My Shadow Friend

          My Shadow Friend

There is something there behind me.

I don’t know what it is.

I don’t know how it finds me.

I don’t know what it is.

It is there on sunny days now.

Not so much on cloudy days.

It disappears at noon somehow.

Then grows taller later in the day.

It never says a word to me.

It is a lot like a ghostly figure.

But, it is always following, see.

I got my gun and pulled the trigger.

It didn’t flinch, it didn’t die.

It followed me till I went inside.

I almost felt like I wanted to cry.

I wanted to be brave. I really tried.

I told my girlfriend why I was scared.

“You stupid jerk. That’s your shadow.”

She talked to me like I was impaired.

She upset me, and got me raddled.

Does a shadow cut you?

Does a shadow burn your feet?

Does a shadow try to choke you?

Does it bite you with its teeth?

She said I was talking crazy.

So I showed her all the marks.

She quietly said that maybe

I should go see Dr. Clark.

He is a Psychiatrist in town.

I have met with him before.

I know that he won’t put me down.

He will help me, I am sure.

He said a shadow would not hurt me.

Only something evil would do that.

He said he would issue a decree.

For all the evil to stand back.

When I went outside the ‘figure’ was gone.

My friendly shadow was back again.

I am glad it is back after so long.

Because my shadow is my friend.

————————–R.W. Johnson—–(2017)

 

 

 

Disaster From Space

             Disaster From Space

I was overseas when it happened.

At first, I thought it was a distraction.

It was much more than that, it seems.

An asteroid hit to the extremes.

Life on this planet was disrupted.

Like everyone had become corrupted.

All forms of transportation was down.

No communication anywhere around.

Back to the stone age in one big blast.

Man will be lucky if he can last.

Somehow, I had to get back home.

Can’t leave my loved ones all alone.

I found a sailing yacht willing to take me.

The Captain said yes, for a large fee.

I barely had enough to cover it.

I just hoped he wouldn’t quit.

Incredible storms  were brewing.

Due to the blast and its undoing.

Several times I thought we would sink.

It almost threw my ass into the drink.

Constant rain the entire way.

Winds strong enough to blow us astray.

We finally made land in a U.S. harbor.

To get home, I must go much farther.

The asteroid hit in New York state.

The people there had a deadly fate.

My home was in Northern California.

Damage there was torn land and lava.

Bad weather covered the entire world.

Worse than a  nuclear winter world.

We had landed in San Francisco Bay.

I rode a bike north for another day.

Finally, I reached our home.

Things were such a mess, I moaned.

The family was safe in our fallout shelter.

Their lives had been knocked all kilter.

But, physically, they were all safe.

Survival preparations and a lot of faith.

We were overjoyed to be together.

Now, we had to deal with the weather.

Global warming was out the door.

Now colder than it ever was before.

We had enough food to last a year.

It would take that long for the sky to clear.

But, with my loved ones by my side.

I will be in for the ride.

After everything, it is family that counts.

Any and all mountains we will mount.

With the Lord as our savior, we can’t fail.

We’ll get by with no internet or mail.

————————–R.W. Johnson—–(2017)

 

 

 

It’s Coming Home

       It’s Coming Home

Early in the morning.

It is coming without warning.

The songbirds stop their singing.

Silence so strong that it is ringing.

It is coming home to you.

 

Way across the meadow.

Something moving in the nettles.

It doesn’t act like they are stinging.

There is something it is flinging.

It is coming home to you.

 

It is coming closer.

Its shadow couldn’t be grosser.

Its arms are almost dragging.

Tail is limber, almost wagging.

It is coming home to you.

 

Its fur is ruffled and dirty.

In a rush, there go all the birdies.

Its feet are sinking in the field.

It holds its arm up like a shield.

It is coming home to you.

 

Will the nightmare end?

Why is it coming again?

There is no way to help it now.

Not after it slaughtered that cow.

It is coming home to you.

 

It is at the front door now.

It has got to go away somehow.

You can hear its grunt and growl.

You get a whiff of something foul.

It is coming home to you.

 

Then, you wake up screaming.

You don’t understand the meaning.

A repeating dream that comes to you.

You’re shaking and you don’t have a clue.

Why it keeps coming home to you.

 

You get up to have some coffee.

First you have to stop and take a pee.

You look out the window, coffee in hand.

Something is moving across the land.

It is coming home to you.

————————R. W. Johnson—–(2017)

 

 

 

The Box

                     The Box

“What did you get inside the box?”

“Don’t talk about that dumb old box.”

“Why not?,” he said with a moan.

“It was there when I got home.”

“It has no top, latch, hinge, or label.”

“It was just sitting there on the table.”

“I picked it up. It was light as a feather.”

“There was no accompanying letter.”

“I shook it, but couldn’t hear a thing.”

Who thought of this to bring?

“I left last. The house was locked.”

“How did it get left in this spot?”

“My mom is at work all day.”

“My dad’s out of town, far away.”

“It seems to be a perfect 12″ cube.”

“The edges are sharp, well hewed.”

“It’s light, like the metal on my bike.”

“But, it won’t reflect any light.”

“You have got to be spoofing me.”

“Pick it up and you will see.”

“All right, I will take it outside.”

He tried to lift it by its sides.

In his effort, he turned red.

“It’s heaver than hell,” he said.

“What!!” “You lie.” ” Let me try.”

I tried till I almost died.

“I picked it up awhile ago.”

“It was super light, you know.”

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Let’s go. I don’t want it near.”

“Jimmy, I’m home.” I heard mom say.

“Anything interesting happen today?”

“Just that box on the kitchen table.”

“Who’s it from?”  “It has no label.”

“It was there when I got home.”

“I locked the door before I left home.”

“How did it get in here then?”

“I have no idea how or when?”

“Move it to the coffee table in the den.”

“I can’t. It is way too heavy.”

She picked it up with no effort at all.

Then moved it to the den down the hall.

“Your dad will be home tomorrow eve.”

“He may know something, I believe.”

We both pretended like it wasn’t there.

Then, next morning, it wasn’t there!!

“Did you move that box somewhere else?”

“No, I haven’t.” I said with a belch.

We looked high and low for the box.

All I found was a pair of dirty socks.

We told dad all about it that evening.

“I know nothing about this scheming.”

Days later, It is still a mystery. I say:

“Did a box show up at your house today??”

————————–R.W. Johnson—–(2017)

 

 

 

 

The Evil Within The City

                    Evil Within The City

I am riding through the forest on horseback.

Plenty of leaves and stuff to cover my track.

The sky is darkening. A storm is coming.

I find a place that looks becoming.

I pitch my tent. Cover it with a tarp.

I finish just as the rain begins to start.

I wait inside for the rain to end.

There is no one else, so why pretend.

99.9% of all humanity is gone.

The catastrophe has lasted so long.

I haven’t seen another in eight months.

Those left are gathered in a bunch.

“I am on a pilgrimage to New York.”

“There is great evil there.”, I retort.

Then I set out on my way.

I am still headed there today.

I may stay here for the winter.

There is a river that is near here.

I trap and fish for my food.

I even eat roots when in the mood.

The winters are rough with all the snow.

Food is scarce now, don’t you know.

Spring came and it was time to prepare.

The towns and villages are everywhere.

They are vacant. Little left that is useful.

I found enough to make weapons though.

I had to forge my own sword and knives.

I made a crossbow that was very nice.

I would follow the river to New York.

There are no laws or any courts.

I will find this evil that calls to me.

I will kill it and then be free.

I have no idea what it is.

A transformed human? Whatever it is.

It is very strong, mentally and more.

It reaches to within my very core.

I must succeed for all mankind.

No one can live with ‘it’ in their mind.

The days pass on into summer.

It is warm and there’s lots to plunder.

I am getting well fed now.

My strength is building up, somehow.

I finally reach the city limits.

I have miles to go within it.

The evil is in the heart of the city.

I hope it doesn’t have a committee.

I can sense no others as I ride along.

It knows I’m coming. It won’t be long.

The closer I get the more I can feel.

There are others. He makes them knell.

I don’t know how I can get to him.

He has a small army of men.

Finally, I realize where he is.

The Empire State Building. Top floor is his.

He can reach very far out from there.

Mentally, he is everywhere.

He is drawing all men to him.

To answer to his beckoned whim.

I hear him, but I have my own will.

I hope I can hold out till the kill.

Now, this close, I know what he is.

He is responsible for all of this.

He was messing with the genetics of man.

“I’ll make them immortal, if I can.”

His experiment went all wrong.

He created carriers that destroyed the throng.

His serum also altered a virus.

It spread in humans like a wild fire crisis.

He made changes and tried it on himself.

The results were horrible. I know how he felt.

I don’t think he is human now.

He became super strong, somehow.

His brain power is, by far, the worst.

He can control all others. Make them thirst.

Make them dance, make them laugh.

Make them come to where he’s at.

They bring him water and food.

Whatever he wants. They can’t elude.

I can resist, but for how long?

He is mad that I can still get along.

The few that survived the plague, you see,

had a lot of new abilities that shouldn’t be.

Some could mentally talk with animals.

Others could read minds like a manual.

Other mental abilities were displayed.

Levitation, crop motivation, relayed.

But, none had strength and control like him.

He could know all minds through thick and thin.

How can I get to him when he knows all I do?

I’ll figure a way.—– I’m not a fool.

If he thinks I will surrender to him.

There may be a chance I can win.

His minons will bring me to him face to face.

I feel he will slam me all over the place.

Yet, I have to take the chance.

Or, no one will ever find romance.

I have a girl waiting for me.

Or, under his control. I must set her free.

She is probably headed here now.

Like all others, even animals, somehow.

His minions are coming. I feel them close.

I could avoid them, just like a ghost.

But, I must go with them for my plan.

I hide my weapons and walk like a man.

My weapons are on me under my clothes.

Hidden on me from my head to my toes.

I can keep them from searching me at all.

I have some mental skills after the fall.

Mine are much like his, though weaker.

That is why I was called The Seeker.

I don’t know if they are enough.

Pulling this off is going to be tough.

They take me up to the very top.

A lot of climbing with a lot of stops.

He is waiting in his throne room.

The sun forces away the gloom.

Male minions to do all his bidding.

They get for him whatever he thinks fitting.

The female minions were all naked.

Their modesty is totally deflated.

He sat there upon his dais.

Looking proud and pious.

Bigger than humans, with muscles bulging.

He looked at me with a look of loathing.

He was a disgusting, sickening sight.

Enough to give anyone a terrible fright.

“So, you’ve finally saw the light.”

“Beg for forgiveness with all your might.”

“I am Lord and Master here.”

“I am a God, who all should fear.”

“This world is my world now.”

“All will bow a knee to me, somehow.”

“If they don’t, then they are dead”

“I can mentally blow up their head.”

“How about you? Drop to your knees now.”

“Pledge your allegiance to me and cowl.”

I dropped and pledged my allegiance.

I begged for forgiveness with antecedents.

He had me rise and stepped off his throne.

His mental pressure was making me moan.

Then, quick as lightening, I moved apart.

I whipped out my sword and drove it into his heart.

All the minions froze right where they were.

A mental blast, I thought I was dead for sure.

It didn’t last as he fell to the floor.

I came close to do one last chore.

I lopped off his head with one mighty blow.

That put a final end to his show.

The minions were suddenly free.

They were as happy as they could be.

The women quickly clothed themselves.

The men asked me if I needed help.

They kept thanking and praising me.

I said I am nobody, as they could see.

They took the body and threw it off the roof.

Like King Kong, who was not bullet proof.

They wanted to know what to do now?

I said they could survive, somehow.

Time to prosper and repopulate the city.

Make it look alive and pretty.

I slipped away when I could.

Headed for my home in the wood.

I whistled and my horse came running.

“Are you ready to do some hunting?”

I headed on the long track home.

I soon found I was not alone.

It was people who were under his spell.

Also heading home now, and doing well.

Another year passed and I finally found her.

The love of my life, waiting, for sure.

She knew I was still alive and well.

She had been through a living hell.

He kept drawing her toward New York.

She had made it to a major fork.

Then, his control disappeared.

She headed for home again in fear.

She didn’t know if it was over.

Soon though, it was crimson and clover.

A few months later I arrived.

That is when we both came alive.

Years have passed since that mighty quest.

Our children will tell you about all the rest.

———————————-R. W. Johnson—–(2017)

 

The Portrait

                     The Portrait

The portrait hung in my house for years.

I never had cause to give it any fear.

It was of a beautiful woman with red hair.

I don’t know who she was or how it got there.

It was hanging there when I bought the house.

I left it there because I liked her blouse.

All was fine till my girlfriend moved in.

Strange things have happened since then.

The portrait started to change, it seemed.

She looked angry instead of serene.

My girlfriend tripped on the stairs.

Someone pushed her, she swears.

She has heard a whisper there.

It would tell her to beware.

She would get a cold chill up her spine.

When she looked at the portrait , every time.

Other bizarre incidents occurred.

Always with the single word. “Beware!!”

She was convinced the portrait did it.

She thinks it is of a witch.

I tried to trace the history of the picture.
I kept running into one hitch here.

The previous owner had burned the painting.

I heard this and felt like fainting.

He said it was there when he bought the house.

Incidents happened, so he took it out.

He burned it and things quieted down.

The house felt creepy, so he moved out of town.

Built in the 1600’s, the house is old.

Rumors say a witch lived there, I was told.

They say her portrait hung in the den.

This was a bad fix I was in.

I could burn it, but, I might have to move.

Was it jealous of my girlfriend? How crude.

I threatened to drown it in holy water.

All the weirdness stopped without a bother.

We are still there, but always weary.

Twice we saw the portrait teary.

——————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2017)

 

 

 

Who Killed The Robin?

Who Killed The Robin? 

Who killed Cock Robin?

Maybe it was a goblin?

Who is Cock Robin?

A bird or a bobbin?

 

Who cares anyway?

One Robin less today.

What else can I say?

Would this make a play?

 

Robins come and robins go.

Maybe killed by a crow?

I say, I just don’t know.

This would be a dumb show.

 

Why write a poem about it?

Started, didn’t want to quit.

I don’t really give a s—.

Now, now, don’t throw a fit.

 

If Robin were alive today.

I wonder what he would say?

He probably can’t talk anyway.

Just rock, bop, and sing all day.

 

That is if he is a bird.

Remember, the bird is the word.

At least, that’s what I’ve heard.

One thing I haven’t heard.

 

Would be a man named Cock.

I can’t say that name rocks.

He would need to be wise, like a fox.

He would be teased  a lot.

 

So, we come around again.

The beginning is the end.

Who killed Cock Robin?

Too bad, but nobody is sobbing.

—————–R. W. Johnson—–(2016)

 

 

Mystery Rides The Wind

         Mystery Rides The Wind

Her name was hidden for iniquity.

It’s the ancient knowledge of the wolves.

Identify her and you will see.

She will come, like a devil on hooves.

She is a mystery to the common man.

Coming from an unknown source.

Good or evil, none know her plan..

To see her is a rarity, of course.

The colors that dance on her dress.

Can hypnotize one into a coma.

As she whirls one can only guess.

What magic it will show ya.

Don’t fall in love with her.

You will travel to the clouds on far.

You will be her slave, for sure.

Taken to a land beyond the stars.

Your fate then would be unknown.

None know them, or what they are?

Do you really want to be shown?

Leave her a mystery who rides the wind.

Do not try to pry into her world.

You may end up losing your skin.

Neither angel nor fairy, she is no herald.

What she brings should be left alone.

It is not for mortal man to know.

I hope that you are never shown.

Your existence here will be a no show. 

—————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2016)

 

 

 

The Library Of Babel

 

        The Library Of Babel

I am trapped with no way out.

I don’t know what it’s all about.

A Library Of Babel with endless rooms.

No way out with no ending soon.

Each door leads to another.

Endless rooms, each open to plunder.

Each room is a different time and age.

A different place to try to engage.

Every language from every time.

Ancient past to future unwinds.

Every story thats written, or will be.

Sitting there for anyone to see.

All bringing babble & more confusion.

Is all this real, or just an illusion?

Nothing to explain what’s going on.

Hallucination or nightmare, it’s all wrong.

Rooms with records of every man’s life.

Be it short or long, with all the strife.

Is this God’s record hall or am I nuts?

This is no place for the likes of us.

There has got to be a way out of here.

Maybe I just had one too many beers?

I don’t know if I am coming or going.

It is hell not really knowing.

I could stay here or move on to another.

Whatever room I’m in, I could smother.

It is too much, too big of a load.

I can’t handle the overload!!

I don’t even know how I got here?

Was I asleep or was it too many beers?

I keep thinking I will wake up.

Yet, here I am. Stuck in this rut.

Then, I have a brilliant idea to try.

“I will find the book of my life,” I cry.

It should tell me how this ends.

Will I be rescued by my friends?

After an eternity of searching,

I find my book where it was lurking

I flip to the final pages.

It says: Still in the works for the ages.

Looks like I will have to make my own ending.

I wonder if this is even trending?

—————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2016)

 

 

The Time App.

          The Time App.

I have invented a ‘time app.’

What do you think of that?

Go back in time a little bit.

15 min., 30 min., up to 2 hrs.

Lost precious time is now ours.

I tested out the beta app.

I was driving like a bat.

Soon, red lights came flashing.

He was behind me, not passing.

He said he had me on radar.

Going faster than a falling star.

Just before he started writing.

I pushed the app. Like lightening,

I was driving 15 min. earlier.

I slowed down, just to be sure.

Soon, I saw him behind a thicket.

He was squirming to give a ticket.

I went by at the legal speed limit.

His radar was on me for a minute.

I never saw him after that.

Saved myself a bunch of crap.

What if going back caused a problem?

Changing things may not solve them.

I could make a mint off this.

It would be a hit, but it could go amiss.

The ending could be tragic, you see.

This could be the end of me.

What do you think of it all?

Get a patent and roll with the fall?

Or, leave it alone as something taboo?

What to do, I’ll never know.—Do you?

———————R. W. Johnson—–(2016)