Best Johnson Poems
The price of wisdom won't go unpaid
As lessons learned enshrine their toll
But dreams will ne'er submit to grey
Nor the immortality of your soul
So sing o' heart that must be heard
To all who wait and cherish grace
Of willing minds that could be stirred
And see true beauty from your face
On this day we pay true due
To one who's life lives as a kiss
With pride to say that once we knew
One whose thoughts could bring such bliss
Happiness to you always, Ms. Johnson
To Bonnie:
If everything should fail, I’ll raise some hell until we make it right.
We’ll rob that bank and the motel even if it takes an all out gun fight!
I’ll walk through fire so you can have all you desire and more
I will not tire ‘till I hand you an empire and, so I’ve gone to rob that grocery store!
Girl, your my Queen and I’ll stand on life’s battlefield and fight to the death.
Hand-n-hand we will stand until we take our very last breath!
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do! Not a thing I wouldn’t give.
I would lay down my life for you just so you could live!
To avenge your death I would be rebirth; I’m serious as a heart attack!
I would follow you to the end of the earth and all the way back!
Baby I love you! Without you, there’s no me, and that’s how I feel inside.
No matter what we go through we will make history as “Bonnie and Clyde!
To Clyde:
No matter what I do, just to be with you, a life sentence? It’s worth it.
I’ll give up what I have, just a chance, let me grab, just a glimpse of your soul, together
We will grow old.
They question me, threaten me, constantly all over me, and want me to give us up,
Won’t let me go, relentlessly won’t let me be.
Little do they know, I ride for you, very least die for you,
You’re the love of my life, take the stand and vibe for you
Cold when I need to be, warm when you’re touching me,
Legalities by the wayside let the world watch and see
The ends of the earth is hardly far enough, let’s get lost somewhere together with all we
stacked, and that shouldn’t be tough
Just know how much I love you; I’ll gently take this all in stride
No matter what happens here, I’m still your Bonnie, and you’re my Clyde!
Note: A collaboration with Jillian M. Johnson
Quis? Ego
~ on the anointing of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson
So what if it was just a drunken dare
Quis? Ego! Made at Eton long ago
I dub thee Boris of the Golden Hair
Servus, servum, servi, servo, servo
So what if afterwards they went to town
and ordered tiny sparrows stuffed inside
six rare exotic birds and chased it down
with virgins' tears in mouths so open wide
one could believe designed to fit the poor
in at such times there are no partridges
Amo! Amas! Deus! Deum! and more
Dom Perignon! To Boris! Boris is
The Chosen One! So long ago, the dare
At Eton, or more probably, elsewhere
© Gail Foster 24th July 2019
We made fun of how she pronounced her words
And laughed when the press called her 'Lady Bird'
But Mrs. Lyndon Johnson was a gracious First Lady, who gave ecology a push
When she exhorted us, southern style, to "Plant a tree, a shrub, or a bush."
For "Ole" Robert Johnson,
It was so Instrumental.
He went to the crossroads.
Sold His soul to the Devil.
Destroyer ~ Poet
Contest Name Gift Exchange
For Cory Long the fighter.
Just keeps a going strong,
Second published book this writer,
May the dollars follow on,
May her poetry go long,
May the love of words incite her,
Cos Ole johnson’s been an gone…
Thank you for your friend request.
Poem For my Poet friend Joyce Johnson.
MY WARM BEST WISHES FOR 4TH JULY TO ALL MY AMERICAN FRIENDS.
Dear Friend Joyce
I am unable to write back to you
Or even to send you a message
Due to technical reasons
I am sure
You would understand
Why.
I may leave that platform
In due course of time
Whatever big and famous it may be
Where freedom of writer
is controlled and crushed
Without any reasons and grounds
by the selfish interests of
The new rulers of internet and
By its prejudiced guards.
In my long associations
With my PS friends and even other friends
I have never used any language or
even words against any person, country, religions or
friend both male and female,
so it would not be a loss to me
Rather I would have more time
for my Musical Yoga, Paintings, Song writing and
Singing etc and other things.
With best wishes for you and
your good health and
Best wishes for all my poetry soup friends.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 3rd july 2021
Sarah Johnson is, and will always be a cold, heartless murderer. She has no empathy for what she did to both of her own parents, Diane and Alan Johnson. Her friends and family can't even believe that a sweet girl would kill both of her own parents over some guy. They knew that Sarah wasn't supposed to get into this so-called "serious relationship" with this guy named Bruno Santos. The illegal immigrant was three years older than her, especially when he is still known for having a criminal history. It's sad to hear that Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had to die that soon. The entire Johnson family had their lives ahead of them. Sarah Johnson is a heartless liar, an assassin, and on top of all that, she has no soul. The girl was afraid that both of her parents would go to the police and have her so-called "boyfriend" arrested and charged for statutory rape, so Miss Johnson killed them. Now, that was a cowardly move. The reason why Sarah Johnson had killed both of her own parents (mother and father) is because for one, they were going to send him straight to jail for dating a then-sixteen-year-old and they grounded her for life, as in, "indefinitely." Everybody, including her brother, knows that Sarah has no heart and no soul. But in the end, I guess society is better off with Sarah Marie Johnson in prison for the rest of her life. And as far as the citizens of Bellevue, Idaho, her family and her high school friends are concerned, prison is where she belongs. She wasn't abused by both of her parents, but I still can't believe she killed them in cold blood. Now that's what everybody's talking about: a cold, calculates sociopath with no remorse for what she did and had felt no empathy. Sarah Johnson will always be remembered as a bad woman with a selfish ego. And if all types of homicides (matricide, fratricide, and/or parricide) continue to increase, there's no telling what bad thing might happen next.
Well oh did i know one day down
the road there would be a wanting
and calling for grandma..it took
14teen long years though to get
here oh boy's was i happy to hear
I've got a grandson named
Johnson..he makes grandma's day
and night better because little does
Johnson know grandma is fighting to
hang on because grandma disease
can kill me but i this all the
way..well Johnson your grandma's
angle here to hold my hand through
the pain sickness and hurt through
it all little buddy...your grandma's
knight in armor to help if i fall
grandma will the same for you
because my love for you goes that
deep just remember i love you
Johnson...
by:Tina Glover
I see that you have been in a coma for two days and I hope you can hear me,Johnson, I'm going to check your vital every two hours just to see if there ant changes,Johnson,my name is ruthie your nightly nurse, and while I'm here with you I will see to it that you are giving the best care while you here,Johnson, I will clean your wounds and chang your bandages too and when I'm finished doing those thing I will comfort you,Johnson, my name is Ruthie your nightly nurse I'm going to check your vital every two hours just to see if there is any changed,with tears in her eyes, thses are her words, I going to sit right beside you,I'm going to write your wife and kids for you Johnson,I'm going to tell your wife how much you going to miss her and how she's going to miss you,I going to tell your kids that you love them and you wish that if it God will that you can be there to watch them grow-up,I'm going to hold your hand while you are here,Johnson, my name is Ruthie your nightly nurse ,I will be the person you will hear talking with you and I will be the last person to hold your hand, and I'll kiss you for your wife and kids and I'll tell them how good a soldier you was Johnson,I'm going to tell your parent that you are a brave soldier and that you love them very much,and I will also write and tell your conrade to always keep you in there heart,and Johnson when it's my time to go who will sit beside my bed? and hold my hand? and who is going to write my husband and kids and tell them how much I'm going to miss them and who is going to kiss me one last time???Johnson, my name is Ruthie, your nightly nurse It's time to unplug you from my machine, I can't check your vital anymore, I'm going to clean you and dress you in your dress blued and pin your awards upon your chest, and call for someone to bring your body out PVT Johnson will be miss. time of death 1400hrs. stay in a coma for five days....................this is dedicatedto Pvt johnson and his family and love ones......................SSG KIRT JACK
T’will be his death of this he's sure
But for this sin there is no cure
All John did was to stand on guard
Now his family name forever marred.
As a child trained in the Protestant faith
Too late he had now seen his wraith
Converted to Catholicism and fervent too
Knowing never more to see morning dew
He trembled, weak and so close to death
Afraid now to take his known last breath
His bowels loose his spirit lost
Forehead bowed, fingers crossed.
He could almost feel the horse and rope
But knowing he now had no hope
Confessed he did as Guido Fawkes
These step were to be the last he walks
His genitals cut and then to be roasted
Bowels and heart, next to be toasted
‘John’ then ‘Guido’ now known as Guy
Did not want this way to die
Through accident or was it his plan
He climbed the ladder with his hangman
Did he jump or was it a mistake
As he fell and his own neck did break
The legacy for this man Guy
An effigy to be strung up high
Set on fire every November fifth
With explosive fireworks lit forthwith
No child he left to bear his name
But Guy Fawkes still hangs onto fame
To blow King James of Scotland high
For this act of treason thirteen did die
© GG 3/12/2013
Contest Entry: Happy Holiday
Wraith …own ghost.
sleeping (( COLLABORATION * Don Johnson ))
by~ DON JOHNSON
The Nullabor it does abhor
the desert in it standing
The broken heart
he keeps apart
where Eagles are a landing
kangaroo is prolific cos good seasons bring in millions
they shoot them for the last hundred years,
Hoppy is still there in millions
Almost a plague after rain
The cure the joy the madness ploy, just catch a little Shiela
but broken hearts tend to self destroy
The one true love, to feel her
so searching for the lock of eyes upon the Nullabor
kangaroo does abound, dead straight the road for sure
Ironic tale sour grapes inhale,
He sleeps upon the plain
his swag is near the old Ute, and the dog is ever watchful
his protector is a beaut
~civilization calls~
he has to go back to the city streets
And searching ever searching for the eyes of lady sweet.
***by~ POET D:
Searching and searching till weak eyes fall asleep.
~civilization calls~
Calls the plague of raining streets!
The sleeping kangaroo took me into the abyss of sour grapes.
A wildlife with wildfire turned over by wildflowers.
Seascapes; full of sand that no one dared to understand!
Drowning underwater in a universe that had no expand.
Where the passer-by's felt the expression of sadness in his sleeping face.
All it took was experiencing the world with one lonely look.
A grain of salt, in the night sky!
Where clouds ‘walk-sneak and / clouds-cry like a whirlpool’,
Tears from a near by fountain deep in a valley.
Where we can sing for roo's sleeping heart.
Death in a wild flower mourning asleep on the hour.
Seeing’ is believing when Shiela appeared.
Drying tears with her sweet eyes over the desert lands.
A Collaboration with *DON JOHNSON
~MY COLLABORATION CONTEST~
I rather watch a kestrel to see
Her swoop and swirl
The skies invisible maze
To feed the inhabitants of her nest
Her milk of gratitude
Morning begins with a bright darkness
And the beckoning beaks for food
There is a wind ruffled mood
Yawing the feathers of the breast
Dawn is a ransom for the truth
Her flight negotiates
The billowing whirlwind
Of dust
Settled in the bowl of expectation
It is the African way.
Courage cannot wear shackles
When the protest comes
This transition
Have shaken superstructures
Not roots, but leaves
Any grafted branch can bear
We did not invent this way
This democracy
Churning chaos out of selfishness
This way of bridging men's hope
This inclusion that is exclusive
This decomposition of old bargaining
Of parables under ancient trees
Strange shifts happen
When we disrobe our cloth
Baring ourselves of familiar primitives
Was not the old ways good enough
Why did we not transform it
While the time was transforming us
Into spectacles
Since we did not want to be invisible still
Will we transform what we
Have borrowed
Into a resemblance of our sense
Of equality, belonging and value?
The base fumbles into sectors
Carved by streets intersecting villages
Divided by self interests
More than any division of our origin
We who came from Jamaica
Barbadoes, Trinidad
And Guyana
Leaving Elmina, Shama, and Sekondi behind
Cattled in the coral that was not pearl
Permitted by a sympathy of the Unites states
Came here forming a new state
Out of forgotten memories
Of lost addresses and broken grief
Of kinship disillusionment
Called this Liberia
Clothing the construction of autonomy
With the identity of freedom.
Is it surprising then this tension
This fractious existence
In a dark forest of genocide
That each sit not well with self as stranger
For this group have no social memory
Beyond the coming of the ships
Until a common bond is forged
From the sorrow of years of fire
To form a new collective identity
Nothing speaks to the deep insecurity
Where there is a need for belonging
Like the suckle of the milking breast
Soft on the flesh of the tongue
With kindness
Telling us our faults
Teaching us to be brothers again
Telling us how to feel the humanity
In our forgotten hearts
Straining to build out of the pain.
Dear Joyce, you've reached a milestone attained by very few!
I reJoyce at this accomplishment and offer my congrats to you!
Joining the elite Centenarian Fraternity is indeed very rare;
I hope you enjoy many more years of writing is my ardent prayer!
Your poetry flows from your talented quill like honey from a jar!
You've set high standards for others and raised high the poetic bar.
Your encouragement and support for me I shall ever treasure;
Reading your inspirational verse has given me many hours of pleasure.
When your work on earth is o'er, God will reward you with a crown,
Saying, "Welcome Joyce, you served Me and My people with great renown!"
Entry for Carolyn Devonshire's "Happy 100th Birthday" Contest
Don Johnson pens from his far south berth
insightful poems tinctured with mirth.
Of human foibles, plights
and Aussie nights he writes;
all while dangling down under the earth.