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Best Poems Written by John Ozemko

Below are the all-time best John Ozemko poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | John Ozemko Poem

Without

I can hope that bullets won’t fly
I can pray for a better tomorrow
I can laugh at myself when I’m foolish
I can struggle against my imperfections
But I won’t without you in my world.

I might dream of bathing in sunshine
I might struggle against an undertow
I might say yes to the panhandling homeless
Give food to the needy;  time to the ill
But I won’t without you in my world.

Mercy decided that we’d be together
Grace unfolded a plan for our lives
Now jackals of anger surround us.

Mercy decided that we’d be together
Grace unfolded a plan for our lives
Now the wolves of worry surround us

Details | John Ozemko Poem

Auction On a Windy Hill

Beneath billowing sack cloth tent 
An auctioneer jibber-jabbers his words.
Below his red mahogany dais
Sit Fifty Amish American women and girls.
Black-bonnet-ed, bidder-number in hand, 
they chirp for cowl or coat, yelp for yarn, 
raise bid card for church books, wool hats, many lengths of linen,
plethora of patches to sew into quilts.
Each lady bides her time until she points or winks or nods.
Calling to mind a measure of a time past.
Suspender-ed men inspect implements laid firm against gray fence,
even to the unused chamber pot still pure and winter white.
Rake, hoe, watering can, all is offered, noticed, taken for a price by love.
Untimely winds spin dust from the fallow fields, through the tent.
Coarse black garments now dressed in manure brown.
The whole crowd moves down 
at the last to the front yard to bid home the furniture.
Magnificent bed- one hundred years old-, mahogany desk, 
cherry wood breakfront seven feet tall, 
shaker chairs, porch rocker and a modern recliner are claimed.
Auction done, the cows, horses, dogs and cats are led away.
As Kate and I walk to our van, an old man speaks English to me 
saying most items stayed in her family. 
Leaving, we were only strangers looking for a bargain, 
happy with a four dollar end-table we took from her friends .

Details | John Ozemko Poem

Streets By the Beach

The streets by the beach keep moving you toward the sunny side of the sea. 
Where people in hordes strut on the boards sniffing at foods on the breeze.
And all the young boys are flexing around for all the young girls too see.
And everyone's hot, and everyone's got what it takes to be happy and free.

The heat from the beach drives you on toward the coolest side of the town. 
Where people park cars and drift into bars after the sun has gone down.
All the young guys are dreaming up lies for the hot girls who are easily found.
And every bright smile is designed to beguile someone else into fooling around.

Chorus:
Oh, the shore is the place to paint on a face,
get bathed in perfume or cologne.
yes, the shore is the place with that fabulous pace,
when you're hot and just can't be alone.

The band at the beach is pounding it out tuned to the throb in your chest.
so, you dance, and you shout cause that's what it’s about when everyone's looking their best. 
Then a girl over there gives you the stare. Looks like she could be miss right.
you say something nice, but she gives you the ice and you know it won’t be tonight. 

Chorus:
Oh, the shore is the place to paint on a face,
get bathed in perfume or cologne.
yes, the shore is the place with that fabulous pace,
when you're hot and just can't be alone.

Details | John Ozemko Poem

Last Thoughts of a Dying Warrior

His mind lay prey to mumbled threats within,
drawn to perch upon a twig-thin edge 
slung between a gauze of blatant dreams.
Like some homeless bird come to make a nest,
it yanked discarded bits of skin and hair,
from bins of vain memory's hoard, 
then joined to form a place where 
a brain might rest and preen.
Once settled, he drank
Not from the stilled rummaging 
but the distilled rum in his hand
and sang discordant notes that clanged 
above the cough of fractured words. 
“The mind is myth. And so am I."

Details | John Ozemko Poem

Bombing In Mumbai

Was it him?
No,
his brothers
tied grenades.
on dead black birds
heaved them high.
to fly, wings tied back,
up to a third story balcony.

Details | John Ozemko Poem

On Pimple Pond

On Pimple Pond

Pocked, our dreams spurt from cabin walls. 
Woolen cover and cotton pillow catch 
pin point boils from day breaking, like pitted glass.
White pebbled path meanders the hill’s cheek, 
wet from being squeezed by nights cold hard hands, 
to where set-tables will not wait our scrubs, 
pastes and pleas for clarity like hot egg whites. 
Yawns pop-jaws hinged under waxy ears. 
We pass the lake and spit the dregs of sleep 
onto her smooth glassine mask. 
At the mess ladybugs rest, on pickle-surfaced leaves,
decline to fly. We arrive for breakfast.
One hundred-twenty faces come to bond
And maybe find a friend on pimple pond.

Details | John Ozemko Poem

Alt Love

There is only one time when I’ll need you;
Like Ice cream doesn’t need a banana.
So, until I do, or the ice cream does,
I will be on this side of Havana.

Details | John Ozemko Poem

How To Love You

When you dance and smile
Or pet your cat, hold your dog
In your lap, arrange your flowers
Or buy a hat- I think I know 
How to love you.

When you kiss a child
Or feel her pain, save a vase
And not complain about the crack
Or the rain- I think I know
How to love you.

When you forget for awhile
That I am just a man, slow to learn 
And understand, lost sometime
Without a plan- I think I know
How to love you. 

And so again comes the time,
Will you be my Valentine?

Details | John Ozemko Poem

Nightmare K9

distant wolves sniff at the winds,
sense what you do not.
your death hums in the air!
pings run through your heart
to raise a berm of hair!
Baskerville hounds now shift
from lope to lunge. 
their thirst for blood has come!
rapacious tongues make clear
your death is in their mouths!

Details | John Ozemko Poem

Sonnet Oz1

Beagles’ breath I love now as I awake.
Your wet tongue keenly laps my chin and brow.
I know your love is true and full, not fake.
You impart your joy and love to me now.
The battles of the night have bled away.
And my eyes can blink back to life once more.
“Good girl!” in gravel tones aloud I say.
Then lean up fast to grasp your furry maw.
Best friend to me and I to you am proud.
Even our soaring love as such must fail.
As ruin will likely wrap you in a shroud.
In pain of grief sorrowfully I’ll wail!
Doing as I’ve done each time before death
Has brought me to the fatal edge of doom
I selfish, will seek to find one who’s breath
Will kiss me to raise my heart from the gloom!