Keep my journal short. Just review January through March. Life is a dig, deep snow on my sorrow. Bare bones of naked sparrows, beneath my balcony, lie lifeless. The few survivors huddle in bushes. Gone, gone is kitchen bowl that holds the seeds. Sparrows cannot get inside my refrigerator door nor shop late at Wal-Mart during winter hours− get away with it. I drink dated milk. I host rehearsals of childhood. Sip Mogen David Concord Wine with Diet 7Up. Down sweet molasses and pancake butter. I give in to condominium Polish demands. My neighbor’s parties, loud blast language. I am weak in the Jesus feeding of the poor. I now merge day with night and sleep avoid my shame and guilt. I try clean, my thoughts of shell spotted snow. I see fragments, no more feeding of the birds.
Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era. He is a Canadian and USA citizen. Today he is a poet, editor, publisher, freelance writer, amateur photographer, small business owner in Itasca, Illinois. He has been published in more than 930 small press magazines in 28 countries, and he edits 10 poetry sites. Author's website http://poetryman.mysite.com/. Michael is the author of The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom (136 page book) ISBN: 978-0-595-46091-5, several chapbooks of poetry, including From Which Place the Morning Rises and Challenge of Night and Day, and Chicago Poems. He also has over 116 poetry videos on YouTube as of 2015: https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos Michael Lee Johnson, Itasca, IL. nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards for poetry 2015 & Best of the Net 2016. Visit his Facebook Poetry Group and join https://www.facebook.com/groups/807679459328998/ He is also the editor/publisher of anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762 A second poetry anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses, Editor Michael Lee Johnson, is due for a February or March 2017 release date.
Birds levitate and are airborne, Flapping wings soaring to the highest stratosphere, Flying into the blue yonder, Over snowcapped mountains, abutting the clouds, Flying, gliding, landing, so sublime Perching themselves in the tiny gap between other birds on a cable
(1) She does not really sleep. She stands on the thin space of night, holds trees with her fingers and takes a nap. Sleep for her is a necessary illusion. Illusion, when becomes a necessity, tears anything apart. Here she
I can’t remember feeling so incomplete… Time and distance are a void… Where there was you. Loneliness, a mind possessed of itself Groping in twilight revelation. We’re sojourners on a trek Spirits compelled to give and share. Trading smiles we’ll
Positive thinking brought positive results I bounced back from my minds insults Im free from the torture my mind endured How bad I truly was seems absurd Free to enjoy the future once more Can use my mind for what