Glory

Morning Glory, 4/2/2012, Michael N. Johns

The Star of the Morning is a pentagram, rolled up in a tight, deadly ball,
I pour a cup of bitter dark; enough mornings will kill us all,
She blossoms and screams of voodoo, dreams, and demands I do her will,
As if vowed “I Do” were somehow less true than the day she cast her spell,

But I still call it true love.

The morning glory wears a purple robe, displaying her curves, magical,
With toxic seeds that grow like weeds, pretty mirrors, hung off the wall,
When I first saw the blooms it was my doom, if beautiful things could kill
The vines were cut and the doors were shut; should blessings feel like hell?

The blessings are still true love

Kikyouzaki Murasaki grows, her edges sharper than knives,
But beauty, fragrance, put us in her trance, no release, for the rest of our lives.
True love and life last until they have passed, like a bullet train downhill,
Soon the light will trim, and the glory dim, faster than anyone can tell.

Spring dawns blossom to true love.