Poems about the lonely traveler
The Glory Days
I was thinking about the good old days.
The glory days, when I grew up & played.
Well, the rocks may melt & the fields burn.
Way before those good old days return.
I may move on to a better place.
Have glory shining from my face.
Have the best of everything.
No need to long for anything.
Yet, I pray, when that day comes.
When everything will lead to fun.
I hope it will be sweeter in every way.
Than it was in those glory days.
————————-R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
Finite Man
Lucinda was mine
Till the time
That I found her
Holding Finn.
Loving him.
Then you came along.
Loved me strong.
That’s what I thought.
Then, me and you,
That died too.
Don’t know that I will
But until
I can find me
A little girl who will stay,
And not play
Games behind me.
I will be what I am.
A finite man.
A finite man.
This poem can
Make you a better man.
Sounds like “Solitary Man.”
Do it, if you can.
No need for women to trample man.
When you can be a finite man.
Take things in hand.
Come on boy.
I know you can.
——————-R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
Adrift, And All Alone
Why did we go our different ways?
You said you missed me, I heard you say.
Yet, you didn’t come to get me.
I guess you wanted to be free.
Life isn’t right when you’re not around.
You keep me firmly anchored to the ground.
You’re someone I can cling to.
When I need guidance to make it through.
I hope you didn’t think I was needy.
Even though I wanted you to feed me.
I get carried away with flighty ideas.
You calm me, especially when people see us.
You are a beacon in a stormy sea.
I focus on you and I am free.
I am not adrift on any old current.
I feel grounded, even if you weren’t.
Someday, our paths may cross again.
I will always consider you a friend.
But, I feel we could be so much more.
If you only won’t walk out the door.
——————————-R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
Not Quite Grown Up
I met you and I couldn’t believe it.
But, I was glad to just receive it.
The kind of fun I have with you.
It seems no one else will do.
Just two kids, having a ball.
Doing things we did when small.
Now that we are all grown up.
You might think we’re in a rut.
Stuck in our adult acting ways.
Always the same, day after day.
But, we’re just two kids, having a ball.
Doing the things we did when small.
They would tell me: “Grow up.”
Act your age. Don’t be a butt.
Then I met you and off we went.
Peter Pan syndrome is heaven sent.
We would play into one another.
Pass a pole and say “Bread & butter.”
Having more fun than a barrel of monkeys.
Having a blast. Never feeling funky.
Just two kids, having a ball.
Doing things we did when small.
Now that we are all grown up.
You might think we we’re in a rut.
Stuck in our adult acting ways.
Always the same, day after day.
But, we’re just two kids, having a ball.
Doing the things we did when small.
We act mature when we need to.
But,—– between me and you.
It’s more fun to act like a kid.
It causes other adults to flip their lid.
—————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
A Mysterious ‘Thing’
A friend came by the other day.
He had something important to say.
Said he had to show me what it was.
He couldn’t tell me,— just because.
I said: “o.k. Let’s go.” I was curious.
We headed out. This was mysterious.
Deep in the woods he stopped me.
“Take a look. What do you see?”
“I see trees, sky, grass, and bushes.”
“No, just to the left of where your foot is.”
I looked. It was a square of shiny bluish metal.
It looked like the square lid to a kettle.
“What is it?”, I asked as I bent down.
“I don’t know.”, he said with a frown.
I touched it, expecting it to be cool.
“It is the same temp as me or you.”
“That’s not all. Pick it up and see.”
I tried, but it was heavy as can be.
“Is it stuck in the ground?”
“I don’t think so.” As he looked around.
He handed me an entrenching tool.
“Dig it up. I will help you.”
We dug the dirt out from all around it.
Then, we dug out the dirt under it.
It just sat there. Floating in the air.
We tried to move it, to our despair
It wouldn’t move. It was locked in place.
All around it was just open space.
We looked at it real close on all sides.
I used the shovel and really pried.
It wouldn’t move. It wouldn’t scratch.
About 6 inches. All sides matched.
We tried heat to no effect.
We covered it, but it wouldn’t move yet.
We sprayed it with paint. it dripped off.
The heat didn’t make it turn soft.
We dug much deeper, but nothing was there.
We used a metal dector everywhere.
No metal registered. Nothing to be found.
There was no way to get it off the ground.
Neither heat or cold changed the temp.
It was not magnetic or radioactive.
It was totally inert. In no way active.
Impervious to drills, acid, or major blows.
It never moved or got a dent or a hole.
The next day we returned with help.
Our college science professor. He knelt.
He looked in the hole. “Is this some joke?”
There was nothing in the hole but smoke.
The ‘thing’ was gone. To where, we don’t know?
The professor was pissed & said he had to go.
We never saw ‘it’ again or found another.
But, I swear it’s true. I’m not lying, brother.
————————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
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A ‘Wild’ Reaction
Your flying high in a cloudless sky.
You can see the scenery fly by.
You’re not in a plane or any such thing.
Yet, you’re flying, like you had wings.
You’re like a bird. How can this be?
You’re flying high, feeling free.
There is no fear in what you’re doing.
You’re having lots of fun. No fooling.
Is it imagination, or a vivid dream?
Maybe it is much more than it seems.
Have you thought about how to land?
You need to survive,—- if you can.
The sweat starts popping out of your head.
Then, you make a perfect landing, in your bed.
So,—- I guess it was all a dream?
Yet, it was much more than it seemed.
You can’t remember going to bed.
The whole thing is driving you out of your head.
Did you take a hallucinogenic drug?
Did you lick a Colorado river toad? Uggh.
Maybe ‘magic mushrooms’ did the trick?
Or maybe some LSD on a stick?
No, you never touch stuff like that.
The thought would make you puke in your hat.
Maybe it was that Superman movie you saw?
Or possibly that pizza you ate at the in laws?
None of this makes any sense.
Maybe it was a way to circumvent?
Avoid a nasty situation by just ‘flying off’?
Hard to be bothered when you are aloft.
You feel like Snoopy in his WW I adventures.
You should sell this. Put it in dispensers.
But, you don’t even know what it is?
Maybe, you were just reacting to her kiss?
She sends you into orbit, you know.
One kiss from her and here comes the show.
————————————R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
Archeological Dig Goes Wrong
I went on an archeological dig.
Ancient ruins in an orchard of figs.
Why would these ruins be here?
Buried on purpose, was clear.
The dig lasted a year and a half.
What was dug up took more than that.
A circle of pillars with strange symbols.
They were all around the pillars lintels.
We didn’t understand what they meant.
If we did, we would have covered it & went.
It turned out to be a portal to hell.
The symbols were chants,— a spell.
One that would bring up a demon.
There is no doubt it was a mean one.
The symbols indicated ‘it’ killed all there.
‘It’ just appeared out of nowhere.
After finally translating the symbols,
it was clear to all, except two bimbos.
Two came back and chanted the words.
The ground shook. It was absurd.
Then, ‘it’ was there, out of nowhere.
They were grabbed & thrown in the air.
Then, they were ripped all apart.
The sight of the remains made us barf.
The site was rapidly covered up.
Taboo signs were stuck in the muck.
It was never mentioned again.
People were just told it was a sin.
—————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
Little Show Of Horrors
Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
Was he welcoming in the morning light?
I fear what’s coming in the light of day.
I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way.
She might cut me loose today.
Tell me to go my own way.
All that I did was just for her.
But, it didn’t turn out right, for sure.
I tried to make it all a surprise.
To see the love shining from her eyes.
It was shocking, to say the least.
Made me look like some kind of beast.
It was supposed to be a puppet show.
Relaxing, for someone on the go.
Instead, it became a show of horrors.
Left her running, screaming, for the door.
Curse that puppeteer and his ‘sick’ humor.
I heard he was ‘sick’, but thought it a rumor.
His price was fair, so, we went from there.
I didn’t think it would be such a scare.
Blackbird singing in the dark of night.
Don’t be singing about such a fright.
This could be the end of our love affair.
Yet, you sing like you don’t even care.
If you ever want to surprise your girl.
Don’t hire a ‘sick’ puppeteer to thrill.
For he may scare her with his show.
Leaving you lost, with nowhere to go.
——————————R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
Destroyed By Time?
Could it be? It was all so simple then.
Could time have rewritten every line?
You and I, together until the end.
A life much sweeter than wine.
Just misty, water colored memories.
All that’s left of the way we were.
Something changed. Better remedies?
No,— only pain and tragedy did occur.
Something changed in the whisper of time.
I will never hold you and love you again.
The memories have become a living shrine.
A symbol of what might have been.
Karma has reversed its course on me.
It must be a wheel within a wheel.
Things are not the way they used to be.
I can no longer stay on an even keel.
Turn back time and let’s try it again.
There has got to be a better way for us.
But then, I wouldn’t know where to begin?
I would fear for another total bust.
Oh emotions, why torture my heart?
Punishment for my choices in life.
It is the result that’s tearing me apart.
I cannot rise above the pain and strife.
What could have been and never was.
It is a loss that I cannot overcome.
I can dream of raising above.
While, in truth, you were the only one.
Put me down in the Book Of Tragedy’s.
An entire chapter to do me justice.
Explain how I still love you madly.
Then, destroy me. Leave me restless.
Screaming, with no way out.
A living horror, buried by emotions.
Straining to give my final shout!!
I LOVE YOU!!— I need a love potion.
—————————-R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
Heart To Heart
My nature is my soul.
This you must know.
There is contentment.
There is no resentment.
Just uplifting winds.
A serenity that descends
Listen to your own heart.
From it, never depart.
It’s a vision of loveliness.
Something to caress.
A beautiful flower.
More lovely by the hour.
So stop day dreaming.
Quails & doves are scheming.
Your nearness is like calm waters.
A feeling of sleeping otters.
Enjoying the setting sun.
Love radiates to everyone.
—————R. W. Johnson—–(2016)
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