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Wallace Johnston Poem
PANDORA REDUX
There are songs I must not listen to
And poems I cannot read,
Photographs and letters
Which cause a heart to bleed
Some found on yellowed paper
In books to hold a place
To guide returning readers
At some later date
Stacks of faded letters
Writ in a firmer hand
Pressed blossoms
loveingly bound with ribbons
Or kept in stacks in
Dusty boxes
On the top shelf
Of a rarely opened closet.
Magic carpets come to mind
With power to evoke the sounds, smells
and places of the past
long since passed into reverie
Handle with Care.. There Be Tigers……….
Copyright © Wallace Johnston | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Wallace Johnston Poem
WINTER IN SHELBURNE BAY
Snow drifts, far as the eye can see -
Flakes as big as maple leaves.
Wind whipped ice crystals sting the eyes
Like smoke from frozen campfires.
God, I bet it is cold in Amarillo.
Copyright © Wallace Johnston | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Wallace Johnston Poem
THOUGHT LETTERS
I wrote a thousand letters in my mind
about the clouds I saw,
the songs I heard,
the thoughts I wished to share.
I wrote them in a plane, on a road, or in
a quiet time alone.
They were unsent, unstamped,
or hurried on their way.
Because . . .
Because . . .
Because . . .
ADDRESS
I found the address
long saved, newly acted on.
I found reason to communicate
to reach out.
To put aside misgivings and fears
harbored over many years
as barriers between.
I found a willingness to renew
to talk, unite and
make up for lost times.
I found that all the days and thoughts
apart were simply time alone
unnecessary penance for imagined wrongs
and some for reality.
I found . . . you.
GUARDED THOUGHTS
Far easier
to send a
quarter card--
a joking note,
a light, un-serious
communication,
than to send the deep
thoughts of my heart.
The card, the note
the hasty scrawl
can be received
or not
with little loss
of self.
The sending of ones self
will not survive
the possibility of
folding,
spindling,
mutilating,
experiences,
And so is withheld
until sufficient
sacrificial goats
have been attended to.
TASTE
It's nice to see an old friend
from the past
nicely turned out
It's like a vote of confidence
for one's own
judgment
But does it really verify
good judgment
or just
constant taste?
Copyright © Wallace Johnston | Year Posted 2017
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