Tag Archives: napowrimo

“There’s No Such Thing as Monsters?”

“There’s No Such Thing as Monsters?”, Michael N. Johns, 4/28/2016

If there weren’t wars and man-made hate,
Could scientists eliminate
Diseases, famines, and create
Utopia?  We could all live
In harmony, and we could give
Attention, then,  preemptive,
To nature’s uncontrolled horrors.

By consequence, we’d intervene
When earthquakes shake and make a scene,
When tidal waves, floods unforeseen,
Or drought disrupt, or volcano
Erupt, or crops refuse to grow-
We’d share with people we don’t know,
Like foster family sponsors.

Alas, there’s war, hate, selfishness,
Rape, murder, robbery, it’s a mess!
Adding to pains and natural stress
Add greed’s victims held in the sway
Of life-crippling debt to pay
And then you still would try to say
“There’s no such thing as monsters?”

When Love is Sleeping

There are no perfect words to say to you,
No blessing, compliment, or sweet refrain,
If I could say it, it would not ring true,
As words are not enough, cannot explain.

Stronger than any fast-tempered alloy,
It grips tighter than love, possesses me,
My very soul is longing for your joy,
And wanting, at whatever costs may be.

Though I could die to purchase happiness,
I’d rather stay and rest in your delight,
The grave, infinite cold, but your caress,
Leaves me warmer than lit-fused dynamite.

So why, when I need you, is the door closed,
As if my presence, burdens should impose?

Finish Line

He was so close, 26 point something done
And then something caught his eye,
for just a second.
Distracted and puzzled
He looked back
And tried to keep running forward.
The planners had seen all the rocks
On the road
And knew the runners would too
But not him.
For Just a second,
Distracted, disoriented, battle weary
He looked back
His foot kicked the unseen rock.
His knee
Connected with rough pavement
Shredded.
Marathon runner, de-salinated.
Lot’s Wife, salinated
Both connected with the path
Instead of hurrying along it
Both missed the point
Look forward to goals
Not backward to missed
Opportunity
Or distraction.
Point something
Crawled
Crossed
Completed
But lost
free verse, Lot’s Wife, suggested by Larry Megazzi

Hot

I love the way she looks, heart so exposed,
So vulnerable when she is with me,
Her bitter sweetness, whimsy, lovely rose,
She is a work of art, blooming.  Look!  See?

Without her, I’m depressed, lonely and sad,
Dreaming of how she makes things feel so right,
Her dark, oiled surface, soft.  Ah!  Love is mad!
That beauty, perfect, blended black and white,

My heart pounds when I drink enough of her
And yet I wonder, can there be enough?
My soul says “No,” and it is true, I’m sure,
Steamy romance, whipped cream, caramel, fluff,

Soft, hot, frothed bubbles floating in the mug
My latte’s ready, like a sensual hug!

True Love’s Unfair (Rondeau Redoblé)

True love’s unfair, although a worthy quest,
Our time is fairer less:  tick-tock!  It’s gone,
We should run long and hope to be so blessed,
Awaking slowly, to enjoy the dawn

Strike one heart, leave others’ doors not knocked on,
The darts of love are haphazard at best
To find someone with whom to share life’s song
True love’s unfair, although a worthy quest.

When love is found, too often it’s a test,
As fickle humans’ eyes, to lust, are drawn,
When found, how swiftly comes eternal rest:
Our time is fairer less- tick-tock!  It’s gone!

The competition’s fierce.  At starting gun, 
As one, we strive to have and hold the best,
But “best” is different for everyone,
We should run long, and hope to be so blessed.

Some say that love’s a game to play, like chess.
If love’s a game, then I would be her pawn.
Let time advance, but slow, ’til I’m possessed,
Awaking slowly, to enjoy the dawn.

If I’m to find love, let me chance upon
A heart that beats warm, under softest breast,
Me: ugly duckling, winning lovely swan,
Passing by any others, who’ve assessed,
True love’s unfair.

“Demon Tree”

“Demon Tree”     Michael N. Johns   4/27/2014

Across from Carlisle Park, in Ohio,
The “Demon Tree,” though dead, grows every year
The residents hearts sense a fear and woe,
Across from Carlisle Park, in Ohio
Perhaps the tree just needs a friend’s hello.
Feel sadness, frustrations no one can hear,
Across from Carlisle Park, in Ohio,
The Demon Tree, though dead, grows every year.

About Me and My Poetry

My inspiration is the voice
Of characters, I’ll have my choice,
I’ll write a work of fiction, by
Listening, feeling, taste, or eye,

Or smell- the memory of bread,
From my childhood, still in my head.
Some humor found in online news,
Or history may be my muse,

The darkness of a secret curse,
The light of hopes unseen, rehearsed,
A night of solitude, of pain,
The dreams of life, for a refrain,

A car, a boat, a plane, a shoe,
Who knows?  I could write about you,
Names changed, you’d never recognize
I wrote you down:  your  truth, my  lies,

Or bricks, or water, storms, or streets,
The songs of characters one meets,
I hear the voices in my head,
And I write down the things they’ve said.