Best Sequiturs Poems
Do you believe in Science Fiction?
You can have Jedi as a religion,
Led by a guru vader,
Leading the faith traders,
Jedi swords as new excaliburs,
Or are they non-sequiturs?
Yes, Jedi to seek their grail,
May the force be with you today!
I am really a liberal, “push comes to shove,”
But I do have conservative friends that I love,
It is fun to engage them in fervent debate
Even more if wine’s flowing, lots more if it’s late!
For the bar floor is littered with non sequiturs
And our topics too suffer from endless detours.
It’s a normal occurrence when men strut their stuff,
That though little’s accomplished, still little’s enough,
It’s not often that truth causes grown men to care,
For most “run for the hills” if they’re called on to share,
Sure I certainly tired of the “truth” as a lad,
Seemed for better or worse, truth was mostly my dad!
Yes I suffered a lot in my church as a youth,
There’s not much that men say there that’s really the truth
They are all so attached to what might save their souls
You would think doing good is the noblest of goals,
They forget that Christ’s death on the cross is a gift
And that none of man’s efforts gives soul needed lift.
So I tell all my friends though they can’t earn a pass
There’s a “Paradise Won Card” for even an ass!
There’s provision for “lost ones” whose acts are so bad
Even Satan Himself thinks their fate is ironclad.
But while devil may relish souls caught in His snare,
It’s your faith in God’s Grace that will carry you there.
It is not that you know but your feeling God’s truth,
Here experience has no real worth over youth,
Bible’s words matter less but that music shines thru,
God’s harmonic intention, a major breakthrough.
It is not that you love, just let faith be in love,
For your faith can part clouds showing heaven above.
Brian Johnston
October 10, 2016
Instincts do not change
With time or by age.
Reflexive quick glance
Any given chance
Will never end well -
Fury, scorn and hell.
March 27, 2021
Pioneers are frontier first responders,
More afraid of becoming than risking.
After a boundary is breached, the dice rolled,
Or a solution envisioned, come the sequiturs,
Each with enhancements for the thesis
To shade its sun and tame its winds
With their strictures of stasis.
Pioneers wither under conditions of such certainty.
Ho-hum, another poem
Need a rhyme -- Carpe diem
Some ask why...tra-la-la
Ordered pizza cooked by Lisa
I was a poet, but then I blew it
Cursed my editor; it didn't matter
'Cos now I'm a rich, son-of-a-beach
I got me a gig in the major leagues
I heard a rumor that life's a bummer
And that marathoners have no sense of humor
My ox, a horse gored; I was super-scared
But I turned the horse into horse-radish sauce
Non-sequiturs? -- Who the hell cares?
Smokey the Bear put out a fire here...
My rhyming's inane, you've doubtless opined
This objective in mind, to reach readers unseen
this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects
being ma late mama's boytchik
(now, she long since deceased,
whose cremated remains of day
scattered to all points on compass)
fondly referencing
both sisters as dabchick
incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue,
especially when angry, she quickly segued
from mild expletive fiddlestick
the latter playfully aired,
when kibitzing wit bubeleh
reminiscing being dirt poor,
nonetheless zee mother
every now an again homesick
regaling the whole mishpokhe
(meaning us brood of kids)
interrupting herself
with frequent non sequiturs
discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects
as if external forcefield
jimmying a joystick
interleaving disparate threads with subsequent
tangential linkedin snippets
with feigned lovesick
chatting 'bout cockamamie
"Grandpa Moishe"
and his chaim yankel posse
(to escape hen pecking nudnik
"grandma Rebecca"),
a trenchant termagent bubba,
not averse to incorporate dreck
in the same sentence with zayda
ostracized him
scoring figurative placekick,
whence upon his schlepping back home
met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick
king atmosphere choking tearfully
"mother" recounted
farblunget anger thick
lee palpable extremely discomfiting,
particularly when ("mom's")
girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt,
where penury churned moribund thoughts
viz empty cupboards
devoid of bare necessities
a figurative apropos yardstick.
Gallimaufry of linkedin words appeal,
(particularly spoken by renown orator)
'cept when unnamed poetaster afflicted
with chatterbox syndrome,
nonetheless deliberate effected
muzzle restraint imposed
suppressing groundswell analogous
to swollen dam bursting at seams
tongue kickstarts controlled regulator
tripping baffling babbling brook,
sans (cheesy) mouth trap
conscious effort required
maintaining exhausting mental vigilance
attention oriented toward "active listening"
chiming into conversation
when casually addressed
quasi Uber tracking,
sustaining, rendering...
pondering dialogue deliberating,
mustering, aiming, firing...
apropos response adhering
to utmost strictures de rigor,
versus loosing (in the sky)
scattershot poppycock
offbase blatherskite, asper
topic under discussion
synchronicity satisfies peculiar
personal logical paradigm,
despite senseless compulsive predilection
condemning premature ejaculation
plus crosstalk as penultimate transgression
pertaining to papa blurting
asynchronous interjection
consigning tight lipped penance
penile solitude condoned
should predicated persistent plague
prevail attributing penuriousness
lame excuse pardoning yours truly
remote possibility, threatening
spurious spontaneous splendiferous
albeit ill timed unspeakable retort
with hot sealing wax - most wicked
verbal utterance arrogantly
perforating, piercing, protruding,
puckering... two lips
escaping out mouth
more rapid than witnessing
the quick brown fox
jumps over the lazy dog.
A krutsinger’s a banshee bard
who wards off Dends from in her yard,
a place that’s filled with sprites and gnomes
and tiny little hobbit homes.
Her observations, somewhat skewed -
hilarious, but never crude.
The source, it seems, does me elude,
but from her pores, they do exude
(I hope that she won’t find me rude.)
So I suggest we name a form,
and let the krutsinger be born.
Just take a thought, however strange,
and with your pen then rearrange
into a sprawling raucous rhyme,
insert non sequiturs like ‘lime’.
In truth, the lines should be a good bit longer,
for as they grow, a krutsinger gets stronger.
Delightful rhymes, these, in the whole -
a bit like playing whack-a-mole.
One never knows who one meets there:
a witch, a frog, a talking bear.
So sit down with a favored cup;
another batch is freshly up!