Category: Random

poems from the lunatic fringe

The Magic Of Spring

 

      The Magic Of Spring

It’s that time of year again.

When flowers bloom and children grin.

Spring has sprung once more.

Spend more time outside the door.

Love is usually in the air.

Find yourself some time to spare.

Take a stroll and smell the roses.

Don’t get stung. Watch where your nose is.

Hear the birdies chirp.

See the bees, how hard they work,.

Everything is green and fresh.

Get your worries off your chest.

Enjoy the mood of spring fever.

Don’t even think that you may leave her.

It is a time for love, not loss.

Treat her right, at all cost.

Take a nature walk with her.

Let nature ruffle her fur.

She will fall to its deceptive ways.

She will be romantic for many days.

Call it splendor in the grass.

Just as long as it will last.

Give her a bouquet of wild flowers.

Laugh and dance with her in April showers.

Enjoy your lives while you are young.

A time when love can be such fun.

Yes, spring has sprung again.

This time around, her heart, you’ll win.

This will be your favorite time of year.

So, don’t hold back. There is nothing to fear.

——————————————R. W., Johnson—–(2015)

Frogmania

      Frogmania

In the land before time.

There was a frog who was a mime.

Eons passed, and he was still around.

He still did mimes & played a clown.

Finally, here comes modern times.

Where is that frog who mime’s?

I saw him on the WB.

Doing commercials for the network, see.

He wears a top hat & has a cane.

But, his act is much the same.

He jumps and dances around.

He kind of looks like a little clown.

What has this world come to?

Where a frog can entertain you.

But, a lot of animals are stars today.

Not much left for us to say.

Animals have moved up the chain.

While humans have become too vain.

If you are entertained by a talking frog.

How much longer till you’re in a fog.

Unable to think for yourself.

An organic robitoid, with a little wealth.

You’ll probably be a liberal without thought.

Look around and see what you have wrought

Bring back the frog who was a mime.

At least, he was quiet all of the time.—-R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

 

 

 

Geezer

      Geezer

People tend to call me old Geezer now.

Formally known as Stud Muffin. WOW!!

Back in the day, I was ‘The Man!’

I had girls all across this land.

Most guys wanted to be me.

Don Juan had nothing on me, you see.

My black book was a valuable tool.

I kept it locked up. I was no fool.

I would have a girl on each end of town.

And be dating one from the middle ground.

I had a line that wouldn’t quit.

Girls would line up, just to hear it.

Saturday night, I would turn on the charm.

I’d have two girls. One on each arm.

So it was through high school and college.

Guys were envious, without my knowledge.

I never really settled down.

My reputation spread all over town.

I tried marriage once, but separated.

Later, she cut me loose. I was elated.

As I aged, I lost my mojo.

I started slipping. I was a no go.

I was getting old and set in my ways.

I dreamed a lot of my younger days.

Eventually, I became an old Geezer.

My love life was in the freezer.

Till Viagra came along.

Now, I sing a different song.

I ache in the places where I used to play.

But, a fire still burns under all this gray.

Thanks to Viagra, I can now say.

This old Geezer is ready to play.—–Look out. I’m back!!

—————————————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

 

 

The Bitter Truth

 

      The Bitter Truth

Things have really gotten wild.

She wanted money for an unborn child.

People have sold their soul for success.

just to get ahead of all the rest.

 

People have thought they found a way.

To exploit others in every way, every day.

The mighty dollar rules all thought.

To get rich is all they have sought.

 

It seems honest ways are forgotten.

They are so corrupt, they are rotten.

They’d  rob their mother to get ahead.

They won’t be missed when they are dead.

 

Jail time doesn’t detour them much.

They just scheme more to make the bucks.

They will switch to ‘white collar crimes.’

They will work at home. They have time.

 

Is nothing anymore on the up and up?

Can you be sure they’re not out to make a buck?

What you would say: By hook or crook.

Opportunity for many is all it took.

 

Is society responsible for this downward turn?

Is it the destruction of the family unit, of concern?

Things just aren’t like the ‘good old days’.

When most people were honest at work or play

 

You didn’t have to lock your doors.

People respected your private hoard.

There was almost no ‘white collar crime.’

If you did the job, you did the time.

 

Things are on a downhill roll.

Things will get lower than low.

When we hit bottom it will be over.

We will be pushing up daises & clover.

 

There is no recovery in sight.

Start praying with all your might.

There is little else you can do.

The end is coming for me and you.-

———————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

The E-Mail Routine

 

      The E-Mail Routine

Waiting for an E-Mail from you.

How long till you shoot one through?

A little antiquated, to be sure.

It is the way things always were.

 

I could chat with you on Facebook.

I could take a second look.

Check my phone for a text.

See if any calls came in, next.

 

But, the way it always is.

An E-Mail saying: This one is his.

I fight the ad’s to search for it.

I will search & never quit.

 

It is ‘old fashioned’ to be sure.

A way not used much, as it were.

Still it is faster than a letter.

Maybe archaic times were better.

 

It gave you something to look forward to.

Yet, a letter, sent from me to you.

Would take forever to be delivered.

That idea has really withered.

 

Not to mention the cost of stamps.

it would cost my shirt and pants.

No, an E-Mail is fine for now.

If I only receive one, somehow.

 

Sometimes they are like a small book.

Other times, read, with one quick look.

No matter how short or how long.

It lets me know I still belong.

 

Belong on your long list of friends.

Ones you write to without depends.

It doesn’t depend on if I write you first.

You will still write. It’s like a curse.

 

But, it is a blessing for me.

Because I finally hear from you, you see.

That gives me much pleasure and joy.

Better than getting a brand new toy.

 

Then I will set right down.

Peck out an answer then turn around.

Send it on its way first.

Before going to quench my thirst.

 

Next day there I am.

Waiting for an E-Mail again.

So it goes each and every day.

It leaves me little time to play.—R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

.

A Trip To Within

      A Trip To Within

Once in awhile, if I have the time.

I go down into the mine.

Rather, I should say: Into the mind.

‘Mind tripping’, to say it kind.

 

An introspective trip to within.

Somewhere I’ve rarely been.

It can be scary when you first go in.

But, soon, I am easily remembering when.

 

if I have been there, it is a traveled path.

If not, it can make me laugh.

Sneaking around in my own thoughts.

Wondering what the next thought brought?

 

I come to a door marked THE ID.

Caused me to almost flip my lid.

I recalled the movie “Forbidden Planet.”

Monsters from THE ID, taken for granted.

 

No, that’s not for me. I turn away from that.

Maybe a look at emotions is where it is at.

It is warm and cozy in here.

Lots of love. very little fear.

 

I look in the ‘past experiences’ file.

No, I am not in denial.

This is a tough file to review.

Some still hurt. There are a few.

 

Next, I look at past memories.

A little dusty in here. But, it is friendly.

Needs a little cleaning. Some files are lost.

I need to retrieve some at any cost.

 

I check current files. All are sharp & fresh.

Nothing here to any excess.

An alarm. What could that mean?

Sound from outside. Sounds like a machine.

 

I open my eyes and see my wife.

She is running a vacuum. What a life.

Try to have quiet time for self inspection.

But, am disturbed by noise and affection.

————————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

 

 

 

Time Running Out

      Time Running Out

“Look at this world”, He cried in vain.

“This place is really in need of a change.”

“Tear it down. Start all over again.”

“Like Tobacco Row. It’s filled with sin.”

 

So went the meeting in heaven.

Angels reporting on all the sin.

The Trinity trying to cope with it all.

They knew, from the start, it would fall.

 

Meanwhile, on earth, the lovers talked.

Made future plans while they walked.

They thought they had heaven on earth.

They were blind to corruption from birth.

 

It never dawned on them how bad it was.

They didn’t know about heaven above.

About the war between God & Satan.

The universe watching because it hates sin.

 

But, The Holy Spirit strived with their hearts.

They wanted more than just to not part.

They felt something was missing in their lives.

One day they went to church and came alive.

 

Their eyes were opened to the world around.

They were astounded at what they found.

Soon, they gave their hearts to the Lord.

They spread the Word to all their hoard.

 

Heaven rejoices over even one saved.

In the balances, they are weighed.

The Trinity doesn’t give up hope.

“Hold the winds of strife,” they spoke.

 

So, time goes on just a little longer.

Time for each of us to grow stronger.

Stronger in our faith in God.

To choose. Choosing life is not odd.—-R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

 

 

 

Instant Relocation

 

      Instant Relocation

Awhile back I was in my car.

Taking a drive to a juice bar.

Suddenly, I didn’t know where I was.

Everything around began to fuzz.

I focused and checked my watch.

Date & time correct. They weren’t botched.

What the heck just happened to me?

I was lost, from what I could see.

Then I saw a road sign ahead.

I was about 60 miles from home, it said.

Somehow, I was instantly here.

No, I had not been drinking beer.

It took 1 ½ hours to drive home.

The whole thing shook me to the bone.

The next day it happened again.

I was only sent 15 miles away then.

One more time it happened that week.

To another near town. I was freaked.

It couldn’t be a memory lapse.

Not enough time had passed.

It did not happen on the weekend.

Seemed to be only during the week .

I had to talk to someone about it.

But, who. They will think I am a nitwit.

I finally decided on my pastor.

He was really shocked, to be sure.

He took it with a grain of sand.

He decided to be the man.

He said he would come & ride with me.

Monday he came over, just to see.

We drove out in my car.

We had not gotten very far.

Next thing, we were 25 miles away.

He was pale, with little to say.

When we got home he prayed with me.

He didn’t know what it could be.

This continued. I hoped it would end soon.

Then, there was an eclipse of the moon.

After that, it never happened again.

It started exactly 1 month before the eclipse.

Then, it never happened again after this.

No explanation was ever found.

I was always cautious driving around town.

Years later another eclipse was due.

I stopped driving 1 month before. Wouldn’t you?

————————————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

 

.

 

 

 

 

The Edict Of Depression

      The Edict Of Depression

Saturday and Sunday has blurred into one.

I spent time in a bar, walking the streets,

or in my small, one room flat, drinking rum.

I hardly remember what I had to eat.

I cannot recall the point where I became

the person who lives here in this existence.

Not sending Christmas or birthday cards is lame.

I become exhausted instead of tired, without resistance.

Things rarely start & stop at identifiable points.

Life tends to shade from one state to another.

To evolve, then dissolve, to grow like moving joints,

then fade & fall away—- like all others.

Books and poems with their words hide this.

With their quantized approach to reality.

With their pretence that emotional starts & stops exist.

That you can be in one state, then another, callously

refers to a life that is in one continual flux.

Yet, it all blends together, like a mental storm.

Nothing stays with me, except my tortured gut.

This is a perpetual hell into which I was born.

Alcohol just rounds off the sharp edges.

Things roll along easier when one is blotto.

I never give money or make any pledges.

Just to half-heartedly ‘ maintain,’ is my motto.

Nothing to look forward to. The past is a blur.

I live in an existence that is like a fog.

Don’t ask me where I’m going, I’m not sure.

I pass out each night and sleep like a log.

In the morning, nothing has changed.

No one is concerned.— No one cares.

I guess there is no one else to blame.

Loneliness is a state that is impossible to share.

———————————————R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

 

 

 

 

Heart Resuscitation

 

      Heart Resuscitation

Let me take you to a cold, black place.

Don’t worry, we’ll go at your pace.

A place that’s shriveled and dead.

No, it’s not a place in my head.

Your beauty will light up the place.

Warmth from you will fill the space.

Warmth from your kindness and

understanding.  A  real man

would blossom with the touch of it.

It will revive something that won’t quit.

Love would be reborn & thrive.

Like the Phoenix, it would raise

and grow, encompassing us both.

It would be like waking a ghost.

Love, long dead from a tragic past.

Would thrive again, & this time last.

Yes, the cold, black place is my heart.

In my past,—- it was torn apart.

Crushed,—- and  presumed dead.

That was until you got into my head.

Please, help me put her out of my heart.

Then, you’ll have me & we will never part.

———————————————-R. W. Johnson—–(2015)