Wednesday, May 09, 2018

Saskatchewan Sky

—Poems by Michael Lee Johnson, Itasca, IL
—Photos by Caschwa, Sacramento, CA


The angels of wings are always in flight
be the devil or archangel Michael.
I'm a hawk, I'm a night owl night
barroom flights, fighter,
seeing eyes that eye me contact,
not blind, a rhythm of sensuality.
I take my shower, deep breath,
scrub good off my skin, breathe
in the single night, air alone.
These shadows highway unknown
Jesus crosses my night path 
Jesus crosses my sky early morn
with a paintbrush, a rainbow
and a promise when
I wake a new dream begins.
Single life is a barroom bitch.


Lorie, you want to see me clearly
through this joy of my naked body
avoiding the sweat of my emotions,
just breathing on my neck 
rubbing this baseline of my groin—
will not find us here again.
Go away, leave me thinking
louder than your breath—
body moves quietly
in a lazy sway of indifference.


Classic '70's chick
scent of these times
golddigger want to be.
Poet & scholar stuck on
T.S. Eliot “The Waste Land.”
She tracks down a few stray men,
prospect hunks, & greenback dreams.
Her long legs stretched out
beneath this dinette table, these
high wooden heels hang out
@ Dusty, Dingy Bar & Grill.
She's drenched—Charlie by Revlon 1973,
high hopes 4 sugar daddies,
fragile body, insecure but lean.
She wears that hot apple, sex red, jumpsuit.
That yellow bandana hangs 
around her neck lowered downtown
below her bosom with a grin.
Her head stuff, insulated with cotton candy dreams
cramped in a Chinese fortune cookie aphorism.
G-String strung up itching @ her buttocks
positioned in spot her world for a change.
In action verbs flow,
this dance, these melodies,
Walt Disney world,
her magic pen, her ink that flows.


just a preview of love,
chip off 
an edge of
chip an edge off
and opening
multiple eyes
toward spring.
They—lovers, find themselves
near evening bush fire—
great seal fish and open lake,
cuddle together—
so wonderful there—
where she comes from,
where did she go to
from here.


Today’s LittleNip:

—Michael Johnson
Death is a bitch and a whore
comes with hat on or off, 
Jewish, Christian or lover years ago called Nancy.
Death is a passport, a left-behind baggage note.
My leverage sinks, I see you pass human.
These my fears, your fright, being broke, old-royalties stole Suzanne.
Now branches, extended limbs, point outward nowhere—
doors Montreal collapse tomb, dance with me,
end perfume love, a few dead flowers.


Our thanks to Michael Lee Johnson for visiting the Kitchen this morning with his fine poems! Listen to his read at his 158 poetry videos on YouTube:

Tonight in our area, Poetry Off-the-Shelves read-around meets in Placerville at the El Dorado County’s main branch on Fair Lane, 5pm. Or at 6pm, Sac. Poetry Center presents the Poets & Writers’ Sacramento Literary Roundtable Meeting. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.


 Celebrate the poetry of demands left unmet...
—Photo by Sammie Robertson-Corp, Placerville, CA

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.