Carl Martin Johnson
Poet, Author, Slayer of Dragons
© Carl Martin Johnson, All rights reserved
A SOLDIER’S LAST MINUTE
By Carl Martin Johnson
I see them coming through the mist.
It won’t be too long now.
Could be soon I won’t exist,
This might be my final bow.
But this minute I’m alive.
I am this minute’s king.
Until I die I will survive,
And rule what life will bring.
There is no future and no past.
This instant stands apart.
I know full well it will not last,
Yet strong still beats my heart.
Am I taking my last breath?
I will taste it then, so sweet.
I will have no fear of death,
This moment is life complete.
Die I will, since die I must,
Yet I will never know.
I will not betray my trust.
I will like a soldier go.
Still, I alone rule this last minute.
I will make each second mine.
I own this time and all that’s in it,
‘Til I meet the true Divine.
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ONE MAN
By Carl Martin Johnson
One man who will fight.
One man who is proud.
Can defeat the great mob’s might.
Can make his lone voice loud.
Apart from the herd he stands,
Holding his head up high.
Honor alone commands,
He looks all Mankind in the eye.
He endures, defiant,
Though he endure alone.
He will not bend, compliant,
Though no support be shown.
We should treasure men like these.
They are, God help us, rare.
Such men don’t bend their knees.
Our great nation’s in their care.
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THOUGHTS I CANNOT RHYME
By Carl Martin Johnson
There are thoughts I cannot rhyme.
My limitations are severe.
I must hear the word tones chime,
To ring music in my ear.
Yet I have feelings that run deep,
Far beyond my wordsmith’s skill.
It causes me to weep,
That I lack talent to match my will.
But some nights when I dream,
I find words that can’t be said,
In a whisper or a scream,
Save by poets long, long dead.
In my soul they incubate
Until at last my pen can bear them.
For their birth I must await
The verses where I share them.
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MORNING LAUGHTER
By Carl Martin Johnson
Rear back your head and laugh
Every morning ‘til you die.
You will cut your fears in half,
And with only laughter cry.
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I AM ME
By Carl Martin Johnson
I am only me.
I can be no other.
I am mostly what you see,
Dropped entire from my mother.
Many times I fail.
My weakness brings me shame.
My character is frail.
I’ve only me to blame.
But every day I learn.
My soul keeps getting stronger.
Perhaps wisdom I will earn,
If I live a little longer.
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DEATH OF A BROTHER IN MY ARMS
By Carl Martin Johnson
His eyes were growing dim,
Like a candle burning low.
I knew the odds were grim,
His pulse was weak and slow.
I’d stopped the wound’s red spurting.
But too much had been lost.
At least he was past hurting.
Close to paying this life’s cost.
His rifle he held tight.
It made him feel secure,
Though he had fought in his last fight.
He was going, I was sure.
I cradled him like a child.
Yet I, not he, was crying.
If he had fear, it was only mild.
It was I who felt his dying.
Then I heard medevac whopping air.
I begged him to hold on.
But my brother was past care.
He smiled, then he was gone.
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DAWN AFTER BATTLE
By Carl Martin Johnson
I’ve see the dawn on battlefields
Where men lay dead and dying,
Pale light sharing what hatred yields,
What sends God’s angels crying.
Then the growing sun climbs high,
Lighting corpses in death dance,
The sad ballet of those who die,
In macabre smiling trance.
I recall through tears what the ancient said,
And is still the way things are.
No good to weep, for “Only the dead
Have seen the end of war.”
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SPEAK FREELY
By Carl Martin Johnson
If you speak, I will give ear,
Though I may disagree.
What you see as clear,
May not be to me.
We are compatriots, after all.
The same flag we salute.
Let not anger build a wall
Because of words that we dispute.
Perhaps we both will learn,
If our ideas we share.
And mutual respect we’ll earn
As we our thoughts compare.
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NIGHT GHOSTS AT PLAY
By Carl Martin Johnson
Last night I lay awake in bed
And watched the spirits fly.
They were very friendly dead,
Though some, indeed, were shy.
I asked if I could join their play.
It seemed to be great fun.
They said I surely will one day,
When at last my race is run.
For now, they said, I should just dream.
In dreams is where they’ll meet me.
Sliding down a soft moonbeam,
With angel’s kiss they’ll greet me.
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ET TU, BRUTE?
By Carl Martin Johnson
This dagger in my hand
Will end good Caesar’s life.
Rome’s history I command
With this assassin’s knife.
My accomplices struck deep,
And still my Caesar lives.
I must thrust, though now I weep.
My crime no heart forgives.
He tears my soul with dying plea
As I wield the murderous blade.
Too late my act to flee,
Or stay the sin I made.
As he lies bloody at my feet,
I bend to cover his pale face,
For soon enough we’ll meet
In the next world’s cold embrace.
Yet though I do this crime,
Full aware of the great shame,
Until the end of time
All men will know my name.
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DEATH’S ANGEL
By Carl Martin Johnson
Death’s angel gives no warning,
Save soft rustling of his wings.
And he leaves loved ones in mourning
From the message that he brings.
His breath is angel-sweet,
Like spring flowers in the dawn.
Perfume of life complete,
Blowing gently as the soul flows on.
Carrying beauty with his fear,
His kiss gives us new life.
A brief moment then we’re clear,
Free from this world’s strife.
So dread not his embrace.
He comes for everyone.
Look once upon his face,
Just once and you are done.
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