Witnesses

In his grieving, he still finds time to argue.
One hears the scuff-echo of shoes on flagstone.
Strings of lilac span across my lips and I am frozen in this shroud of amethyst.

The children at the scene
like two glittering gems in the road
unable to move under such circumstance,
continue to witness.

In the face of rage
outside the corners
and deep within the
dark meadow holes
boring into the rich soil
of brain.

©-Sonja J Johnston 25-Aug-2009

Dolomite Tornado Evergreen

There's a tornado swarming beneath my sleeves
that rises in the distance.


The movement, twists from the vines.
Slumping up edges, hiding away the rain beneath the shine
formed on freshly grown evergreen.

I have built a space, but it is a tornado
ripping loose.

Hang onto your boots.
Don't let them get stuck in the black marsh.

Pieces of me like dolomite 
amplified by self inclusions
Tornadoes  from my resting,
no longer sleep; exploding into this space of morning.
Traveling with the missing,
forever in search of the living pieces.

Rocks picked up in distant meadows
A garden of heart shapes
and bony outcrops.

Wildflowers hardening on our dashboards.

© -Sonja J. Johnston 19-Apr-2014

Hand Trembler

Tonight I drink these words in search of cure.
With my hands, I tremble and find those that are lost.
Numbing the stretch of my body;
The healer teaching itself how to heal.

Zaire, Zaire
sings in me like a cradle.

The steps and hands turn and remind me I am
found in a position, a hand gripped hand.
I run the bridges away.

It is tomorrow
with limbs missing.
I wait on the wall watching
to be last.

Making true thought through hands
shaking find the future.

I knew of today
It was beautiful
the thought of me
healing the mad in dance.

© 1984 Sonja J. Phinney

Transisted

The cold drum
Coked.
You know the best drummers have blood in their urine.
Where is this going?
Underground
Like a subway screaming.

First it is like this
Candy storm of images
Housed in a pair of scrubs.
Shaken like a branch full of cherries.

It could be tomorrow
When the wet soul is
Thrown loose and you are
Left watching it soar off
In the distance with your first love
Like burning a history.

The makings of tomorrow,
Going up in smoke
An uncontrollable laugh,
Hiccup in time
Standing, transfixed with our mirrored images.


© Sonja J. Phinney March 2006