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Best Poems Written by Joyce Johnson

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

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

Mother's Apron

Mother wore an ample apron
to cover her clean dress.
She'd tell you that's what it was for
if you asked her, I would guess.

But that apron had more uses
than I could even count.
It brought in eggs and vegetables
and could hold a large amount.

I've seen her use that apron
to wipe her dripping brow
as she labored over the big range
that's just an antique now.

Her apron could bring giggles
in a game of peek-a-boo
with her newest, sweet grandbaby
as she hid her face from view.

When we kids were hurt or crying
we'd run to find her lap.
She'd wipe the falling tears away
with a bit of apron flap.

That apron dusted tables
and shooed away the flies.
It did just fine as oven mitts
to take out bubbling pies.

But the greatest of the treasures
that old apron could hold,
was the endless love from Mother
abiding in each fold.

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

Wild Love

The blackberry's love for the garden rose
Brought down the gardener's wrath.
The blackberry sensed the danger
As he wended the garden path.

" A love so true as mine", he sighed,
"Must dare to brave the hoe.
Just a few more feet to reach her,
My true love she must know."

He crept along so quietly,
Sometimes quite out of sight
Until he nudged his darling's feet.
Did he dare to trust the light?

He heard the gardener's heavy boot
And hid in craven shame.
He knew he'd soon be weeded out,
A seedling with no name.

"Have I no worth since I don't rate
Some Latin nomenclature?
Without a well known parentage
Am I a freak of nature?

His darling's line was long and pure,
No skeletons in her past.
He had to make his feelings known.
Those boots were treading fast.

Gently then he wrapped his vine
Around his loved one's spine.
In great amazement he opined,
"Her thorns are sharp as mine".

The sweet rose felt his tender touch
And realized his fear
And wondered at his bravery
In coming to her here.

She heard the swishing of the hoe,
She heard those nearing feet.
Quietly letting down her leaves 
In a manner so discreet

She covered her wild lover.
The gardener unaware,
Stopped but to view her beauty.
He saw naught hiding there.

She whispered, "You are safe now".
The blackberry's heart was light,
Thankful that his dear sweet rose
Had not exposed his plight.

"A rose is still a rose." she said,
"By any other name
And in our distant ancestry,
We share some of the same".

"I'd rather know your wild love,
Than a love that's dull and tame,"
Cuddling close, returned his kiss
Without a bit of shame.

Next season there were seedlings
Of a very different kind.
The gardener delighted, cried
"A horticultural find."

The moral of this story?
Things aren't always what they seem.
The love you look down on today,
Could be tomorrow's dream.

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

A Tribute To Daddy

You were the oak in our family tree,
With roots that were strong and true,
Holding on so tenaciously
No ill wind could topple you.
We nestled under your branches, Daddy,
In the shelter of your girth,
Until our own roots were established and
We survived by our own worth.

Daddy, only then did you waver
Only then did your roots release.  
God seeing how very tired you were
Took you to his home of peace.
Dear Daddy on this Father's Day
I am wondering if you knew
Just how much your daughter loved you
And that she's still missing you.

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

A Mouse Family's Christmas

It's Christmas Eve and through the house 
there creeps a curious little mouse.
He climbs into the big arm chair 
and finds the cookies waiting there .
He only takes the smallest bite.
Santa will find his treat tonight.

He gazes with wonder at the tree
and the bright wrapped gifts left there to be
a mystery tale to tell his spouse,
when he gets home, this curious mouse.
What an adventure it has been,
he has drunk of some spilled gin
that had been left upon the table.
His wife will think it is a fable
he has concocted to amuse  her.
She is homebound, we must excuse her.

He once came home all out of breath
to say he had been scared to death
by a huge rat with fluffy tail.
She noticed he was very pale.
"While I was nibbling off some cheese
to bring to you, my love, to please,
he almost had me in his paws.
I'm sure he wasn't Santa Claus".
But this night is so very quiet.
He spies some fruitcake, has to try it.
It reminds him of that sip of gin
and wonders if his head will spin.
He hears a noise, runs for his life,
carrying fruitcake for his wife.

Christmas morning, spread before their eyes
for the baby mice, a grand surprise.
Their mama had fixed a Christmas feast
from food their dad had saved from beast.
A bit of butter, a glob of jam
and a fairly good-sized piece of ham.
Bread crumbs saved from other forays.
They had enough to eat for days.
Those little mice would never waste it.
If they didn't like it, they'd still taste it.
This food their mama set before them,
their dad risked his life to get it for them.

11/22/14

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

Lemon Trees

I know the land where the lemon-trees flower.
My love met me near them, to linger an hour.
I kissed him, I hugged him and smelled the sweet scent,
And prayed it stayed with him, wherever he went.
The day was so perfect, the skies were so blue.
The fragrance entrancing and love was so new.
He broke off a blossom and gave it to me,
And promised his love for an eternity.
My friends were so happy to plan bridal showers
And my wedding bouquet was of lemon-tree flowers.

Written  7/15/ 18

Sponsor;  Julia Ward

Contest "Pretty Poem, Please

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

A Lonely Christmas

I walked up to the bunkhouse, beneath a cloudless sky,
searching to find the Christmas star, still shining there on high.
The bunkhouse was warm but lonesome with no other cowboys there.
They had all gone home for Christmas. I pretended not to care.

Christmas carols on the radio brought back thoughts of the star
that had shown down on those pastures in that Eastern land so far.
Taking off my vest and Sunday shirt, I threw them on the trunk.
I stripped down to my underwear and crawled into my bunk.

My day had started early. I had worked hard with the crew, 
so they could start their Christmas fun, when all the chores were through.
With no wife nor kids to need me, I had told the rest I'd stay
and watch out for the cattle.  They could have their Christmas Day.

The warm room made me sleepy and I started into doze.
Right there before my astounded eyes, the Christmas Star arose. 
I was a lonely shepherd in that land so far away,
who had been left to guard the sheep until the break of day.

I heard the angels singing and saw the moving star.
I marveled at the beauty and glory from afar.
The bright star beckoned to me and angels led the way
to where the future king of all lay in a mound of hay.

I wanted so to follow them but I had pledged my word.
I had to turn  a deaf ear to the messages I heard.
I knew my solemn duty lay in guarding helpless sheep.
I prayed the Lord's forgiveness but the vigil I must keep.

The star reflected in the eyes of creatures all around,
waiting for the lonely stray or any sheep they found.
I could not shirk my duty to seek Him out that night, 
but I knew I never would forget that glorious, wondrous sight.

I had that dream some years ago, but should that star reappear,
I've hung my rope and saddle up.  I can follow with no fear.

Posted: 12/1/14  For "One of your best" contest

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

Mama's Apron

Mamma wore an ample apron
To cover her clean dress.
She’d  tell you that’s what it was for 
If you’d asked her, I would guess.

But that apron had more uses 
Than I could even count.
It brought in eggs and vegetables
And could hold a large amount.

Her  apron could bring giggles
In a game of peek-a-boo
With her newest, sweet grandbaby
As she hid her face from view.

That apron dusted tables
And shooed away the flies
And did just fine as oven mitts
To take out bubbling pies.

But the greatest of the treasures
That old apron could hold
Was the endless love from Mamma
Abiding in each fold.

Won a no. 1 in John's contest.

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

Super Bowl Day

They're playing in the bowl tomorrow
and we are so very proud.
We Seahawk fans are loyal
and also very loud.
We'll be settled by our TV sets
before the game begins.
We'll stay for the fifth quarter
no matter which side wins.
I'm thinking of my men folks
who had cheered them through the years.
Are they watching them from Heaven
and applauding with loud cheers?

The Seahawk's  franchise was formed
back in Nineteen Seventy-Six.
My husband and four brothers
would yell like lunatics
when the Seahawks added to their score
And it seemed as though they'd win.
I would look at them all yelling
and would shudder at the din.

Then when my son was older,
he joined that happy crew.
I threw in the towel and recognized
I would have to join them too.
They taught me all about first downs
and field goals and touch downs also
and many of the games intricacies
that a good fan needs to know.

My husband and my brothers
and even my loved son
have all gone on before before me
Their cheering on Earth is done.
I wish that they could be here
to see their loved team play.
Daughters and grandchildren will cheer with me
tomorrow on Super Bowl Day.

By: Joyce Johnson

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

Knowin How To Keep Em

Oh don't think that I ain't seein'
As you roll those purty eyes,'
And my man stands there a gawkin'
Like he'd won some sort of prize.

My ma taught me how to keep em
And to cut you down to size.
For there ain't no man worth havin'
Can resist my apple pies.

Details | Joyce Johnson Poem

Twelve Months

January brash and bold,
Brings the worst of winter's cold.
February's stay is brief,
Green sprouts showing some relief.

March may come in like a lamb
And soon become ferocious ram.
Changeling April flirts a bit
And well may have a stormy fit.

We revel in the days of May
And beg her to extend her stay.
We could not bear she leave so soon
Did she not bequeath us, lovely June.

When perfection comes, it comes in June
While July plays a hotter tune.
August can be warmer still.
September brings a welcome chill.

October can go either way
With cooler night and warmer day.
November comes with wind and rain
Predicting winter's wrath again.

December brings the holidays
Silver bells and Christmas plays.
These happy times help us forget,
About December's snow, a bit.

Accept each month the best you can.
God needs them for His yearly plan.

By: Joyce