December 2018 – Word Smith Wisdom

The Darkest Night Has Come

Another day has come and gone.
I am sitting here in the dawn.
The sky is brightening out the window.
But, there is no light in me to kindle.
Something happened the other day.
Something that didn’t quite go my way.
Now I have faded from dark to black.
I am not sure if I am coming back.
I took a trip to the demon world.
Not by choice, but in a whirl.
I was pulled down by no choice of my own.
While I struggled and could only moan.
It went from dark to the blackest black.
I had no idea where I was at.
“Is someone there?” I screamed real loud.
“My kingdom for a Duracell”, acting proud.
Glowing red eyes appeared to me.
A voice as deep as deep could be.
“You are responsible for Kronos!”, it said.
I thought I was going out of my head.
“You will write more about him.”
This has got to be a nightmare whim.
“This is real. You will obey!!”, it said.
I knew I was in way over my head.
“Kronos is dead and now in hell.”
“Oh,— we know that very well.”
“What can I do about that?.”
“You’re the author, just bring him back.”
Directed by demons to bring back Kronos?
Where this is leading, no one knows.
Was it all a dream,—- or was it real?
To bring Kronos back would be a real spiel.
So I sit here in the gloom.
Trying to come up with something soon.
This blackness must be lifted off of me.
Maybe then I will be able to see.
Could this all be a spell by Kronos?
Spelling his very creator,— almost?
It seems that this will never end.
So, you may be hearing of Kronos again.

———————————R.W. Johnson—–(2018)

An Unexplained Occurance

I was watching an episode of Black Mirror.
Suddenly, I felt like something was near.
A creepy feeling all up and down my spine.
My heart was pumping overtime.
I got up and checked all the rooms.
Was I expecting to find some scary goon?
Nothing was found, so I went back to TV.
I still had a weird feeling coming over me.
I got up and checked all windows and doors.
All were locked, drapes drawn, nothing more.
I started my pre recorded show again.
Something I saw made me grin.
I had a black light in a drawer.
I took it out and shined it on the floor.
I saw foot prints appear in the black light.
I have to tell you, they gave me a fright.
I started following them where they led.
In the next room, they stopped dead.
Right against a blank wall.
There was nothing else there at all.
I touched the wall and my hand went through.
I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to do.
I recovered and began to feel around.
An invisible doorway is what I found.
I looked and it was a blank wall.
I felt along the wall and that wasn’t all.
My hand passed through like a doorway.
“Another dimension.” Was all I could say.
It felt a little cooler on the other side.
I put on a coat and stepped inside.
I immediately was back in my living room.
Black Mirror was still playing in the gloom.
“What the hell?” I yelled, looking around.
I went to find the doorway I’d found.
Amazingly, it was no longer there.
Just a solid wall, which was still bare.
Nothing ever happened again after that.
Was it Twilight Zone, or some type of trap?
The answer continues to avoid me.
I am nervous now, as I watch TV.

———————————–R.W. Johnson—–(2018)

A Writer’s Snare

A Writer’s Snare.

I am leaving on a jet plane.
Not sure if I’ll be back. Don’t complain.
What am I saying? I’ll be right here.
I am not leaving. You have nothing to fear.
I’m just fooling around with lyrics from songs.
There is no way I’ll be saying so long.
As I come closer, inch by inch.
I am more quiet than the Grinch.
Still fooling around with words.
Quit saying it is for the birds.
O.k., I have never seen a tree
with a bark as pretty as thee.
What? That’s poetry, is it not?
Funny, all you can do is squawk.
He tucked, he rolled, he stopped.
He managed to ditch the cop.
All right, all right, I will try it again.
Tonight, after dark, when all is free.
You will find me hugging my TV.
Fine, I’ll quit writing when you are present.
I would just as soon be eating pheasant.
Thank God, she is finally gone.
Now, maybe, I can write that song.
I forgot what I was going to write now?
A short nap and it will come to me somehow.

———————————-R.W. Johnson—–(2018)

Picking Up The Pieces

Picking Up The Pieces.

Picking up the pieces of a love shattered heart.
Trying to reassemble it. I don’t know where to start.
The pieces don’t seem to go together right.
Though I try and try with all my might.
It is like trying to walk on very slippery ice.
I could slip and shatter it some more. Not nice.
I could cut corners and reshape a piece to fit.
Maybe I could hammer it in without a hitch?
Alas, It just doesn’t work that way in the end.
All the kings horses and all the kings men.
Couldn’t put together the shattered heart again.
Maybe I can become one of the tin men.
No heart needed, just a little oil now and then.
Oh, is there no way to get over this pain?
Cracking jokes and denying can drive one insane.
I have a feeling this will take a long time.
Going through each day still wishing you were mine.
This is different from physical pain.
It can feel just as bad. There is nothing to gain.
I have been told learn from your mistakes.
But, it felt so right. Why did it feel so great?
I could become a rock or an island.
Like the Paul Simon song. I would die by then.
I have my books and poetry to protect me.
Even so, I am still not able to be free.
Free from the pain, the hurt, the memory.
If I dwell on it I am digging myself in further.
I must go, quiet as a mouse, not even a murmur.
Go into the world and live again.
Who knows, maybe I will make a friend?

——————————————-R.W. Johnson—–(2018)

Writer’s Cramp?

I asked for advice that might come to mind.
They said stick it where the sun don’t shine.
I said what kind of advice is that, you jerks.
They said to take it for what it is worth.
I just wanted help to write this down.
They said do we look like simple clowns?
What in the world does that mean?
They said look at the whole, not in between.
That is about as clear as mud, I said.
Just like the thoughts inside your head.
You insulting sapsuckers are no help at all.
Oh, is our little poet going to bawl?
Ask for a little help and what do I get?
You couldn’t get it right, even on a bet.
That’s it. I’ve had it with this word smith trash.
Good. It’s time you wrote something with a little class.
I’ve had enough! You guys have got to go.
That’s kind of hard when were in your head bro.
Then it hit me like a revelation out of time.
These voices I’ve been hearing are mine.
To be able to write poetry without help,
I have to learn to tune out self.
Do other writers have this problem?
But then, this is not really about them.
A little self analysis should help.
Sassy, you’re just a little whelp.
Wise ass, you’re really the real fool.
You sapsuckers wouldn’t know what to do,
if it wasn’t for me,—- you fools.
There, that should clear my mind.
Now, I can put in some quality time.
Good poetry will soon be on the way.
Those sapsuckers can harass me some other day.

———————————————-R.W. Johnson—–(2018)