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Anne Johnson
http://annejohnson.purpledream.com |
Faces In The Wood
10/07/03
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I have explored
these paths before,
unencumbered by
trivial disclosure,
equal to considering
my existence undisturbed.
But the woods are
changed today,
smooth-skinned expressions
inhabit the sweet
smell of cedar,
granted mortality by
an inspired chisel.
Cloven eyes attend
to my progress,
I return the acknowledgment
and pass in silence.
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The Second Season
10/21/03
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I would tend to the garden
in quite a dissimilar way
if virgin soil were mine to sow
as it was in my younger days
There would be a solid gate
that bears a sturdy latch
to keep away the strangers
who would tied upon my patch
I would not let the trailing vine
invade the bleeding heart
and clip the prickly climbing rose
before the thorns could start
I'd til among the wildflowers
to separate the weed
and crop them for my crystal vase
before they went to seed
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Lakelse
11/02/03
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Preachers of history
Mingle in the margin
Between highway and water
Ligneous forms
Flaunting rings of wisdom
On should exposed with age
Old growth brothers
To Fresh Water Mollusk
Sweet Granite suckler
Rooted in land
Born of the Tsmimshian
People of the Salmon
Braiding past into
Future with fibrous
Fingers of time
Lakelse is a lake in Northern BC, Granite Creek feeds into Lakelse. Tsmimshian are Northern Aborignal peoples. Tsmimshian means People of the Salmon. Lakelse means Fresh Water Mollusk
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Our Discontent
11/14/03 |
Sweep what you can
under the cloak of knowledge
and leave me the empty
space to dwell in my reality.
You spin life through
a philosophical vortex,
dazed by the constant
clash of colors.
I strip it with stark
practicality, a frightened
deer in the glare of
the light.
Both dragging through this life
Together, and alone
unable to meld theory and practice,
heart and mind.
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Mom
11/25/03 |
Not long ago in memory your soft
And gentle arm cradled us in infancy
And kept us safe from harm
You introduced our growing minds to
Music, books, and plays you've given
Us the gift of love in many, many ways
All the memories we own are not
Without your face, your strength,
Patience, loving heart, your beauty
And your grace
We've long since grown and now apart,
We miss you every day and there
Are things we feel for you yet never thought to say
When we look back upon our lives,
And all that we might do, we see the
Very best in us reflects a part of you
The love we feel is not expressed
Through words, but only these
You're all our lives, our hearts,
Our souls, and lovely memories
Dedicated to the memory of Ruth Ann Albert
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Across Rainbow Summit
12/06/03 |
Where the ocean drinks its fill
of the mighty Skeena,
Pacific tidal pools welcome
the City of Rainbows,
marking it's border with tiny forests
that huddle on rust-colored pedestals,
and raise their ample boughs from
the icy waters that lap
against their jagged perches.
The rise and fall of the
yellowhead mimics the waters ebb
as it curves along the shore
of rippling sapphire wavelets,
where silver salmon flip their tails
at the soft mountain mist that
creeps across the range.
Rainbow Summit lies just West of the city
of Prince Rupert in Northern BC.
Rupert is known as the city of Rainbows.
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Saturated Lyrics
01/25/04
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I heard you singing
In the shower
Splashing ragtime with
Vibrant tones that washed
Across the blue Terrazzo
And dripped into the
Gurgling eddy
Furrowed fingers slapped
Against sinewy thigh
Found the rhythm of
The swing, pulsing in
Perfect harmony to the
Silver rain cloud
And the passion of
Your chords sprinkled
Unwashed notes like
Raindrops on porcelain
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The Burr
11/14/04 |
The thorny little orbs
invite themselves in
embedded in soft,
webbed paws.
Spiny fingers tangled
in thick masses of
golden fur.
Like porous balls of velcro,
they prickle through the hallway
fastened to the padded footsteps
of my best friend.
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Nightmare In Porcelin
12/04/04 |
You poked your tiny body
through the old faucet door,
and paused upon blue porcelin
on a marbled-tile floor.
I crunched a wrinkled body
toward the dampened smoke-stained wall,
to avoid confrontation from
a steam assisted fall
My movement made you scurry
for the painted, furled chip,
where seven-eights were covered
by it's soap-encrusted lip.
You plopped onto the rusted rim
of my faded blue enclosure,
and mocked me eye to eye
in our mutual exposure.
I hesitated briefly with
one eye upon the door,
then opted for the safety
of my feet upon the floor.
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