Lark in the Mystery

Transcend the boundaries
And split the lark.
All the skins
that you’ve shed
stand stark.

These times have slowed you;
Put a film
over your eyes.
Peeled back sharply;
An owl's cry.

Flood waters rush and
I get this forever feeling
That this will stay,
Manic Ego driven
ability superior.


The next moment,
I am gasping
for colors again
like a fish deep below.

Deep fish below.


Walking the shallows.
Inside me, whales.

Wetting the reed
after the music has played.

Gaining and losing
Sight of touch.



© 23-May-2012 Sonja J. Johnston

Comin' to Town

You just stepped off
And a man said something,
“Poncha, if that ain’t alright.”
Waiting for the big screen,
Bebop hummin’ the foundation.

Travelin' again
with the sound of the wind.
Shot off, leaving behind a perfect
Set.

Givin' it up to lay it down
For bigger things
That surround.

© 12-Sep-2007 Sonja J. Phinney

Held

Second arrival,
encased and slumbering.
The cargo was stopped
for this lifeless shell.

This moment,
This moment now,
Timed out over and over again.
Into the moment, a harsh berrang!

The space,
weakened.

An instant passes,
and another.

"I am afraid."

The terror speaks inside.
It is loud inside;
full, but rock still.

She made herself invisible.

© 1993 Sonja Phinney

His Cheshire Teeth

Running into the Roar,
Into the Cheshire teeth of some mad man
gesturing semantically
about some invented theory.

A baby-doll sits staring lifelessly alive in
the little red rocking chair built just for her.

Beyond the reach of this,
A dash of hair and reflections corner the windows.
Caught in the confines, the turbines of mental illusion.

Far away, to water, pulled away out of body
Drawn to pools, throwing pebbles.
As others feed off blackened coals.
Waves without sound
Lions parade.

A thought is relayed, that calms the man's clatter
I look at him with Qi.
Eyes open and close closets full of recognition.
God mighty music to the soul.

In another second, we both know that no drug is needed
for this insanity.
It is something as simple as this.

Sometimes music is not heard, but walks in your soul.
It can be a powerful tool in taming the savage.

©- 07-Sep-2007 Sonja J. Phinney

Lyre in the Meadow

Children echo out from atop
doorways and spring mattresses

A pair of eyes,
points of harmony.

In fields of our childhood,
history is sung through the
stories carried by the wind.

© 1988 -Sonja J. Phinney

Clave Snap

In the morning,

I sneeze out the ashes

of my leftover dreams.


Oh to leave the enrichment of

the internal riverbed made.

Where the unknown familiars communicate.


Where I am brave enough to ask, but also foolish enough

to dare enter.



I leave traces everywhere like bread crumbs

of myself.

They are snatched up by hungry scavengers.


Seemingly innocent mysteries

Seemingly innocent crimes.

Shape around the morning clap of claves.

Snapping behind my lashes.



© Sonja J. Johnston 02-May-2012

The White Glove

Watch out!
She'll pry and pry
as a way to get you to
cry, try, by and by.

The years will desecrate you.

Metal over porcelain
fears of scraping
gaping and stabbing
She has the need to clean plate.

Pinball knocks the side bumper
and wheels to my toes
Gutter ball, side rails,
snails and trails of beaten
fluid.
I wish to burn, bruise, ignite.

So give me something bitter
my sweet
to cure me of this ill
The clock ticks in my belly
of mother-in-law glue.

© 19-Jan-2010 Sonja J. Johnston