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Best Poems Written by Jason Johnson

Below are the all-time best Jason Johnson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

A Pair of Brown Eyes

it comes in rapid progression
parting reality with subtle lisps.	 brown eyes
a forest floor of fern
   ever changing with the seasons
	         (a smile, a smirk)

preying hands collapsing 
across sable skin too soft to wear.  	desire
wanting nothing more than 
a moment prescribed as birds fly northeast
	         ( a touch as noticeable)

just a sidewalk untraveled.	saturated
by the wishful wisp of morning
softness of dew fingertips, thrust of a pulse
wanting nothing more than to be inhaled
	        (breath chasing the calm)

sensation measuring the lazy waltz
of the second hand, 
time calculating reflections.	frozen
      in the simplest seldom fleeting look
	       (walking while talking)

our embrace mimic the trees 
arm in arm--stride in stride 
you have become myself.	scent 
of winter chanting a glance mirrored by deflection
	      (welcome the bundle of fire)

twisting our words imitating sounds
nearby vultures at a feast. 		carnivores
circling our mouths with no purpose
wanting to say what we know
	     (speechless sleep)

awkward postures resembling
Greek gods bathing in spilled nectar.	measurement 
of mathematical equations
     melding together thoughts through 
                    (a passing glimpse)

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

Lost From Sung Lips)

Your e-mail engraves a smile while opening its contents.
I wanted to reply, to share a thought, 
but my daughter reminds me during that curiosity, 
an obligation to buy new shoes.

Being careful not to lose this thought in the pocket where I found my keys,
I placed it with a melody, a familiar whistle on tongue tip.
She with I weave like a zipper into traffic talk about school, friends, photographs
we found ourselves still framed on 6th and G. 

Placing her hand in mine with careful grip, 
she stops in time to save a purple flower called moment- 
forged loneliness- alone in the parched concrete seam. 
Placed it in my shirt. Seemingly protected by a giggle she looks for shoes;

She is only thirteen, tomorrow she will be sixteen
maybe laying in her bed with a realized 
pain of the first kiss placed with ruse. Not today. 
Today, we drove home foolishly to the radio,

as your thought is misplaced from absentminded lips.

We pull into the driveway.  She kisses my cheek 
within a single brush stoke of innocence; 
suddenly redandblue skyandsun understand the simplicity 
of the single purple flower (that replaced your reply,

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

Wisps of Wonder Under a California Moon

a well crafted necklace
surrounds your neck

	(long 
                      smooth 
                              inviting)

delivers  subtle accusations
of adultery…
 …cannot be faithful, 
only you alone must endure
these constant 
passing’s by of tempting selections;

		forced still
		head down
		layered 

like a deck of cards hopes for a queen,
curses the joker.

slowly  i pull back your fastened ribboning
the very fabric that hides
your forbidden fluid, ceremonial aroma
floats orchids across the breeze
plucked perfectly from your long stem

to pour all of you
fulfills	
	all of me...
		selfish me!

scent trembles
excites my senses
eyes seduced to closure,
your taste never alien…
	
no longer forcing away your temptation
firmly grasping
caressing your thin waist
exiling premature hesitation
lifting, 
tilting, 
our mouths become one
pouring every ounce passionately
a want that cause angels to turn,
afflicting the harvest moon to blush.

swishing you around my tongue
leaving a masque of satisfaction
	(clouds losing breathe)

exhaling slowly
looking into your eyes
pleasant is this longing

                 (smoke barrels, oak crates, blackberries)

passing one simple statement:

“I am thankful for bottles of Merlot”

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

If Shakespeare Wrote Our Play

the frozen breath would stain
the night sky black,
as it swallows the harmony
of a lone cricket choir.

your skin reflects 
our shroud of sweat,
your teeth sacredly protest 
across my naked shoulders

in this Moët room.
The half moon comes 
to rest its rays, 
casting a former shadow

on fingers that climb my ribs
like desperation clings to the ladder.

A want to understand 
what the other pretends
through eyes, an impatient

glance in a moment
we see a reflection;
my arms braced back
hands full of drunken awkwardness

your fingers imbedded 
above my chest, owning flesh
tension can only releases this ache
while your lips search for sound

stopped by times aged hand 
coming to rest on our nakedness

 (as we become giants)

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

Evening Gown of Yesterday

After days of fog
Moths eat away the slip of winter
Pieces of the New Year
Drift as ash into spring

Eyes waiting abhorrently 
While midnight clasps the last remnants
Tomorrow becomes the butler 
Escorting the sun

Rays peel open the solstice
Tattered wings flutter towards
The lamppost of February
Sealed in pocket mirrors…

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

Today I Can Remember

I remember yesterday, 
You became human through breakfast and poem
As if desired to be a transfused memory
Next to where I discarded you,  

Unnoticed, a incomplete short story, 
Some lack of narrative.

I remember the nurse, 
White coat without credentials, 
Red hair shampooed in stale cigarette smoke,
Clutching the clipboard of your entire heritage,

Found deliverance in the small print,
Words specify to remove any victims.

She commented on your mother’s eyes,
Eyes that stole comfort from the terrible silence 
Locked away in a basement basinet.

I remember you, delicate
Wrapped in fluid before violence
Wrenched through the vacuum
Without the assistance to life

That removes mother from mouth,
A force to bring color to limbs.

You ceased before your name
No vigil or mourning hymn,
A eulogy that never existed until today.

Outside of the womb,
You borrow your brother’s smile
So big it forces eyes closed,
A sister’s laugh promenades 
Echoes through empty rooms

Your mother’s steady red pen
signs your goodbye.

I remember today,
You pour from ink across
Thought to paper in some act of cul-de-sac penance
Frozen in my body as fear pours
Concrete through bone marrow cinder blocks,

I remember that today I left you at my Father’s feet,
Away from white gowned cannibals
Who feast on the science of little ones.

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

The Long Goodnight

if only there was a way

to wash your memory
beat it against stones
               (perform my own lobotomy... 

                    ...interrupt the fibers of response)

remove the cynical tarnish tongue
that waits (breathing- taunting)
a cannula, manipulating the phone
that speaks your lies

long is this equation
tied together, 
like railroad tracks
running together concurrently;

                          pushing, pushing, pushing…

      …forward without reprieve,

valleys that wind down
stopping through thoughts--
        displaying  anguish from a looking glass.
I have lived in the freshness
of spilled water
tracing from the grey skies…


              …can one derail this train

fling it from the trussle,
as if skipping you
like a rock 
from a grenade bandaged hand
you once called truth.


instead this two sided coin
has been flipped,
smashing the wounds
forcing splinters under nails

                 if you 
                 smiled;

the force would shatter
that damn brazen smirk,

there is far more safety
in the grips
of the hooded executioner
who shares your conscious blank stare.

driving a stake 
through your chastised breast,

only to find a sepulcher
where the heart 
was never placed.

(clinging to existence
                 a parasite)

           feeding, feeding, feeding

without penalty;

		--you cannot feel
		--you cannot bleed
		--you cannot rob me

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

Finding the Way Back

the blue jays waited 
on the camp bench this afternoon
for you to feed them,

you ignoring me
cost them too,
they wept all day through.

we came to Yosemite 
for you
to find resolution
was it in an alleyway 
	or the Blue Onyx Bar?
did the sun, while feasting 
	on your skin
devour the last of us as well?

this moveable target
blazing the whiskey sky,
seduced my loneliness
following me 
	to Jack London Square

taunting me of you
	As well…

my hair is singed 
	from lying in your sun
i am tired of lying next to you
engineering the corpses tan,
i am far better 
	a pale man

this world of your unknown
strangers smile
approving glance
a night remembered twice to come,
sending you to the other side of the bed;
	whatever keeps you there

time finding ways to expand
diluting my reflection
make me more
leaving with less
fortifying with a smile
this journey back 
is longer than 
	the forward run

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

From a Father, From a Son

Patient clasps of hands, a master’s apprentice fumbling
slimy worms in swirling streams,
brook trout laughing at my folly.
Atop of your back, sun soothing heavy eyelids stuffed like cottonballs,
while the slow steady cadence of slumbering trails burst colors
of orange, yellow, red explosions of fall.
You taught me how to wrestle with foxtails, exhaling wishes from dandelions:
"pay careful attention to the paintbrush"
Nature’s way of flaming the death of summer’s call.
My heart racing as we watched mother doe,
gentle, nibble the tear-soaked tips of grass.
Your inner compass never forgetting home,
dizziness as we gazed heavenward at the ancient crowns
reaching the pearlescent skies.
You taught me mossy beards, north slope, fir,
shelter from the cold, the best branch for a fire, instructions for a son.
Silence forging sacred breath, your hands crackled like autumn leaves,
draped in mine, melting the embedded calluses of fragility,
eyes turned grey calling the paint brush of fall.
Still just a child secured upon your back, 
peanut butter fingerprints pressing in time,
"daddy, what if I cannot find home"
looking down with saucer-wide eyes,
 I can still hear your voice:
"be still, wait, I will always find you."

Details | Jason Johnson Poem

The Affair

Evening left you signaling the chime
The witness standing back in your eyes,
Pin shut lips
Words without a shot glass

          Pouring freely down vacant streets.

Pages of the past hanging from the eave
Dancing the drunkard's lullaby,
falling from shoe tops.
Fingers twirling busy bees
In the palms of honey cups.

The empty barrel of the pen
Inked, in the letter left
Sleeping next to the wine.

This writing is familiar, you wrote it.
A love letter sealed
with slivers,
Post dated to a place long passed.
Sinewy paper placed neatly in script,

           On the welcome mat to nowhere.

Souls infused through creased air, protest
Each breathe
peeling the pages,
Your blue wraparound dress.

Consenting the satisfaction of knowing, there
Across the hall is your door, uncloaked
leading to your bed,
This is also my bed.
Rendezvous hanging like stale pipe smoke,

           Where clothes splash ripples in absinthe sheets.