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© Carl Martin Johnson, All rights reserved

The Music

By Carl Martin Johnson

I am the soft wind rustling leaves,
Breeze whistling through tall grass,
Zephyrs whispering along like thieves
Waiting for the guard to pass.

I jingle down the winding brook,
Strum along on insect wings,
Clash against the river crook
While a feathered chorus sings.

I boom thunder in the sky,
Tinkle raindrops on the earth.
I am the hunting lion’s cry.
Joyous scream of giving birth.

Let my music lift you.
Let it cause your soul to dance.
Through its beauty I will gift you
Entry to Life’s romance.


By Carl Martin Johnson

Rows and rows of crosses,
A Star of David here and there.
Stark reminder of the losses
Countless families had to bear.

The old man saluted as the flag rose.
Many of these were men he’d known.
He envied their fraternal repose.
They were not, like him, alone.

He turned to walk away,
Looking up, but thoughts inside.
He had no words to say
How these dead filled him with pride.

The time would not be long
Before he felt their warm greeting.
Together they had been strong,
And he looked forward to the meeting.

Today was a promise kept
To these friends under dirt and clover.
He heard each voice as he wept:
“Look me up when the war is over.”


By Carl Martin Johnson

I lay in perfect silence,
My face toward the stars.
No thoughts of mankind’s violence,
No dreams of blood and wars.

I gazed up through the cactus
At the moon, pure white above
Decrying war skills I practice,
Wishing I could trade for love.

The enemy moved around me.
Searching to do me ill.
I know, had they found me
It would have been an easy kill.

But I asked the moon to blind them
To let them pass this night
That peace might for a time find them
And save tomorrow for our fight.


By Carl Martin Johnson

I came upon its mouth by chance.
I first thought it a cave.
I hesitated to advance.
Feeling somehow less than brave.

The sun blazed generously overhead,
But its light was allowed no entry.
Something halted its bright spread,
Like a strong but unseen sentry.

Was there a live thing in the black?
Was the rose scent in my mind?
Why did I step quickly back?
What did I fear I’d find?

Suddenly out surged a force
Wrapping me in unseen binding.
I sensed it had come from a Source
Whose Face was worth the finding.

I gave in despite my fear.
I crawled into the dark.
Now I continue searching here
For Light’s elusive spark.


By Carl Martin Johnson

I am sick of what I am.
Evil brings no joy.
I neither bless nor damn,
Nor create, only destroy.

In a childish fit of pique,
I spat in my Father’s face,
Losing the glory that I seek,
Being cast from Heaven’s grace.

Had I known the despair I’d earn,
I would have curbed my pride.
Instead, now here I burn
For the vice I carried inside.

Will God not have pity?
Allow me to repent?
Return to His City?
I will beg Him to relent.

My foul demons disgust me,
Though I am their creator.
Would my Creator once more trust me,
I’d never return to traitor.

You see tears run down my cheek
From these Hell-fiery eyes .
For my eternity is hard and bleak.
And even the Devil cries.




By Carl Martin Johnson

I feel Life moving in me.
I am pregnant with its fire.
I am happy to have been me.
But now I must go higher.




By Carl Martin Johnson

An angel’s death brings sadness,
And a hole in the nighttime sky.
In men it may cause madness.
Other angels weep and sigh.

Man knows not their destination.
Angel soul is not like his.
There is a transformation,
But we can’t know what it is.

As angels die, the sky explodes.
Storms lash over the land.
The raging sea forebodes
The tragedy at hand.

Poets feel a pain
They do not comprehend.
Mystics cannot explain
What their bleak thoughts portend.

Some say dead angels hide
Within the souls of Man.
Lying quietly inside
Guiding when they can.

If you feel an inner rumble,
And a star falls from the skies,
You may see a winged thing tumble.
For this is how an angel dies.


By Carl Martin Johnson

She walks in darkness deep.
She is black liquid flowing.
She has rendezvous to keep
Lovers awaiting her charms’ knowing.

Her movement strong and lithe,
She glides swiftly through the night.
In passion soon she’ll writhe,
Drinking men’s spirits with her bite.

Her cat’s eyes explore their souls.
Wants and weakness she’ll uncover.
She will heat them with erotic coals
Turning coldest man into burning lover.

She fondles their desires,
Removes all sense of shame.
Engulfs them in passion’s fires
Like moths unto a flame.

Then she leaves them drained and spent
Of their honor and their gold.
Deaf to pitiful lament.
All her ardor now turned cold.

With dawn she disappears,
Curled into her banshee lair.
Immune to the cries and tears
Of the men whose hearts lay bare.

But each night she resurrects
To lure men to their doom.
And not one of them suspects
This flower is an evil bloom.


By Carl Martin Johnson

Dying was not so bad.
Much easier than I had thought.
I admit it made me mad.
So I raged and fought.

I am still me it seems,
An individual spirit fleeing.
All around me gleams,
I am feeling that, not seeing.

There is no sound or touch.
No movement, no here or there.
I’m worried, but not much.
I won’t let myself despair.

Concerns I had before,
Nighttime terrors about death,
Began vanishing, more and more,
From the instant of my last breath.

Something is absorbing my being,
Taking me into a larger whole.
Yet not as captive, more like freeing.
Unique, but in a greater Soul.

It may take much longer,
Although now there is no time.
I am becoming stronger,
Moving forward to my prime.

I am freshly dead,
But I do not feel doomed.
I know the life I’ve led
Has brought me here where I have bloomed.


By Carl Martin Johnson

He was ten, I was three.
He was a giant in my eyes.
A golden angel sent for me.
A hero, strong and wise.

On school days I would wait
For his bright yellow bus.
I’d run to meet him at the gate.
There never was a team like us.

He read me books and threw the ball.
He taught me how to bat.
He made me get up when I would fall.
I am grateful to him for that.

We hiked the woods when summer came
He would carry me on his back.
We searched for animals, wild and tame
And tried to find a dinosaur track.

Then he went off to war.
I waited, worried, for his return.
He was very far,
And I still had much to learn.

Now we’re lowering him into the ground.
Just his body, not his soul.
But without my brother being around
My world will not be whole.


By Carl Martin Johnson

I feel the air rush past.
Too fast to take a breath.
No matter, it won’t last.
I’ll soon be feeling death.

Time has loosed its hold on me.
I have no need to hurry.
In truth, I’ve been set free.
It would be futile for me to worry.

The earth is speeding up to meet me,
Colors bright for my last viewing.
Her hard kiss is waits to greet me,
To consummate what fate is doing.

A few memories fly past.
Gone too quickly to see well.
This memory is my last,
But there will be no one to tell.

I’m in a strange place now,
The tunnel between two lives.
In a moment I’ll know how
A dying soul like mine survives.

Maybe I won’t die.
Maybe I’ll find a way to cope.
At least it’s worth a try.
I’m alive…..I can hope.


By Carl Martin Johnson

Spears of white lightning,
Deep drums of thunder.
I find nothing frightening
In this storm I walk under.

I am impervious to the deluge.
I breathe well despite the rain.
My own body is my refuge.
Inside my skin I feel no pain.

There are flames in the raincloud mountains,
Sheets of fire behind the sky’s dark hills,
Where the gods pour out their fountains,
And have no pity on those it kills.

But none of this I fear.
I will not cringe or run.
No matter how severe,
I will face it ‘til it’s done.

It is the tempest in my soul,
The turmoil deep inside me,
That deep and dark black hole
From which, pray, God will guide me.

Against that torrent I must rage,
If I will be all that I can.
A war of honor I must wage
To truly call myself a man.


By Carl Martin Johnson

Courage be my friend today.
There are things that must be done.
Don’t let fear stand in my way.
The battle must be won.

You have stood with me before.
I must ask your help again
It might seem another chore,
But without you I can’t win.

I’ve got the strength and will.
No question I can fight.
And I’ll carry on until
The wrong is returned to right.

I must keep the weak from harm.
For them I cannot fail.
Give them shelter from the storm,
Safe harbor from the gale.

My valor must not lack.
I must be brave without pause.
Once I leap on the wild boar’s back,
I cannot sheathe my claws.

So, courage take my heart.
Wed it to your beauty.
Then I will do my part.
Today I’ll do my duty.



By Carl Martin Johnson

I set the world in motion,
Then sat back to see
If that would earn devotion.
But it was not to be.

The beings I created
Were a disappointment sad.
Though minds became elevated,
Many things they did were bad.

So I started once again.
Gave the race another chance.
This time I hope they’ll win,
‘Cause it will be the final dance.

Their souls are now like mine,
So I know they can.
They are imbued with the divine.
They are God and I am Man.


By Carl Martin Johnson

My love’s touch ignites the passion
That lies smoldering in my heart.
I must beg her sweet compassion,
Else my body burst apart.

She must grant me sweet release
We must do what love commands.
If I am ever to find peace,
She must surrender to my demands.

I will with gentle hands entice
To warm her to my pleas.
I will use Eros’ every device
To bring her to her knees.

In return, I will please her.
Give her that for which she yearns.
I will not stop to tease her,
Save to fan the flame that burns.

We will rise to love’s far heights,
And amongst the stars explode.
Showering brightness upon the night,
And moaning ecstasy’s ode.


By Carl Martin Johnson

The shoreline slowly faded.
Strong wind billowed the sails.
Land’s well-marked roads were traded
For wild ocean with no trails.

He had no map to lead.
The stars would be his guide
All else that he would need,
He prayed God would provide.

Beyond sight, his heart knew,
Was a new land waiting.
He was one of the rare few
To seek a new world for creating.

Now, among the same stars a rocket races,
Carrying a man with the same heart,
In search of distant places
Where his kind might make a start.

He, too, trusts the heavens to guide him.
He can no longer see his home.
But there is no fear inside him.
His kind was always meant to roam.


By Carl Martin Johnson

The warriors were all gone.
The hunt took them away.
Now in the early dawn
Stood the enemy in battle array.

The sun was rising behind,
Silhouetting on the barranca rim.
Many thoughts ran through the boy’s mind.
All of them were grim.

In minutes they would swarm.
These raiders would kill all.
He must give the alarm,
Rally the other boys to his call.

He was the oldest male.
Thirteen years he had been on earth.
Today he must not fail.
This is why he was given birth.

He caught the Comanche scent.
Terror lodged high in his throat.
There was no way to prevent
The fate that the spirits wrote.

The boy made himself calm inside.
The Comanches would bring slaughter.
His people could not hide.
Their blood would run like water.

He gave a war cry as he grabbed a spear,
And returned to face the foe.
Could he overcome his fear?
In a moment he would know.

And the boys who ran to his aid
Trusted him to lead their war.
They would not be afraid
Because men know who leaders are.


The Veteran
The Fall
The Peaceful Night
The Tunnel
Courage Be My Friend
Lucifer Repents
I Set The World In Motion
How An Angel Dies
My Love's Touch
She Walks In Darkness
The Leader
The Crossover
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