by Michael Lee Johnson
I’m a raindrop Chicago baby
silhouetted in the night,
single-ringed single person
minus the 24 carat gold.
A harvester of night life,
star crystal,
a gatherer of sluts
in my imagination.
Showing posts with label Michael Lee Johnson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael Lee Johnson. Show all posts
March 9, 2010
January 12, 2009
Mother, Edith, at 98
by Michael Lee Johnson
Edith, in this nursing home
blinded with macular degeneration,
I come to you with your blurry
eyes, crystal sharp mind,
your countenance of grace−
as yesterday's winds
I have chosen to consume you
and take you away.
"Oh, where did Jesus disappear
to?", she murmured,
over and over again,
in a low voice
dripping words
like a leaking faucet:
"Oh, there He is my
Angel of the coming."
*Michael's website:
http://poetryman.mysite.com/
Edith, in this nursing home
blinded with macular degeneration,
I come to you with your blurry
eyes, crystal sharp mind,
your countenance of grace−
as yesterday's winds
I have chosen to consume you
and take you away.
"Oh, where did Jesus disappear
to?", she murmured,
over and over again,
in a low voice
dripping words
like a leaking faucet:
"Oh, there He is my
Angel of the coming."
*Michael's website:
http://poetryman.mysite.com/
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)