Undergrowth

Farther than my earthly heart could carry
I fit pieces through the small links.

We had an audience looking our way,
Talking and walking away.
They knew they wanted to feel it,
But laughed and smoked it off instead.

Small pebbles, echoed mountains.
Our lightning sundered the ground.
We were the storm in the horizon.

See, they were running to the notion
They could live without transformation.
Drive with their mega mugs holding too much
Of what they never needed.
Blocking the simple connection out from view.

At least some arrived with their senses.
Portraying with their eyes.
Able to escape being the senseless victims of compromise.

© -Sonja J Johnston 24-Feb-2014

Where Goes The Dawn?

He trucked right down route 270
Past the mass commuters with their suits and ties.
Forward bound with his head all filled up with her.
Breaks faltering, feet shaking loose.

That’s when he decide to take her away;
take her off his mind.
There wasn’t any sign
when she vanished.

There wasn’t any evidence to any degree.
Lost breaks, lost mind;
divided across an
Incongruent divorce.

Where goes the dawn?
When the remains slip off the shelf?
A safely devised code transverses
in the hum of wings.

Elegant, smooth, renascence.

© Sonja J. Johnston 18-Feb-2014

Gregation

Turn me around so I can laugh.
Bring back to life that story.
I need a community in my body;
that fire on my fingertips.

We must be the weavers making music.


Why must this wait?
Why must we close our
doors to our own clocks?

Open up your souls and
let your spirits shine!
I want dancing!
I want fire in my fingertips!
There is too much music to be made.

You can do this.
It’s just one GIANT step.

© Sonja J. Johnston 18-Feb-2014

Downstream of The Bear Dance

They talked of music, Janis Joplin and Hendrix.
They talked of Nam and the hippies near the res.
They hid from her camera and she communed with a morning beer.

Looking up at the foothills
lost among the shavings
With the banned Utes.

Static buzz
hammer and nails
The creek was high.

Black cats
Black sheep
Black engines
Buried deep.

Stray dogs
Stray clouds
Drops of water off the fence pipe.
Riding this one out as one Ute's brother baked up in the mountains in hopes of visions.

Standing empty in our skin, we also waited.
It was noon and there were places to go.
Time became unglued as the day trembled.


Looking with glass vision
Raising a toast to his teeth
Chapo rose to acknowledge his reservation,
His failure, unfed.

Her mind walked off.
These were days of repair.
The car was fixed now and her life was busy mending.
Her father had finally come around to meeting her after knowing of her existence for five years.

“Good bye.”
“Never say goodbye” says Chapo, say “See you later.”


© Sonja J. Johnston 12-Feb-2014

Ground Charge

Scarlet skies turn over fallowed land
as the last ashes burn.
Calculated winds pass.
We stand magnetically on ley lines edge,
beating through the ground.

There is a hum from the trees
That pulls us directionally.

© Feb-2001 Sonja J. Phinney

Behind The Veil Of Casualty

Father, prisoner
Hides behind a veil of casualties;
Of loves lost.

A firearm ready in the cool misty morning
stings the forearms, more secrets are dawning.
Bodies struck
Duck heads stung up.


The marrow sucked out
Shadow cloud
Each cell occupied and then,
Unoccupied.

The one who made me soul
Folds his iron wings
Devouring in his space,
But now that we’re all here,
I’ve broken the gates
And opened the causeway.

I found a key and have unlocked a
Portion of what makes him whole.

Measure by measure
The years surrender.
The raven unfurls
Standing at a safe distance
Warming his wings.

© Sonja J. Johnston 11-Feb-14 for Dad

Angler

You just draw me in
Swallow me
Erase me
Find a way to hide me,
Angler.

I’m already sketched into the pavement,
Wrecking ball.

I can’t stand to watch you holding strong
Breaking off
Masking any remnants.

In these confines,
Holding your remote.
Everything real is now
A contaminant.

© Sonja J Johnston 11-Feb-14

Dance of the Jinn

Sing to my soul.
Take it to the marrow.
Later, we will dervish around the roses until we fall into our souls.

Up to the stars they carried our knowing essence, while our souls ground below.
I’ll meet you there someday again.

The psychic told me we were not to meet during this life.
Yet, like a puzzle with a missing piece, we found ourselves in a crowded place, mirrored.

We are an abstract in time.

© 04-June-2007 Sonja J. Phinney (for Chris Volpe)

Chamber and Seek

Forcing the push to happen in
this limited space in time.
I fell into the spell of the
wolf for lack of better sight.


Behind the pane of glass
You now play this little pantomime.
It's a prison you've created.

Can't you see this protection grow?
It needs breaking again, but do it slow.


I look to find you there,
pull you from that glass.
Pull you through this night.
Find you and pull you through;
Ensure you of yourself in flight.

You have forgotten in your struggle
and shut under command.

Your pleasures and your pains remiss.
Security paints your actions.
If only you could open this door
It would bring you back your senses.

But senses come and go quickly like heavy fogs.
You can keep them alive for a moment
and crush them in the next.



Born of bewitched ardor,
crying at a cold backdoor.
Like a black cat stepping gingerly.


The flight plan is a detour.
There's light in the confines revisited.
Looking within the hand gripped hand,
heroes washed in pain.

Our ebb and tide was seeking
that compromise in
our ability to engage.

Take care of these simple things
where we find connection.

Don't break the compass,
It is used for navigation you know.



© Sonja J. Johnston 01 Feb 2014