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Best Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen Poems

Below are the all-time best Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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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

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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The Hunter's Children Cry

He walked amid the woodlands muted morn.
The scents of earth were wafting on the breeze.
For dawn had moistened yet another day.
And silence dripped beneath the autumn trees.

A rustle in dry leaves, he caught a glimpse.
His gun caressed the warmth of flannel sleeves.
The silent hunter, stalking, tiptoed near.
A golden-red meandered through the leaves.

The sun began to rise above the knoll.
It shone upon dark eyes; the gun rose high.
The pheasant flickered leaves; then, heard a crunch.
He recognized the scent; the man walked nigh.

Red feathers, brightly accented with gold,
Were ruffled as he took his fighting pose.
The cockerel next to man had no defense.
So, high above the trees the pheasant rose!

His hungry children waited back at home.
He rushed along the trail up to the crest.
The pheasant lost from view; his stomach growled.
The hunter and his gun had done their best.

At noon, the hunter rested on a log.
The water in his canteen, nearly dry,
No morsel did he eat as day grew long.
The stealthy man could hear his children’s cry.

December 1, 2014

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Structured forms - Iambic verse - Sketch a fictitious character - (Top Gun Poetry) - Poetry Contest
Sponsor	Giorgio A. V.

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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Flowers Fill Her Universe

Beyond the valley mottled clouds and blue
Invite all strangers into quiet peace.
There sunlight sparkles with the morning dew.

The river hears the loudly honking geese. 
And fragrance from spring flowers fills the air.
Each anxious soul can feel his qualms release.

A quiet stillness floods the valley fair.
Magnolia blossoms show their shining white.
A virgin giggles adding her sweet flare.

While smitten by the golden sun’s daylight,
She challenges desires in her mind.
Beneath the yellow trees her heart takes flight.

Idyllic beauty with God’s hand entwined,
Resounds His message through nature’s converse.
Departing there, good virtue still aligned.

Delightful flowers fill her universe.

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Details | Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen Poem |

Love List

     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.


Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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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

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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Myself in Urban Chaos

Here I go again, focused on myself.
Remembering, analyzing,
Memorializing tragedy.
Thinking, endless thinking.
Suicides, death of grandmas, past loves.
Pining about passions and losses.
The condo I had to let go.
The jobs I left behind.
And the cemetery lots.
My mind wonders around in circles.
From darkness to darkness, city to city,
Job to job, decision to decision 
My children, I embrace with love.
Those years riddled with joys and pains.
Trying, always trying, 
Yet, still disappointed.
Clinging to religion, remembering God.
Accepting –
Then, the child in me curls up
Safe in my warm cocoon,
And I think of you in the next room.
Life made new, fear subdued.
The touch of your hand, my confidence renews.
That forever love so long wanted, found at last.
The pressures I once knew moved to the past.
To the outside world I say adieu.
I was lost in the hollow of myself.
Outside of myself, I found peace. 
Memories blot out urban chaos
And focus on woodland happy days.
Struggles not so painful anymore.
Peace found its hope in you.
…And then, we spoon.

Copyright January 15, 2014

Written for Poetry Soup member contest: Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande in Contemporary Free Rhyme Free Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Cyndi MacMillan.

Inspired by Stephanie Deshpande’s portrait of a Sleeping Child

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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The Pains of Night Without True Love

The ambient glow of the fireplace becomes hypnotic.
Home alone, always, without true love to snuggle me.
Each of many pains of night makes my mind neurotic.
Pathetic it may seem for a young and beautiful girl.
Alone again after years of searching; life becomes a whirl.
Incessant longing gnaws away at self-control.
Night brings its darkness to the weariness of my soul.
Satan takes a grip upon my sanity; I am no longer whole.
Oh, that I could find true love and live a life of joy.
Forever, I live searching, only to be someone’s toy.
Night without you, my true love, is a lonely curse.
If only I could find you, whoever you are, wherever you are. 
Grateful love, come; I beg you and quench my thirst.
Heaven is but a thought away…as is suicide.
Touch me with your warmth; Save me and let love abide.
Where is the dream that I dreamt as a child.
I never knew that the world could be so wild.
Today is just one step in eternity, but forever alone.
How can I face another day; I know not!
Over and over the thoughts circulate in my mind.
Utter self-destructions seeming the only solution.
Then, I fear the great and dreadful consequence.
To live eternity alone would be unbearable.
Reality visits at the break of dawn, briefly.
Underneath these fancy clothes lies a broken heart.
Each day takes me to a new horizon…until night.
Loneliness tortures me; at dark I am immobile.
Oh, the pains of night without true love destroy.
Vitality sinks into Satan’s sullen ship; sips sorrows.
Everything seems lost, but I pray for true love, tomorrow.

Copyright March 8, 2015

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: The Pain of Night
Sponsored by Tammy Reams

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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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

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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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

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

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     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

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

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen