© Carl Martin Johnson, All rights reserved

 
 

OLD LOVE
By Carl Martin Johnson


Old loves never truly die.
They lie dormant in the heart,
Where they sometimes spark to try
Fanning embers into new flames’ start.

Passion faded is not lost,
Only hiding deep inside,
Patiently waiting to defrost,
Return to heat what was denied.

Not forgotten, kisses warm,
Gentle breath along your breast,
Hands caressing with soft charm,
Groans of ardor unsuppressed.

In the night when sleep eludes,
A new love lying at your side,
The memory of old love intrudes.
From its temptation you cannot hide.

 

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THE LITTLE SIN

By Carl Martin Johnson

I am just a silly venial sin,
Hardly worth committing.
On a scale of one to ten,
I’m barely worse than spitting.

In the giant world of sin, I’m a tiny fairy,
Not really worthy of confession.
Penance for me no more than a Hail Mary,
For such a light transgression.

I can sprout if I’m persistent.
From little acorns, oak trees grow.
So someday, however distant,
I can bring a good man low.

Almost no one ever blocks me.
I am held in abject scorn.
But I advise him who mocks me,
I am great vice waiting to be born.

I don’t know what I’ll be today,
Perhaps envy, perhaps lust.
I’ll seduce some soul, and then betray,
To earn sweet Satan’s trust.

It may be you, so be alert.
I have no warning bell.
You cannot resist my flirt,
And it is the first step toward Hell.

 

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YOU ARE A LOVELY DREAM

By Carl Martin Johnson

You are a lovely dream I had.
A dream…not someone real.
I see that now, and I am sad.
Yet, the fault is mine, I feel.

I took a human being
And painted with my pride,
When I should have been seeing
The worth you had inside.

The sin is mine that we must part.
You are more than to me you seem.
I caused my own fool’s broken heart
By falling for a dream.

 

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HELPLESS

By Carl Martin Johnson

You may never be mine,
But I’ll never let you go.
You are the tempting fruit on passion’s vine
Whose ripening I’ve watched grow.

We are both claimed by others,
Not free to share a name.
Storms of infidelity some love smothers.
With us it fans the flame.

I walk past you in the morning.
We dare not risk a smile,
For fear it may give warning
To others of our guile.

Sometimes I will turn
To watch you walk away.
You must feel my heart yearn
For the hour when you can stay.

At night we lie alone.
Though there is someone at our side,
Who cannot hear our sad heart moan
For the love we are denied.

We fall together in our dreams,
Making love ‘til we awake.
Then we make our secret schemes,
So lustful pleasure we can take.

Helpless we both feel
In the prison of our fate.
Our love is strong and real,
But it came to us too late.

 

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A MAN LIKE ME
By Carl Martin Johnson

Today I know I’ll kill a man,
If last night’s dream comes true.
I’ll avoid it if I can,
But I’ll do what I must do.

Like me, he’s hiding in the trees
Waiting for dawn’s light,
Praying: “God help me please.
Give me courage for this fight.”

He has a girl back home, like me,
Or maybe she’s his wife,
Who never thought her love would be
Part of such bloody strife.

I bet his mother kneels to pray
Each night beside her bed,
That he will see another day
Unnamed among the dead.

His father sent a letter
To tell him of his pride,
And that made him feel better,
A worthy man inside.

One day he’ll want sons.
Daughters, too, if blessed.
If he survives the guns
Without a bullet in his chest.

But now the smell of death surrounds him.
Its coppery taste coats his tongue.
When he ponders, it astounds him,
That he might die so young.

It will start now any minute.
I check my weapon, so does he.
We both will try to win it.
Only one will live to see.

So, I salute you, enemy brother.
We are both in this dawn’s sun,
But today one will kill the other.
One of our lives will be done.

If my bullet fells you, please forgive me.
Only one can walk away, you see.
Sadly, I can’t let you outlive me,
Though you are just a man like me.
 
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FOOTSTEPS
By Carl Martin Johnson

Footsteps fall behind me.
When I stop I can hear them.
Do they follow to remind me
I have cause to fear them?

Echoes sound against the wall
When I sleepwalk in the night.
Sometimes I hear a muted call,
As from jaws that are locked tight.

Is it an angel, that which trails me?
Or another kind of being?
Perhaps a demon that assails me,
And one I should be fleeing.

Or a ghost risen from the grave
To warn me off my ways.
Sent by God my soul to save
Before the ending of my days.

The footfalls dwindle with the dawn,
No more than whispers are they then.
In the light of full day they are gone,
But at night they start again.

Who shadows me this way,
I have often tried to find.
For I fear many will say
I only hear them in my mind.

But should you come to seek me out,
And be unable, friend, to find me,
My vanishing will be due, no doubt
To the strange footsteps behind me.
 
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YOUR HAIR
By Carl Martin Johnson

Slick silken strands of your sleek hair,
Across my neck slip shining,
Setting sun reflects reddish flare
Over the glossy threads entwining.

Down my back you sway your tresses.
Electric charge runs down my spine
Thousands of gentle, soft caresses,
Each telling me you are mine.

Slowly now you spread your locks,
A lustrous wave upon my thighs,
Turning my buttocks into rocks
From the breath your body sighs.

You rise and I turn over.
I see loving in your eyes,
Your hair, soft-sheen rover,
Muffling trembling passion’s cries.

I pull your face down to me,
Part the scented curtain of your hair,
Draw your hidden beauty to me,
And kiss your lips so fair.

I tense as you tease me,
Dragging your sable robe toward my feet.
You know all the ways to please me,
To inflame me with your heat.

I roll with you in rapture,
On your back I am astride.
Your goddess’ mane my fists capture.
Now the stallion will his mare ride.
 
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COME DINE WITH ME
By Carl Martin Johnson

Come dine with me.
Let us sample life’s fare.
Eat up! It’s free
We can gorge without care.

Devour it all, there is no fault
Love, hate, fire and ice
Feasting together, I’ll bring the salt
You bring the spice

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SOULCHARGE
By Carl Martin Johnson

There is a place in the desert near
Where power surges from the earth.
If you can overcome your fear,
The journey has great worth.

We will wait until the moon is full.
The light will serve to guide us.
As well, the spirits feel its pull.
It will bring them alongside us.

There are three red boulders at the site.
From a distance they seem alive.
Do not let them cause you fright.
They will help when we arrive.

Like tall, thin men with arms raised high,
The saguaro stand in silhouette.
There have been demons passing by.
None have breached their brave guard yet.

We will wait until the puma sleeps,
The desert wolves have gone.
‘Til only the gila monster creeps
In the still hour before dawn.

I will hold your hand as we approach,
While the three rocks cease their dance.
It is their holy land which we encroach.
We beg them hold their killing glance.

The ground is warm where we must lie
To absorb the power grant.
Look up, see that the wise crows fly.
Singing their conjuring chant.

Then you and I will rest a while,
Soaking power from sacred earth.
Excreting, too, all feelings vile,
Giving our souls pure rebirth.

I will be an easy trip.
We need only close our eyes.
Then into dream we smoothly slip,
Flying off to desert skies.

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HEAT

By Carl Martin Johnson

 

Heat rises as our bodies slide.
Smoothly, lovesweat oiled,
In unbearably delicious glide,
Around each other coiled.

 

Our writhing in the darkness glows,
Making light to see
Our convulsions in the passion throes
Of sweet sexual jubilee.

 

My burning mouth moves over your flesh,
Searing every inch of skin,
Inflaming your long legs to thresh
In delightful, wanton sin.

 

I smother your torso with my own.
I press you to the floor.
Sparks of love into flame have grown.
We hear the bonfire roar.

 

We spin round and round our carnal pyre,
Lustful pantings fan coals to white.
This, our own love ardor’s fire
Will become a blazing star tonight.

 

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THE FOUNTAIN

By Carl Martin Johnson

 

Death is an old friend of mine.
From time to time he taps my shoulder
To offer a cup of Life’s sweet wine,
And remind me I’m getting older.

 

The youth I have been measured
I’m spending day by day.
It was given to be treasured,
But I have frittered much away.

 

I’ve always hoped to make my mark,
Leave the world a better place,
Or upon some great quest embark
To the stars far out in space.

 

I’m coming to the end of things.
My time is dwindling fast.
The song my funeral choir sings
Could be of a vacant past.

 

There is a fountain, I am told,
Where flows the elixir of youth.
One drink and a man never grows old,
If the legend is based in truth.

 

I could seek it, perhaps I will,
To add years to my account.
But more time alone will not make nil
The fear of failing I must surmount.

 

It is not the number of hours
That will guarantee life’s worth.
It is the full use of my powers,
Those learned, and those from birth.

 

So I will forget the elusive fountain,
Take the time that Life is paying,
Climb a magic mountain,
And find a dragon that needs slaying.

 

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ORDINARY MEN

By Carl Martin Johnson

The world is filled with ordinary men
Who are happy with ordinary lives.
It’s the way the world has always been.
It’s how humanity thrives.

They work hard and pay their way.
They treat their families well.
You can trust the things they say.
They love Heaven and fear Hell.

These men build, create and farm.
They make ships and sail the ocean.
They give shelter from the storm,
And keep the world in motion.

But sometimes these ordinary men
Are faced with extraordinary events.
Those are the times of danger when
Disaster the ordinary man prevents.

He stems the flood, he slays the bear.
He risks his life in war.
This brave concern for mankind’s care
Is what ordinary men are for.

 

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THE POET
By Carl Martin Johnson

The poet sits inside himself,
Hearing words that are not his own,
From books on the Human Spirit’s shelf,
Open to pages he is shown.

He knows he’s nothing but a tool,
Scribbling words that Life dictates,
Yes, he is a useful fool,
Though there’s nothing he creates.

He translates words heard in his soul
Spoken by some Spirit Being.
It is not he who has control
Of the scenes that he is seeing.

Unknowing this, some give him praise.
They misdirect their cheers.
He worries all his nights and days,
And he tries to hide his fears.

Will the inspiration end?
Will the unsought fountain dry?
When will be the last word penned?
Will they last until I die?
 
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YOUR LIPS

By Carl Martin Johnson

I see the red flesh tremble,
As your lips come red apart,
Moving down my neck, so nimble,
Impatient for our love to start.

My left hand strokes your shoulder.
You travel down my chest,
Your mouth becoming bolder
Against my body harder pressed.

My right hand finds your hair.
My fingers comb and intertwine.
Our passions match in fervent prayer.
Our souls engage in lust divine.

I close my eyes in rapture,
While your nails trace hearts on my thighs.
I hold the moment capture,
Hypnotized by your deepening sighs.

Yours lips expose your teeth to chew,
Taking soft bites of my belly.
My body hardens at what you do,
Save my legs, which turn to jelly.

Such delicate parts, your lovely lips,
Yet what power they have to rouse me.
They drink me up with gentle sips,
Then with love’s absinthe they douse me.

I raise your lovely face to mine,
Our tongues each other taste.
Your love juice is precious wine.
I drink it without haste.

We will turn our urges loose
In a waves of ecstatic trips,
Intoxicated by Venus’ juice
Brewed by your lovely lips.

 

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THE SONG
By Carl Martin Johnson

The song is sung to many tunes.
It is implanted in each heart.
Under many suns and moons,
Each human sings a part.

In Life’s opera we are the chorus
Heavenward our harmony blends.
The verses tell of the World before us,
Where we go after this one ends.

But, for our aria we stand alone,
On stage before God and Man.
Our talent is the only one shown,
We must do the best we can.

We chant our vision and our dreams,
In lines that we compose.
We boast to the world of our schemes,
And shout loud the best of those.

So, when the moment comes,
That instant we have died,
We be not like some
Who have left their song uncried.

Then the world will know we were,
That we etched our names in Time,
And if laurels or blame confer,
It is our own, the prize or crime.
 
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HEARTBEAT

By Carl Martin Johnson

I close my eyes and hear Life’s heartbeat.
Deep and soft it sings to me.
It tells me I will live forever
With God’s bright stars for eternity.

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