Four Poems by Connie Johnson

 

Something Cool

Slim dream

Wispy, bathed in a summer

Night of the outsider blues

 

A willowy chanteuse on stage in

Mid-nod; remembering a dream

Or lost in one

 

“A cigarette?” she sings

And momentarily stuck,

She lingers there

 

“I don’t smoke them,”

Someone in the audience

Sings in reply, so cool

So cool!

 

Jazz compatriots

In a moment of shivery

Perfection. The dreamer

Cracks a grin in this

Infinitesimally small

But perfect moment

 

She is not alone

 

 

Foreign Tongue

I feel lost in Ensenada

You were supposed to meet me

In Monterrey. On this boat where the sky

And the sea are one, it’s my soul that could

Capsize without you.

 

Soul voyagers

That’s what I’ll call us 

I’m ready to learn all that I can.

 

I’ve got no desire to play tourist

Tequila and silver jewellery in my bag

Mexico is where you wanted to take me

Funky Volkswagen:  border-bound.

 

We are penniless poets, set to explore

A different language.   Tijuana or La Paz

It doesn’t matter; the point is to delve

Deeply, mostly into each other.

 

Here is where I’ll help you

To translate me; Come teach me

Your own foreign tongue.

 

 

The Travelers 

My trunks are filled with souvenirs.

I can’t carry all this shit.

 

I’m bogged down.

It takes effort just to keep my head up,

let alone all this baggage.

 

I need someone to lighten my load. 

I need to be welcomed with open arms.

I need that kiss you promised me. 

 

I need to melt & disappear among all

the other lonely ne’er-do-wells.

 

Meet me at the corner of 3^rd & Inevitability.

We can be old together now.

This city doesn’t know us. 

 

We can get lost together.

We can be beside ourselves

with joy.

 

 

Last Call

the lingering buzz of all the jazz

that’s been whispered in your ear

 

peppery notes, this smoky room

and what would you do if she walked

thru that door?  an earthquake of feeling;

the freckles on her cheeks that the

bandstand reprobates  call

angel kisses

 

a lingering buzz

an earthquake of feeling

and what would be an angel’s

requested sip?

Connie Johnson is from the USA and is based in Los Angeles, California. In 2023 she was twice-nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Everything is Distant Now (Blue Horse Press), her debut poetry collection, is available on Amazon; In a Place of Dreams, her digital album/chapbook, can be found at www.jerryjazzmusician.com