Giest Lover
In the cementery
There I stood
I was afraid of ghosts
The night was calm
Peace is resonating
From the darkness
Ebbing tide
Of suductive winds
Brought upon me
The most warm and secure feeling
Of radaiting, Tranquil love.
The ghost lover
Known by others
By the name of
Giest Liebe
She walked through me
Not able to with hold
My inner secrets
As she read my thoughts.
Staring at my weakness
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poem by Howard Johnson
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Darkness Filled with love
The last rays depart
Darkness created emptyness
Tonight as I put myself
In mundane sleep
While in that somber state
Seperate the chaos of the day
To let myself....
Roam
And pacify
Taste-ing loves essence
Perfumed aromas personify
Until I appear
In your imagination
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poem by Howard Johnson
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A day for....
An unsewn day rises from yesterdays dust
it's a new day to darn
a choice of many colors
Empty canvas
Or blank sheet
Awaits your brilliant mastery
What would love look like?
A blanket made of patches
A etching
Made eternal on stone or glass
Oh and lace
With its many holes..
Shapes of ovals
squares and hearts
cressent moons and stars
Or the beauty of nature
Streams, forests
Wind carved stones of sand
Rainbows formed from sun and mist of rain.
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poem by Howard Johnson
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White mist
The White Clouds
Morphing wonderfully
Changing into Elephants
Then...
Rearranging into children
Playing with balloons.
White clouds
Shaped into swaying cradle
Pushed by the winds
With its toil
There is no sadness
Clouds
Strolling since eternity
When there was nothing
They were here
If they could
Telling us
Strange fables
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poem by Howard Johnson
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Empty Chairs
A large willow tree
Still budding
With small leaves
Taking in warmth
and the suns rays
Set back from the
Well traveled street
Narrow lane
leading to
A enchanted white house
Generously shaded
By that starting
Willow tree
Away from it all
Noise and fury
A table mostly white
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poem by Howard Johnson
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Spring
Shiver shiver in the cold
Who is that standing out there bold
Primrose, Bluebell,
Crocus and the rest
Daffodills number amung the best
Willows covered with soft fur
Budding trees to occur.
The time is near..
To put away
The coat....
And winter gear..
Tank top, Shorts, strapless wear
Flaunt if you dare
Prisoner of the inside
now no more
The fire has moved
For you to store
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poem by Howard Johnson
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Holding your hand
A man walks
By his side
A beautifully enchanted lady
Strolling along a well groomed walking path
In the shadows ahead
She noticed a
A gothic archway
It had a feared and narrowed appearance
The construction looks by the hand of a
Sorcerer
The sight drew her closer to me
Could it lead us to regions of horror?
We entered together through
Its narrowness pusher deeper into my side.
Our fingers, mistakenly touched
And for the first time, we mingled
Passion invaded his thoughts
Bringing fourth a new ridigness,
A sensation of stupor
Numbly
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poem by Howard Johnson
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My class reunion
She shands upright upon my pedistal.
Giving me comfort, pleasure and assurance.
She is ingrained in my most haloed idyllic childhood memories.
Meeting her is a familaur anxiety filled with passionate emotional maturity.
For a while to adore her belongs only to me.
Consuming my couristy, causing congenial conversations celebrateing complicated compositions of life.
Virtious fate for the infringing hour of sensible, dignifed painful departure.
Flagrant clock, Fleeds the fobiden indulgent, gracious, unremorsful touches.
Softening determatal change of time of which no classmate is exempt.
Forsee the frail moments belonging only to us.
Don't want her to fall in love with me?
Just furnish a small sensual spot in her heart to return again,
Savory personal enjoyment to cherish the next five years.
poem by Howard Johnson
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My life long lover
She is as deserving faithful for me to be.
Even more than those that came before.
From around neck there was a chain.
By my side.
She shall remain.
For its removal has not left me alone.
Givin her a ring and a throne.
She knows
she needs
not the key to me.
Will be allowed to walk in and out.
Sometimes the flame will be week or out.
Her warming presents ever in about.
Will she have a gipsy twin?
Perhaps which one will I win?
I love to feel her in and out.
Do I feel dirty all about.
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poem by Howard Johnson
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Small City Church
The door stood open and, not knowing why,
I left the clamour of the city street, ,
And sliped inside,
Cool silence came to greet me like a balm, as
Though it could edify my wrong.
But not the background of the passers-by.
And inside the little church show that
centuries of prayer defeat.
The constant onslaught of man's noise.
Not discreet.
Beside the prayer-books one could buy
A simple candle..
I wondered why.
Greatfully from my worn out satchel
The worldy sum did come.
From a deep unknown spot
A flame now began to trot
From inside me.
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poem by Howard Johnson
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