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New Dane Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Dane poems are below this new poems list.

Birthday Wishes to Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen by Adeite, Adeleke
For Dane Ann with Gratitude by Devonshire, Carolyn
Dane Ann A Cool Name, Mine by Smith-Johnsen, Dane Ann
Sorry For The Dane-ettes by Rucker, Rick
Thanksgiving Day/Dane Ann by Culverhouse, Doris
Dane Marked by Mehta, Dr.Ram
A Star for Dane Ann by Devonshire, Carolyn
Dane Ann's Special Gifts by Devonshire, Carolyn
Poor Scarlett Never Learns(New Form by Dane Ann and HGarvey Esquire) by Owens, Marty
Mrs. Grumpy, AKA Dane Ann by Smith-Johnsen, Dane Ann

View all new Dane Poems

The Best Dane Poems

Details | Dane Poem | |

And still i drive - Part two

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not cry.
Into Ochs valley, through the Vale of White Horse...prancing 
besides a Dragons Hill;
It was here that a Roundhead - did a Royalist Cavaliers blood in 
Oxons streets so spill!
Where Great Alfred strove to drive out the Dane and his Law;
And blazing fires were lit to roar in the open grates of Christ churchs 
Great Hall.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not deny.
Along the ever stretching A34 littered with the slaughtered carcasses of the
Daily score;
Over Royal Berkshires balding heights, where from every bush 
And every turn,
Reflecting back from my glowing headlights
Sharp green piercing eyes - cunning Red fox that so discerns.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
Between the clearing acres of ten thousand gnarled boughs
That once did so ably fashion for great Windsors mighty beams.
Steering along Newburys pass where Civil war was played out thrice
Against the brow:
Same old crowd - bloody encounters and fisticuffs - same age old
Greed driven schemes!
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
At the approaching roundabout i must begin to slow -
First exit left - M40 - and steadily onward i accelerate to go;
For i have the Immortal Bards Warwickshire set within my determined mind -
My own forlorn loves hopes...lost...now far distant...long gone behind.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
Wide motorways with boastful, imposing overhead gantry signs:
Grandly heralding the names of "just up ahead" places
Boldly framed upon blue panels within white trim designs,
Straddling wide lanes - huge and brightly lit,
Prompt and remind the tourist of the "sights" they must surely visit.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not lie.
Here the reflective waters of Shakespeares Avon still peacefully flow
That pushed upon the old mills rustic wheels so many forgotten years ago.
Where, carting slowly, the Hathaways would come for flour, or so it was said,
To bring back unto Newlands farm to bake and offer prayers 
For their daily bread.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not die.
Pittering hail blows across my glass windscreen - the swinging rhythmatic blade
sweeping it clean;
And staring, as if caught in a trance, my mind casts back
To that last meal we ate - you on the settle - i by the exposed and varnished 
Brick stack;
In your warm, comfy little lounge loudly arguing back and forth over this and that!
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not cry.
Unfurling before me the M6 toll that impedes my progress upon this hour 
So late,
As queuing, my whirling thoughts drift again to the moment, where in silence,
I had quietly stood at your little open gate:
Incandescent with cruel stabbing words you did me so violently berate;
Crashing door slamming tightly shut - sealed now upon a doomed forgone fate!

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not deny.
The barrier rises as once again the blizzard contrives...
Whereupon, engaging the gears and steadily revving the engine,
I Resume the drive;
Speeding towards Staffordshires potteries of ceramic plates:
Pattern ware for commoner, landed gentry, Lords and Ladies, 
And lofty estates.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
The monumental journey of one hundred leagues is nearly all but done,
The resolute chimneys and Bottle kilns i will soon outrun.
For now a sailing Moon begins to shallow and fade -
Whilst gathering together her skirts -
A final encore before daintily retiring from centre stage.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But i know not why.
Hesitant grey light in the wings steps aside bleak and rugged tors;
Dawns waking orchestral chorus prepares to perform sweet clarion chords;
Beacons that coursed constant along my long troubled way,
Soon to be gradually extinguished at the onset of another slowly waking
Cheshire day.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars should not cry. (For men do not cry! Do they?)
The painted black and white metal railings that secure the pastoral herds
Of the shire
Are adorned with the icicles and hard frost from a fierce biting ire;
And as Moonlights diminished beams disappear behind thick drawing drapes
- Finally drawn -
Back in the land of my fathers fathers to which i am forever inextricably sworn!!


                                Forgive me, Julia!!



















     


More great poems below...


Details | Dane Poem | |

Cats! Cats! Cats!

...                                                     Oh!                  Oh!
                                                       What?              What?
                                                       Do you think of cats?
                                                     We have too many cats.
                                                   At least, they feast on rats.
                                                 Cats. (*) Cats! Cats! (*) Cats.
                                                 What do you think of that?  I
                                                 have seen them with a mole.
                                                 Dead, pulled out of his hole. 
                                                  A delicacy I once was told.
                                                       My cats are: Meow.
                                                 Some big fat- Meow!
                                       Rat-eating cats.  Meow!
                               I never see them eat a bat.
                        I guess at night, they sleep or chat.
                  Cats do not have wings.  They cannot fly!  
               My, oh my, will they wish someday to fly?
            At early dawn it is time to prowl.  Not for owls.
        Meow!   They hunt for snakes, insects, some fowl.
      Silently, sneakily, stealthy, spying, they P-o-u-n-c-e-!
     It’s survival of the fittest, kitty cat style.  Buy a bell.
    You may see them on the ground or in a tree looking
      down. Meow!   Sometimes they will play in the sand.
      Rolling, flipping around on every inch of ground.
       Or you might find them upside down flexing,
         Anticipating their morning prowl.  Meow.
              By and by, success is found.  
                  In their kitty bowl...  Meow. 
                   Smiles!  Meow, Meow, Smiles! 
                        © (© Dane Smith-Johnsen) January 27, 2010

Details | Dane Poem | |

Love List

Love
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

Love approaches and does not scare.
Love bears and does not let go.
Love cares and does not shrink.
Love declares and does not shun.
Love establishes and does not tear down.
Love forgives and does not remind.
Love gives and does not expect.            
Love has and does not gloat.
Love hears and does not tell.
Love hopes and does not give up.
Love instills and does not corrupt.
Love joins and does not run over.
Love keeps and does not stray.
Love lives and does not stress.
Love manages and does not control. 
Love persuades but does not discourage.
Love proclaims and does not hide.
Love questions and does not badger.
Love rejoices and does not displease.
Love sees and does not condemn.
Love talks and does not defame.
Love understands and does not misconstrue.
Love values and does not insult.
Love wants and does not ignore.
Love XOXOXOX and does not reject.
Love yearns, and does not insist.
Love zaps, and does not destroy.

LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER.

Details | Dane Poem | |

A Fairy Tale

A Fairy Tale
     By the Poets Listed After the Poem

Once upon a time, long-long ago there was a wishing star.
She, unlike a billion other bright shining stars, was magic.
Bored with her galaxy, she began to wander far away.
Streaking through the atmospheres was very hot, but not tragic.

Pausing to wonder with much time to ponder, she cast her spell.
“Tiny goblins on Halloween, by light one wish I will grant.”
Who should be the recipient of this very special wish?
Earth children roaming streets that night in one hand my gift, I'll plant.

Oh who should receive my amazingly special gift of light?
So many young ones, in who's humble heart this wish I could grant.
Out of all the precious children that have come within my sight.
The child who has the purest wish is the one I will enchant.

I'll sprinkle on my chosen one, crystal glitters, gold balloons.
A ride follows to fairyland, ending on the golden moons.
With a magical flight through a rainbow high where dreams come true,
And a house of candies in the land of Marshmallow-Lagoons...

Oh, that magical light shining through sweet cotton candy clouds,
Her wish she may...her wish she might...there's one ghoul she'll bless that night.
Of princesses, fairies and goblins, a good heart will be found.
Quickly child, make your pure wish, before the magic star takes flight.

CONTRIBUTING POETS: Charmaine Chircop, Carolyn Devonshire, James Marshall Goff, John 
Loving III, Robin Gass, Raul Moreno, Ruben D. Ortellao, Patricia Prescott, 
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Details | Dane Poem | |

This One's for You

This One’s for You
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

Wherever you are, when life seems hopeless, 
And your scrambled essence screams inside out. 
The pain wrenches it’s own form of anguish.
Head harrowing, distant dreams devoured
Fear asks, “Why me?  Dear God, why me?  Why me?

                        Stop!

Release the throbbing hurt; control moments.
Revive the tranquility once within.
Just for a moment, wait upon the Lord.
Let Him hold you.  Do you sense His presence?
Never give up on God; share your sweet soul.

                        Look!

All around.  See the wonder of Creation.
The beauty prepared for you. Please partake.
Preclude pain.  Spotlight God for a moment
He can bequeath irresistible joy.
Never give up on God, spill your sweet soul.

                       Listen!
  
Permit the fear to disappear; hear God.
Cast off your pain in Jesus’ Holy name.
Listen quietly for a little while.
Hear Him; sense the mighty comfort He gives.
Trust His strength to help you and heal your heart.
                                      Amen

More great poems below...


Details | Dane Poem | |

Prayer for Dane Ann

May God place his hand,
In your hand today, Dane Ann,
And see you safely on your way.
May God guide the surgeon’s hands.
May the rest of us pause to pray.
A VETERAN is having surgery today.
So please God, have an angel,
Stand by Dane’s bed today.

Details | Dane Poem | |

Christmas

happy
moms and dads
with child-like grins
acting like Santa Clause
giving

children
cannot sleep
the night before
gift-surprises arrive
Christmas

November 9, 2014
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen 

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Cinqku Poem - Poetry Contest
Sponsor	Dr.Ram Mehta

Details | Dane Poem | |

POSSUM JUGGLING

POSSUM JUGGLING  
  Written By the Poets Listed After The Poem.  
  
Possum juggling is a trick conjuring sport.  
You should never do it if your arms are short.  
Nasty teeth are gnashing as they're tossed in air.  
The juggling of possums requires flair.  
Full-grown possum are very massive fellows.
Their bulk when lifted, like handling jell-o.  
They are so at ease as they fly through the trees.  
Are you ever so tall?  Fight them on your knees! 
Though cuddly and soft, please never be smitten.  
Asleep they appear, in a flash you're bitten.  
Upon one look, so UN-cute the ragged claw!  
Surely reminds me of my mother in-law.  
In my compost bin found this fury creature.  
Pointed nose, stinky as my English teacher-  
For that part which sticks out of the can at dark.  
Not a pretty site though pink, duck. It’s a fart!  
Quickly grab his leg and throw him really high 
Let the little blaster soar into the sky! 
Be quick, juggler, Granny Clampett is waiting 
It's possum stew she hopes to be creating 
Wait, I forgot! My arms are too short for this.
Now on my face sprinkles a souring mist.
The moral of this story, surely you see!
Never juggle opossums! Just let them be… 

Contributed Poets (in alphabetical order)  
Charma Chircop, Austin Daver, Carolyn Devonshire,  James Frazer, Robin Gass, James M. 
Goff, Raul Moreno, John Robbins, James Peranteau, Dane Smith-Johnsen,

Details | Dane Poem | |

The Deposition

The Deposition

The love God gives remains unbound.
Jesus of Nazareth came down. 
Everlasting, His love abounds.
 
Deliverer and Redeemer: crucified, He died. 
Eternal sacrifice, His perfect life tried. 
Painfully executed, giving no retort to their lies.
Omnipotent creator, teacher, and revelator
Righteous, He lived, and died; over sin the victor. 
Incomprehensible pain He, for us bore. 
Two women, Mary, His mother, and Mary Magdalene
Inconceivable how perfect love and wisdom fomented.  
Overcome with grief, Nicodemus and more lamented.
Never ending love, on the third day Jesus the Christ, alive presented.

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Details | Dane Poem | |

First and Last Palindrome!

(I'm really sorry if I left your name off, but I tried to do
 all the premium members I could imagine plus the 
non-premiums with whom I regularly communicate.
 If you are not here, I'm just not seeing you around!)

Adeleke and Amy, Andrew, Audrey, Barbara, Brian, Carol, Caroline, Carolyn, Carrie, Caryl, Catie, Cecil, Celene, Charles, Connie, Constance, Chris, Dane Ann, Daniel, Danielle, Daver, David, Deb, Diamond, Doris, Dr. Ram, Highlander, Elaine, Emily, Faleshia, Farah, Francine, Frank, Gareth, Gerard, Gert, Grace, Joyce, H.G. Iolanda, Irma, James, Janette, Jared, Jerri, Jessica, Jimmy, Joe, John, john, Joseph, Karen, Karla, Katherine, Kimberly, Kristen, Larry, Laura, Linda, Lynette, Mac, Margaret, Marie, Matthew, Max, Michael, Mitch, Moonbee, Nathan, Nick, Nikko, Paula, P.D., Phyllis, Ralph, Raul, Ravindra, Rhoda, Robb, Robert, Rueben, Samir, Sara Sean, Sheol, Sharon, Stephanie, Tavarus, Tim, Tirzah, Travis, Virginia, and Wilma are poets looking great forward and - backward - and forward great looking poets are Wilma and Virginia, Travis, Tirzah, Tim, Tavarus, Stephanie, Sharon, Sheol, Sean, Sara, Samir, Rueben, Robert, Robb, Rhoda, Ravindra, Raul, Ralph, Phyllis, P.D, Paula, Nikko, Nick, Nathan, Moonbee, Mitch, Michael, Max, Matthew, Marie, Margaret, Mac, Llynette, Linda, Laura, larry, Kristen, Kimberly, Katherine, Karla, Karen, Joseph, john, John, Joe, Jimmy, Jessica, Jerri, Jared, Janette, James, Irma, Iolanda, H.G, Joyce, Grace, Gert, Gerard, Gareth, Frank, Francine, Farah, Faleshia, Emily, Elaine, Highlander, Dr. Ram, Doris, Diamond, Deb, David, Daver, Danielle, Daniel, Dane Ann, Chris, Constance, Connie, Charles, Celene, Cecil, Catie, Caryl, Carrie, Carolyn, Caroline, Carol, Brian, Barbara, Audrey, Andrew, Amy and Adeleke
For The Palindrome Contest: Sponsored by Jared Pickett

Details | Dane Poem | |

a guinea fowl

a guinea fowl
molting polka dot feathers—
handmade earrings

© February 21, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Juxtaposition Haiku 	 
Sponsored by: Charles Henderson

http://www.honoluluzoo.org/guineafowl.htm

Details | Dane Poem | |

Counting Every Blessing

I thank our Lord for the blessings bestowed:

There is a roof over my head; I’m not living in a cardboard box
Even though my wound still oozes, my skin cancer was completely removed
My fingernails are unusually strong and I have emery board access
The food I eat may be cheap and meager, but at least it keeps me alive
Although I have metatarsalgia in my feet, I can still walk on them
My feet may hurt most of the time, but the tumors in them are benign
Much free time is mine because little work is available
How lucky I am to have friends who will laugh and cry with me at life’s troubles
I appreciate the ability to love and show compassion
Thankfully, I don’t drool too much when I eat
There is no worry as to how my money will be spent because I have none
I’m grateful I have faith and do not fear physical death
Although my cholesterol is 386, my heart still beats
I am blessed that I have eyes to see, though as years pass my vision blurs
Ears to hear, but people have to speak louder as I age
A nose to smell flowers when obnoxious odors do not overcome
A voice to speak when someone cares to listen
Taste buds that delight in chocolate, but are repulsed by medicine
And most of all I am blessed with a sense of humor


* For Dane Ann’s “Blessings” contest.  (Yes, my cholesterol truly is that high.)

Details | Dane Poem | |

War...

War…
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

War is good for greed.
Hatred!  Repugnance.  And death…
It reinstates need.

Details | Dane Poem | |

a ku ku krazy day

a very loud noise
started ringing from my clock—
I fell out of bed

a bumped water glass
rolling across the hard floor—
I slipped on my head

a loud screaming sound
resonated through the house—
my face turned bright red

my husband woke up
hysterically laughing—
I was on the floor

I could not get up
without someone assisting—
ku ku krazy day

I went back to bed
wondering what day it was—
perhaps, tomorrow

Ó April 18, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  ????.....!!!!!.....Ku Ku Crazy......!!!!!.....???? 
Sponsor	Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver




Details | Dane Poem | |

Titanic Forever

My father had been out of work for way too long.
At night, I often heard him and mom weep
Food was scant, but love was strong. 
As was that hunger pain when I lay to sleep.

My little brother was too young to understand.
Still a babe in arms, he brought our only smiles.
I loved to play with him and hold his tiny hand.
It seemed to take away the hurt from life trials.

Then, one-day dad came home all excited.
He was talking so fast, grinning from ear to ear.
He said that our future was well fated.
That we were in for adventure was clear.

It was that new ocean liner, the Titanic. 
Dad had been hired for the maiden voyage.
We were going along as his sidekick.
A family destined for American homage.

In just five days we boarded that ship.
Immigrating was a dream come true.
Accommodations would be a hardship.
But it was worth opportunities…new.

Dad worked as a scullion in the restaurant.
We were housed on the lower deck.
It was a very crowded lodgment.
We stayed together until the shipwreck.

Sirens were screeching people screaming.
We could not find dad anywhere.
Was he locked up as a cageling?
Could it be true; was he trapped down there?

Lifeboats were being lowered.
Mom held my brother, crying.
Dad must be somewhere cloistered.
We all feared a dreadful dying.

Someone put me in a lifeboat.
I reached for mom as it descended.
The Titanic was still afloat.
But my family separated.

The water was freezing.
I had forgotten my coat.
People crying, sniffling, and sneezing.
The lifeboat soon became an iceboat.

Within a few hours, death began.
Shivering, I crawled beneath two corpses.
A young girl destined to live without her clan.
Hidden from polar breezes.

That was the last time I saw my mother.
My mind holds the image clearly.
She, calling for dad, was cuddling brother.
Oh, how I loved my family dearly.

When rescuers finally arrived.
I was the only one alive in the lifeboat.
Beneath those bodies, I survived.
Then, I was wrapped in a warm coat.

I never did see America.
I was sent to an orphanage back home.
Life had dealt a great trauma.
Forever had sunken in the ocean's foam.

© April 9, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  My heart will go on and on.... Free Poetry 
Sponsor	Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver

Details | Dane Poem | |

"Vietnam Veterans"

Anne Murray did have quite the flurry, voice as a brook without crooks
 Canadian born, songs of forlorn, beautiful vibes, I subscribed
Such singing as a bird, the world has never heard, she splurged
“O Little Snow Bird”,  in the words I heard, calming of Vietnam

O spread your wings and fly away, words of God’s love I heard
Mind level love, forever untrue, so what’s new, `Tis festering spew
O but little snow bird, an alpine of cleansing snow, God’s Love
Spread your wings that brings, renewing, from festered spewing

Providing for me a way to go, by a cleansing snow
 Innocence, a purity, of life’s promising security 
Some leaders said only fate, this atrocity of hate
Maimed, lamed and defamed they came, to claim their bitter fame

State side they now abide, holding inside, Our leaders lied
Leaving the lamb of their souls in Nam, for uncle Sam
Atrocities, of hate, never abate, mind’s sickening fate
The Vietnam of late, laid at the mind’s creation of hell’s gate

O beauty of little snow birds, spread your wings, fly back this way
Cleans again, the glean of mind’s sin called fate, lain at heart’s gate
Like an alpine of purity,  Love from Anne’s heart was sung
Maybe only to ease her own pain, but her  timing was plain

The answer is blowing in the wings, of even a little snow bird
The such of which the mind of itself has never learn or heard
All humanity will not learn,  but precious few will return
By their trust in Love, the snow white Dove, spewed forth from above

Anne Murray sang away I know, some of my own heart’s pain
Honoring all Vietnam veterans, be you not in fretters
From your  hearts of security your love is your surety
Let your Alpine of pure snow bird, be Love’s word you’ve heard

Dane I am sure you’ve at least heard this song that this poem is about.
It somehow caused me to think of you, as I was writing it. Therefore 
I dedicate it to you and all veterans for your service to our country. 
Sincerely, Love, Moses

12-19-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com

Details | Dane Poem | |

A Life Game: Greed

What will their eternity win?
Greed, as a vice makes some men grin.
Money is their God.
Poor folks bear guffawed.
Then games bring a different kingpin!

© June 1, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Details | Dane Poem | |

The Chicken Instigator

All chickens here assembled, rise and fight.
It’s not enough the humans steal our eggs;
They cut our tender breasts, and that’s not right!
Stand tall upon your skinny chicken legs.

Stand tall and show them all you have some pluck
All chickens here assembled, rise and fight.
Tell all mankind that you don’t give a “cluck.”
Stop cowering like puppy dogs. Unite!

We’re raised unnaturally. Though plump and white,
We’re not all THAT; we’re caged and given grief!
All chickens here assembled, rise and fight.
We must convince mankind to turn to beef!

We’ve got to make them lustful for a steak;
to find the COW more healthful; see the light:
Say no to K. F. C or Shake ‘n Bake!
All chickens here assembled, rise and fight. 

For Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen's "Armano Aurocano Rock Star Contest" (the chicken contest)

Details | Dane Poem | |

Dream Weaver Damsel

"Dream Weaver Damsel" in a tiny corner beyond mysterious hills a quaint curio shoppe promised exotic thrills amid cryptic designs whispered brisk Autumn chills as the marmalade sunset cautioned while pursuing frills ... misty clouds had invited as curiosity excited I entered dusty door of my own free will. melodies chanted a pleasant, yet haunting refrain as a slight pungent odor infused by wolf bane the proprietess welcomed with a silver head cane at her side was a midnight blue giant great dane ... a charming confection a cozy connection i wandered in amazement to purchase sculptured frame. she offered a sweet tea from a boiling cauldron tin suddenly the silence invaded quiet as a pin this euphoria feeling tasted tempting as sin while spraying wild essence which appeared from a bin ... a mystical trance fashioned vivid romance I envisioned a breath of intoxicant gin. floating through space on invisible wings seeking to escape from perilous things trying to seize the illusive brass rings as I started to weep I heard two lovebirds sing ... dream sequence is over awake! smell fresh clover was my dream a prediction? premonition? or warning? *For SandyIvy Davis's Good Enough Contest. *Written by: Linda-Marie The "Sweetheart" of P.S..

Details | Dane Poem | |

The Pirate's Life for Me

I starts me life as pirate, 
A grommet before age twelve,
Not an ordinary bandit,
High sea adventures me delve.

With a Letter of Marque in me han’
And the Commodore for me pa!
I spends dogwatch near the helmsman,
Nerey missin’ me bonny ma.

Old salts tell their gory tales,
Aye, dogs hanging from the gallows.
Punishments for a man who fails
Floggings or keelhaul; blood bath follows.

Scrimshaw hangin’ ‘round me neck.
A privateer by trade,
Flaunting booty on the deck
We’s the scallywags brigade.

Pirateering is me heartthrob.
I dreams schemes in the crows nest.
‘bout takin’ swag from an unfortunate swab.
I sits watchin’ pa from the crest.

Long nines aimed and ready,
Jolly Roger on the mainmast,
Headway fast and steady,
The enemy’s fate forecast.

One for all and all for one!
Drinkin’ grog an’ eatin’ grub.
Werkin’ on the “Morning Sun”
Me father at the hub.

Davy Jone’s locker, me final plight! 
Death drifting in me beloved sea –
Straightway from the dark of night
The pirate’s life for me!

© July 15, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Details | Dane Poem | |

Slams Destroyed Her Head

Slams Destroyed Her Head

She was slammed by slam poetry, boo hoo!
Some folks wondered about the hullabaloo.
When bombarded with dread,
Sad thoughts destroyed her head.
Now, she thinks she’s a blithering cuckoo!

© July 17, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Details | Dane Poem | |

The Wilderness Part 2

Why not build a building of the real self,
You mind has jumped off it’s cliff,
Having nothing left of itself,
With the old man dead,
Where is the dread,
Live life instead!

There is nothing left,
But God within myself,
For I have been in a hassle,
In my worldly castle with my selves!

Here is the way it goes in hassle’s,
Worldly castle,
My aware said, I do declare,
To my mind, in times line,
Who said to my brain,
You’re lame,
Now my lame brain,
Said, to my flesh,
You’re the very last,
To see,
Twiddle Dee,
The mind’s creation for you to be!

Now that we see our devils,
Lets get our lives on the level,
For there is no devils,
Only a house divided,
Has been decided!
You can now see the cure,
That has been provided!

Just your outer parts out of line,
Created a wilderness in your mind,
In life’s time line!
So sit and pine no more,
No need to walk the floor,
Your mind created your life’s W- - - e!
Read about it in your bible some more,
Living with her has been such a chore,

So now I’ve opened the real door,
Of my inner world to explore,
It’s the real world,
Not the world in peril,
But my real pearl, of God’s world! 

One soul, one heart at a time,
With love’s kind,
Dane & Carolyn!
Myself I can change,
You, I cannot rearrange,
My love I can give to you,
But I can’t live it through you!

Once enough members of life’s city is built,
The whole world will tilt,
Toward perfection,
In love’s direction,
Toward the city’s election,
Of a world of perfection!

In the building of the city,
Black stones are a pity,
White stones build the city,
The carnal mind is a pity,
From the white of the hearts,
Comes a perfect city!

6-22-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com

Details | Dane Poem | |

Leadership

Leadership is an in-born trait? Oh, I'm not so sure of that.
Though many leaders have the genes, when they were pressed fell flat!
Many are the leaders whose mettle during stress was ceded,
And men of lesser rank stepped forward and succeeded!

A successful leader if he is astute and very wise,
Will surround himself with sage folks to counsel and advise.
He will ever be trusted by those with whom he serves,
And in doing so will earn the respect he so well deserves!

He will heed the needs and aspirations of others,
And develop a team spirit among his sisters and brothers.
He will lead with integrity, concern and fortitude,
And for a job well done will always express his gratitude!

He'll be the first on the job at dawn - at night the last to leave.
He will mentor and encourage others to strive their best to achieve!
A leader will ever be loyal to those above and below,
And accept responsibility no matter from whence it flow!

A sense of humor is essential to soothe when tensions rise.
When company policies change he will hasten his people to apprise!
A leader will honestly demure when he is heaped with praise,
Saying, "Sir, these outstanding people of mine deserve the raise!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Placed No. 10 in Dane Ann Smith-Johnson's "Projects and Credits" Contest- Aug 2010

Details | Dane Poem | |

Spirit From the Past

As I sit upon the cloud, my sister SPIRIT, we shall call  ----  “ ALWAYS “
Visits : bringing Her inner Soul with Virtue of  the Heart  ----  FOREVER
 I believe I know YOU from “ Yesterday “  Please help me --- REMEMBER
As She spoke : the Lyric of Her voice : brings memories   -----           I
Envision YOU “  my little Sister ’ Long ago Lost in LOVE; in  ---   LOVE
Through the mirrors of YOUR EYES : Brother, Sister : Me and  --  YOU
Loving Parents , from a Time in History :  where my Heart is of   ---  MY
Searching Soul, “ alive comes the past “ :  growing up with MY   ----  SISTER
Together we speak of “Forever LOVE” with an opened Heartfelt  ----  SPIRIT
As we meet AGAIN in Time KNOW ALWAYS that I LOVE YOU  ---   L Y N E T T E 

     Dedicated To My Kindred SPIRIT Lynette Chachere  “ Spirits Together “


Author’s Note : The origin of  “ End Line Word “ Form Is a Dedication Where the
Vertical Line is the “Dedication” and the Body  “ IS the Why “ Thank-YOU to all 
Who have Supported Dane and I in Our Endeavor To create a New Form of POETRY
Dealing with Honor to Each Contemporary YOUR Participation Is Astounding ALWAYS YOURS…
HG

Details | Dane Poem | |

Lives We Have Printed

Lives We Have Printed
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

Lives we have printed 
were written greatly with rhyming thrust.
When wreaths of laurels scented 
beguile the richest dreams with lust,
fragrance glorified bows to trust. 

Poetic form English Quintain: rhyme scheme a,b,a,b,b 
Written for Brian Strand’s Poet Laureate contest 
October 24, 2009