South Chicago Night
Night is drifters,
sugar rats, streetwalkers,
pickpockets, pimps,
insects, Lake Michigan perch,
sounds of Herring gulls.
Neon tubes are blinking.
Half the local streetlights
bulbs burned out.
Dove Bar Poem
Ex-lover told me Dove dark
chocolate bars were good for lovers.
She ate dark Dove bars,
I ate light Dove chocolate.
She was healthy, I was sad.
We often go into fights over this.
She was manic and I was depressed.
Sex was a bouncing basketball affair.
She was healthy without knowing her disease.
I was sad, stealing apples
out of farmer John’s orchard.
Sleeping wherever
a pillow was found.
Jesus Was
Jesus was a poetry man.
Words were in his eyeballs,
His retina.
20-20 sight but a universal default.
Tears wept down on an old Olive tree
Or was it a dogwood tree cross?
Mystery waits out the years.
Resurrection and returns—
a slow retail business.
Reincarnation
In the next life, I will be a little higher up the pecking order.
No longer a dishwasher at the House of Pancakes
or Ricky’s All-Day Grill, or Sunday night small dog thief.
I will evolve into the Prince of Bullfrogs. Crickets don’t bother me,
Swamp flies don’t bother me–I eat them. Alligators I avoid.
I urinate on lily pads, mate across continents at will.
And for my dishes, let the river clean them this time.
If there are complaints, toss them to the wind—they won’t find me.
Someone else from India can wash my dishes locally for me.
Forward all complaints to that religious office of Indian affairs.
In nakedness of life moves
this male shadow worn out dark clothes,
ill fitted in distress, holes in his socks, stretches,
shows up in your small neighborhood,
embarrassed,
walks pastime naked with a limb
in open landscape space-
damn those worn-out black stockings.
He bends down and prays for dawn, bright sun.
Night After
Repentances.
Pop cans and just condoms
lying on this oak wooden floor.
With papers, with scattered
verses—
an open door.
Dove Bar Poem
Ex-lover told me Dove dark chocolate
bars were suitable for lovers.
She ate dark Dove bars,
I ate light Dove milk chocolate.
She was healthy; I was sad.
We often got into fights over this.
She was manic, and I was depressive.
Sex was a bouncing basketball affair.
She was healthy, not knowing her disease.
I was sad, stealing apples
from Farmer John’s orchard.
Sleeping wherever
I found a pillow.
A pillow wherever found.
A Willow Branch
Break in the rain.
The storm goes away.
A bitter family chat,
dicey, slicing
dagger of words—
they stand still—
a willow branch
cracks.
Michael Lee Johnson lived in Canada for ten years during the Vietnam era. Today, he is a poet in the greater Chicago-land area, IL. He has 372-plus YouTube poetry videos. Michael Lee Johnson is an internationally published poet in 46 countries, a song lyricist with several published poetry books, and a nominee for 8 Pushcart Prize awards and 7 Best of the Net nominations. He has over 668 published poems. He is the editor-in-chief of three poetry anthologies, all of which are available on Amazon, and has authored several poetry books and chapbooks. Michael has administered and created 6 Facebook Poetry groups. Member of the Illinois State Poetry Society: http://www.illinoispoets.org/ and Poets & Writers: https://www.pw.org/. His poems have been translated into several foreign languages. Awards/Contests: International Award of Excellence 'Citta' Del Galateo-Antonio De Ferrariis XI Edition 2024 Milan, Italy-Poetry. Poem, Michael Lee Johnson, "If I Were Young Again."
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