Michael Lee Johnson lived 10 years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage County, Illinois. Mr. Johnson published in more than 1072 new publications, his poems have appeared in 39 countries, he edits, publishes 10 poetry sites. Michael Lee Johnson, has been nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards poetry 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016/2 Best of the Net 2017.
Flower Girl (V2)
(Tears in Your Eyes)
Poems are hard to create they live, then die, walk alone in tears, resurrect in family mausoleums. They walk with you alone in ghostly patterns, memories they deliver feeling unexpectedly through the open windows of strangers. Silk roses lie in a potted bowl memories seven days before Mother’s Day. Soak those tears, patience is the poetry of love. Plant your memories, your seeds, your passion, once a year, maybe twice. Jesus knows we all need more then a vase filled with silk flowers, poems on paper from a poet sacred, the mystery, the love of a caretaker− multicolored silk flowers in a basket handed out by the flower girl.
July 4th, 2020, Itasca, Illinois (V4)
Stone caved dreams for men past and gone, freedom fighters blow past wind and storms. Patriotism scared, etched in the face of cave walls. There are no cemeteries here for the old, vacancies for the new. Americans incubate chunks of patriotism over the few centuries, a calling into the wild, a yellow fork stabs me. Today happiness is a holiday. Rest in peace warriors, freedom fighters, those who simply made a mistake. I gaze out my window to Hamilton Lakes half-drunk with sparkling wine, seeing lightning strikes ends, sparklers, buckets full of fire. Light up the dark sky, firecrackers. Filmmakers, old rock players, fume-filled skies, butts of dragonflies. Patriotism shakes, rocks, jerks across my eye’s freedom locked in chains, stone-carved dreams.
*This year, 2020, due to COVID-19 I watch fireworks off my condo balcony alone,
share darkness alone, share bangers in the open sky.
Fall Thunder (V2)
By Michael Lee Johnson
There is power in the thunder tonight, kettledrums. There is thunder in this power, the powder blends white lightening flour sifters in masks toss it around. Rain plunges October night; dancers crisscross night sky in white gowns. Tumble, turning, swirl the night away, around, leaves tape-record over, over, then, pound, pound repeat falling to the ground. Halloween falls to the children's knees and imaginations. Kettledrums.