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Johnny Mcconnell Poem
Why do I complicate my life,
in a culture of expectations.
Overcome by damn frustrations,
wasting my future years in strife.
Chasing things I don’t want or need,
accumulating useless .
Is it stupidity or greed,
either would be hard to admit.
Living is so much more than just stuff,
based on an icebergs lofty tip,
held in a tight white knuckle grip.
Gathered bits wring one's heart rough,
when you don't know you have enough.
~Johnnymac
Copyright © Johnny Mcconnell | Year Posted 2023
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Johnny Mcconnell Poem
I've been pondering who am I,
it's really got the wheels turning.
I do wonder who is this guy,
what flame in my soul is burning?
Is biking my identity,
or maybe that I'm a poet.
Inside of me an entity,
how can I actually know it?
And what about my Johnny past,
have each of those moments made him?
Am I a pile of amassed,
moments like lyrics in a hymn?
Beginning to think that I am,
not my past life or what I did.
That kind of fate is just a scam,
I'm not my ego or my id!
To be or not to be I ask,
as I see from behind my mask!
~Johnnymac
Copyright © Johnny Mcconnell | Year Posted 2023
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Johnny Mcconnell Poem
I'm skidding broadside,
in a cloud of smoke.
What an awesome ride,
as I go for broke.
This journey called life,
shouldn't be pretty.
Nor laden with strife,
just keep the gritty.
I'm totally fried,
what a wild ride!
~Johnnymac
Copyright © Johnny Mcconnell | Year Posted 2023
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Johnny Mcconnell Poem
I notice what I desire to see,
sometimes it's the void and not the whole.
Other days it is hard to decree,
what I glimpse as I look through the hole.
~Johnnymac
Copyright © Johnny Mcconnell | Year Posted 2023
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Johnny Mcconnell Poem
Two plus hours of joy,
me and my mountain bike,
she's a capable toy.
Mz. Betty and her boy,
with her I am a tike,
so young and full of joy.
Shouting noisily hoy,
unembarrassed childlike,
on Johnny's two wheeled toy.
I jump on and enjoy,
a euphoric like spike,
bursting with giddy joy.
In charge of my employ,
I'm outside where I like,
on my Specialized toy.
Engaging in my ploy,
flying down the dirt pike,
as I pedal for joy,
because I have this toy.
~Johnnymac
Copyright © Johnny Mcconnell | Year Posted 2023
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Johnny Mcconnell Poem
A due date is the finish line,
a detail not to be ignored!
What do you call a starting line?
A place to leap from made of pine,
the impetus of a spring board,
far from the waters finish line.
The cover of a book design,
begins a quest to be explored,
as text flies from that starting line.
The crack of the starters carbine,
as athletes begin their sprint toward,
fame at the distant finish line.
That first note felt from the baseline,
while groovin' on the fretboard,
as beats move from the starting line.
Maybe it's the morning sunshine,
while the Earth spins ever westward.
To yet another finish line,
to realize it's the starting line.
~Johnnymac
Copyright © Johnny Mcconnell | Year Posted 2023
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