© Carl Martin Johnson, All rights reserved

 

MY SWEET SUMMER IS GONE
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

My sweet Summer is gone.
The hot dog days are finished.
Time to be moving on,
Sweet Summer love diminished.

 

This year is like the last.
Autumn seems to hurry.
I don’t know why it comes so fast,
But I guess I shouldn’t worry.

 

The fruits have all been picked,
Ripened in Summer sun.
Now the days start to constrict.
Autumn has begun.

 

New months bring new reaping.
Different crop, but as nourishing.
The last before winter sleeping.
The fertile earth yet flourishing.

So with love the same.


It comes ripe in many seasons.
Enjoy the new fruit with no shame.
The heart has no need of reasons.

 

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COMANCHE TRAIL
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

The Ranger looked past his shoulder
At the empty Texas plain,
Praying he would grow much older
Before he saw a Comanche again.

 

The battle had been hard fought.
He was surprised to be alive.
Of the ten Rangers he had brought,
He was the only one to survive.

 

They had chased the Indians down,
Carrying scalps still dripping red.
And on that killing ground
Lay many dying, many dead.

 

But the warriors multiplied.
There were hundreds, mounted well.
No place for the Texans to hide.
They had ridden into Hell.

 

He hid under dead men
Until silence absorbed the screaming.
Slaughtered white and red men.
Feeding flies on spilt guts gleaming.

 

Then he crawled into the sage,
Jumped a horse to make his run.
Torn between fear and rage,
He chose to flee, or he was done.

 

Blood red, the sun was setting.
He raced hard into its burning.
But fate had no forgetting.
It could not be changed by yearning.

 

He looked back and saw the dust
Of the warriors on the hill.
Heard the cries of their bloodlust
Stampeding at him for the kill.

 

In that instant memories flashed.
Yet none that he could hold.
All hope of life was dashed,
So he determined to go bold.

 

He spurred his horse around,
Let out a rebel yell.
They would put him in the ground,
But he’d send a few to Hell.

 

He charged straight through their line,
His rifle spitting lead,
Hearing the Comanche bullets whine,
Knowing he’d soon be dead.

 

In his stirrups he stood high,
Taking a last look at the sun.
He was about to die.
Life had finally won.

 

He pulled his revolver and fired,
Saving the last round as if treasure.
They would torture him ‘til they tired.
He would not give them that pleasure.

 

He put the pistol to his head,
Watching the sun’s fading crimson rays,
Wondering if the life he’d led
Would merit a tombstone’s praise.

 

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MY SLEEP
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

My Sleep is soft and deep,
My dreams happy and bright.
It is a rendezvous I keep
With pleasure every night.

 

Like a lover, she awaits,
Taking me warmly in her arms.
To the world that she creates,
She leads me with her charms.

 

Bound together we explore
An existence uniquely mine.
Above the rainbow’s arc we soar,
Through a reality of our own design.

 

I slip off the stress and fear
That the day has wrapped around me,
And put on a cloak of cheer,
Now that sweet Sleep has found me.

 

Cherished Sleep, I do adore you.
I look forward to day’s end.
Never desert me, I implore you,
My dearest lover, loyal friend.

 

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THE HERO
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

What does he have that others miss?
What sets him above the rest?
Why is it he the great gods kiss?
What makes him the best?

 

If we seek, where do we find him
To lead us through the fray?
The rest of mankind behind him,
As he shows us the way.

 

He will arise when need is dire.
He will show the world his worth.
He will save us from the fire.
It is the reason for his birth.

 

So it has always been.
So it will always be.
From ranks of ordinary men,
Come those who make history.

 

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MERCENARY, TREASURE SEEKER
By Carl Martin Johnson

Mercenary, treasure seeker,
Fighting small wars, hunting gold.
Growing weary, growing weaker.
I'll be dead before I'm old.

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GENTLE BREEZES
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

Gentle breezes cool my face,
Blowing dry the pouring sweat.
I thank God for His good grace,
That I am living yet.

 

On the air rides a flowery scent,
Wafting light through the foul smell.
Like an angel’s pure descent
Into the rotten bowels of Hell.

 

I raise my eyes up to the sky,
To clouds of puffy white,
Like playing children passing by,
Ignoring the reek of we who fight.

 

I find comfort in the smooth, sweet grass,
So green and full of living.
It gives me hope hard times will pass,
And Life will keep on giving.

 

In a moment I must rise
To face the enemy again.
Should I then meet my demise,
I will have this instant as a win.

 

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THE CURVE OF HER BACK
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

She sprawls her loveliness over the sheet,
Unclothed and unashamed,
Giving off erotic heat
Like a wild thing yet untamed.

 

Moonlight rolls like fresh cream over her hips,
Smooth alabaster mounds.
Softly caressed by my fingertips,
Calling forth her cat-like sounds.

 

Shadows deepen, gray to black,
Accenting her ripe charms.
The graceful curve of her soft back
Lures me willing into her arms.

 

How can she not sense my eyes’ touch,
Sweeping over all that she lays bare?
Knowing I want her, oh so much,
With passion hot and rare.

 

But, for now, I lie content,
Beholding her beauty in the night,
Letting my lust for her ferment
‘Til she wakes to morning light.

 

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THE LAST SPARK
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

I saw the last spark in your eyes,
Your last bit of living.
I knew in a moment you would die,
Your wound was unforgiving.

 

That spark was a gathering of your soul,
Getting ready to move on,
Bringing all your pieces together whole,
Insuring none of you was gone.

 

I saw your being in that spark,
All of you that was unique.
What you would carry into the dark,
What we who follow you will seek.

 

Then I saw it slowly fade,
Like an ember losing heat,
Falling back into the shade,
Where Man and God will meet.

 

And I hugged your lifeless form,
Though your spark of life had flown,
Knowing I could not keep you warm,
Where Death’s cold shadow has grown.

 

You will go now to the Light,
Where your spark becomes a flame.
For you there is no more night.
You are back from whence you came.

 

I will come close behind you.
Save a place for me.
I promise I will find you
In that great Eternity.

 

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HURRY SUNDOWN!
By Carl Martin Johnson

Hurry, Sundown! Hide me!
Give me shelter from the Day.
Let refuge be not denied me.
I am a scorched and frightened prey.

Let me dissolve into your dusk,
Fade into your cooling gloom,
Lest I become a dried-out husk,
Crumbling to my doom.

This wasteland I walk would desiccate,
Take my soul and suck it dry,
My thirsting blood evaporate,
Leave me begging God to die.

You are the herald of cool Night
With its succor from this burning.
You will save me from my plight
With the shade for which I’m yearning.

The evil that pursues me
Will not find me in Night’s cave.
Sundown, don’t refuse me.
It is my soul that you will save.

Ah, now I see you setting.
I feel evening’s cooling breath.
But is it salvation I am getting?
Is it Night, or is it Death?

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THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT
By Carl Martin Johnson

In the heat of the night you came.
I called out and you were there.
You ran to me without shame,
With no blame for our affair.

Screaming panthers sing our song,
Wild and hungry in the dark.
If what we have is wrong,
Bring on the Devil’s spark.

I lick the sweet sweat from your chest,
Like the dew on a ripened peach.
My body to yours tightly pressed,
Eager to learn what desire will teach.

Wrapped together in the jungle steam,
Casting aside all former vows,
In the heat of the night we gleam
With the fiery passion we arouse.

We will love hard until the dawn,
Then slip back to unloving arms.
Until in the new night’s heat we’re drawn
Once again to Eros’ charms.

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BREATH
By Carl Martin Johnson

Deeply he breathed in,
Feeling sweet Life fill him,
Holding the air within,
Letting living thrill him.

In that single inhalation
Was the instant’s universe.
The entirety of Creation.
The blessing and the curse.

There were atoms in each lung
From the first Bang of Being.
From the first song ever sung.
From Cain’s dying scream sent fleeing.

While he owned that mix of gas,
The world beyond was stilled.
Time slowed, could hardly pass,
Gathering strength to rebuild.

Then he released the breath,
And Life went on its way.
It would continue thus to death.
Every night. Every day.

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LITTLE MAN
By Carl Martin Johnson

He was too little to play ball,
Too clumsy for marching band.
Not an athletic boy at all,
Not much strength at his command.

There were some who taunted,
But he stood up best he could.
He walked proud and went undaunted,
Though his fighting skills weren’t good.

He struggled through his school days,
Not excelling, just getting by,
Overcoming classmates’ cruel ways.
Improving with every try.

Then he went to war
In a harsh land of dry mountains.
Where just being left a scar,
And the blood flowed down in fountains

It was there he met his fate.
Many lives he saved.
Though his sacrifice was great
In the hard death that he braved.

Now his mother stands full proud,
His Medal of Honor in her hand.
And the audience applaud is loud
For her Little Man.

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PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE
By Carl Martin Johnson

Be careful with your Present.
It soon becomes your Past.
Some things that are now pleasant
May return to haunt at last.

All we’ve done, we carry.
It can’t be cast aside.
There’s nothing we can bury,
Nothing we can hide.

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow.
All are really one.
The mix of happiness and sorrow,
Into a single thread is spun.

Look ahead to see days gone.
Then look back to those impending.
Life has no sunset or dawn.
There is no start or ending.

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CAN YOU HEAR ME?
By Carl Martin Johnson

Can you hear me in the silence,
In the softness of the night,
Away from all the violence,
Without thought of wrong or right?

My mind is wondering clearly
What I am when I’m just still.
For that knowledge I’d pay dearly.
I almost said “I’ll kill”.

But there the quandary lies.
The fighting is for knowing.
Yet whenever someone dies
My ignorance is growing.

Are you listening, O Great Being?
Are you buried deep inside?
What is it I’m not seeing?
What is it Life must hide?

Am I more than just my action?
Do I have a larger soul?
Are my deeds only distraction?
Only part of what I am whole?

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PEPPER
By Carl Martin Johnson

Pepper is my favorite spice.
Pepper gives my taste buds pleasure.
Pepper is my all-consuming vice,
The one I dearly treasure.

I like my Pepper hot.
That’s the way I take my seasoning.
And I have Pepper a lot.
Some say beyond all reasoning.

Pepper can tear up my eye,
When used without due care.
But mostly it’s with joy I cry,
Because there’s so much Pepper there.

Of course, my Pepper has a bite.
It’s part of Pepper’s kiss.
Though my mouth is set alight,
It’s a treat I’d hate to miss.

To you it may sound strange,
That Pepper is my life.
But one day I’ll arrange
For her to be my wife.

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TOUCH ME SOFTLY
By Carl Martin Johnson

Touch me softly if you want me.
Let me know of your desire.
Wild thoughts of you will haunt me
‘Til the spark of longing becomes fire.

I lie waiting here beside you,
My body ready to join yours.
If you’re timid, the dark will hide you.
All shyness loving cures.

Graze your fingers ‘cross my lips
When you need my warm affection.
Fondle gently with their tips.
Make me slave to your direction.

Whisper words across my chest,
Delicate phrases of your need.
With my flesh against yours pressed,
I will follow where you lead.

Let me feel your tingling,
Electric current down my spine.
All our senses mingling,
I’m only holding for your sign.

Leave me waiting not too long.
Take pity on my yearning.
Let us sing our lovers’ song,
And set our passion burning.

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PHANTOM LOVER
By Carl Martin Johnson

I made you out of moondust,
Brought stars down for your eyes,
Filled you with sweet and strong lust,
Made loving what you prize.

You hold me when I’m lonely,
Stroke me when I’m sad,
Tell me you want me only,
Say I’m the best man that you’ve had.

When I call, you come to me,
Filling my emptiness in profusion.
I feel your love all through me,
Though you are only an illusion.
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