Carl Martin Johnson
Poet, Author, Slayer of Dragons
© Carl Martin Johnson, All rights reserved
A STRAYING DREAM
By Carl Martin Johnson
My dream strayed into daylight.
It would not let me go.
I tried to leave it in the night,
But it had more to show.
The Dreamaker sought to teach me
A lesson about living.
A dream was best to reach me
For the message he was giving.
Perhaps I was learning slowly
The lesson that I needed.
It did not seem holy,
Yet it demanded to be heeded.
It grew quickly to me like a vine,
Nurturing my being
With knowing sap from the divine,
Fiery fuel for truth seeing.
The dream is with me still.
I cannot shake free.
I think it will stay until
I know what Man should be.
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THE CROW
By Carl Martin Johnson
The black bird gliding in the morning mists
Locked eyes to hold my gaze.
This is a memory I forgot exists
From early childhood days.
I stood silent in a field of cotton
Where I often walked alone.
Most reasons I have long forgotten,
But this day I’ve not outgrown.
My grandfather lay dying in his bed
Surrounded by my sisters and brothers.
I knew the old man would soon be dead.
I did not want to watch that with the others.
The crow called low in the earth-bound cloud.
The cry echoed as in a grave.
The sound overwhelming, though not loud.
I made myself be brave.
It was my grandfather’s favorite bird,
And it sang out once more.
Grandfather calling my name was what I heard
As he passed through Heaven’s door.
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ON THE ROAD TO THE CITY OF ANGELS
By Carl Martin Johnson
He charged into the fire of the red setting sun
On the burning West Texas two-lane.
With all the old hurt he was now done,
Though there would always be pain.
It was time for a new beginning.
Old bridges must be crossed and burned.
Back home he was not winning.
In L.A. a new life could be earned.
Pretty women and big city lights.
Nights of dancing, evenings of wine.
He would eat life with huge bites.
He could feel that things would be fine.
The City of Angels opened her gate.
He saw it, though he was afar.
In her neon arms he would achieve his fate.
She would make her sweet boy a star.
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FEEL THE LIVING
By Carl Martin Johnson
Be still and feel the living.
Feel it coursing through your soul.
Take in what life is giving.
Embrace and take control.
Ride Being like a wild mare.
Your own will let be the reins.
Jump your fences with styled flair.
Break free from mortal chains.
Sense the collective mindflow.
Of all forms of creation.
Thoughts that combine and grow
Into great celebration.
Life’s aura will surround you.
You will be complete.
Meaning will have found you.
Your true self you’ll meet.
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TRUST IN MY FELLOW MAN
By Carl Martin Johnson
I am proud of humankind.
We survive and we evolve.
We search and often find.
Face adversity with resolve.
Of the human race I am a fan.
I embrace them every one.
I carry in my heart great love for Man.
But in my belt I carry a gun.
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BEFORE WE WERE MAN
By Carl Martin Johnson
On steeds bred from illusion,
We flew through endless night
To bring war to conclusion.
With Michael’s legions in the fight.
With stardust swords we slashed.
Some of us fell and died.
As into the fray we dashed,
Not one of us for mercy cried.
The angels fought beside us.
They, too, were very brave.
But we had no soul to hide us.
The angels had a next life to save.
We cast Lucifer into the fire,
Though most of my kind were dead.
A comet was their funeral pyre.
I grieved for those I had led.
The Father smiled at me.
He saw me shed a tear.
It was for, He knew instantly,
My comrades no longer here.
He came into my being
To let me know we had given him pleasure.
His reward for us I was seeing.
He was granting my kind a great treasure.
From this point we would still have death,
And now we would struggle to keep living.
We would be unsure of our next breath.,
Existence would be unforgiving.
But we would have completely free will.
Our own lives we would control.
More important still,
We would have an immortal soul.
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BEAST IN ME
By Carl Martin Johnson
Like a beast my growling starts.
It begins deep down and low.
My humanity departs.
I become someone I don’t know.
I smell the enemy coming fast.
I will see them soon.
Battle will be joined at last
Under the spilled light of this moon.
Adrenaline surges through my veins.
Blood lust takes my soul.
I forget all my body’s pains.
Instinct takes control.
I lose thoughts of love or hate.
Emotions make me slow.
I focus tighter as I wait.
Primitive urges grow.
In moments I will rise to meet
An enemy who feels like me.
Bullets and bayonets will us both greet
And send one to eternity.
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THE LOTTERY TICKET
By Carl Martin Johnson
He bought the ticket on a whim.
There was little hope of winning.
The impulse just came over him.
Gambling was light fun sinning.
The numbers had been drawn.
He had already lost or won.
The price of the ticket was gone.
None of these could be undone.
He should check his numbers now.
Odds of winning were so small.
He should find out anyhow,
Or there’d be no chance at all.
His worry was not about losing.
His life would be the same.
But if winning were fate’s choosing,
The Devil would be to blame.
He knew he would desert his friends.
Surely become a drunk.
People would only use him for their ends.
Any chance at happiness would be sunk.
He slipped the ticket from his shirt,
Crumpled it tightly in his hand,
Tossed it far into the dirt.
Life would go on as planned.
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IF YOU LOVE ME, SAY
By Carl Martin Johnson
If you love me, say.
Don’t let our time be wasted,
Lest we lose another day,
Without love being tasted.
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ALEXIS MAE’S BRIGHT EYES
By Carl Martin Johnson
Her crystal eyes hide Heaven’s door.
There are angels peeking out.
Within lies happiness and more.
There you’ll find what Life’s about.
Look deep inside and see
A spirit clean and bright,
Spreading love’s sweet jubilee
Over all who cross her sight.
Eyes sparkling with youth’s fiery light.
Eyes that hold and charm.
Eyes filled with pure cheery delight.
Eyes that make souls warm.
Eyes that close when day is done
To keep the dreams from fleeing.
She’ll wake to share with everyone
All the magic she’s been seeing.
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HER WALK
By Carl Martin Johnson
Like fluid panther soft she glides.
In the city jungle she is queen.
Her body’s beauty she never hides.
It is art meant to be seen.
Lean muscles under satin skin,
Flowing smooth like ocean swell.
Tempting thoughts of delicious sin,
Leading to Paradise, not Hell.
The streets’ lights slipsliding down her back,
Sleek and animal, pure female.
She is huntress, on her male prey’s track.
Pleas for mercy will all fail.
Stand you in awe and admire.
Watch the panther stalk.
Worship the moving liquid fire
In the magnificence of her walk.
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A FLASH IN THE DARK
By Carl Martin Johnson
I saw a flash in the black of night.
Lightning, or so I prayed.
The darkness hides the seeds of fright
From which evil things are made.
A raging storm brings not such dread
As a damned soul from Hell’s flame.
There is no shield against the dead.
We cannot return them whence they came.
So I will wait here and be still,
Make ready for what I’ll see.
Should I find it wishes ill,
I’ll then decide to fight or flee.
For fear is the coward’s master,
Whose whip demands control
He will bring death, but faster,
And will destroy the human soul.
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THE WRONG END OF THE TELESCOPE
By Carl Martin Johnson
I held the wrong end of the telescope.
It made the world look small.
My error caused me to lose hope
That my life had worth at all.
On a whim I reversed my hold,
Put the right end to my eye.
Instead of timid became bold,
Unafraid to risk or die.
I saw the world up close and grand,
In colors vivid and clear.
All of creation at my command.
All things living warm and dear.
Now the looking glass is gone.
Pure vision the best seeing.
Only my bare eyes from now on
Gazing into the wonder of Being.
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THE LOCKED DOOR
By Carl Martin Johnson
The door I chose was locked.
I searched, but found no key.
My entryway was blocked.
No way forward I could see.
For a time I sat downhearted,
Beaten by bleak despair.
I was finished before I started.
Life seemed so unfair.
Then, I rose slowly and in shame.
Self-pity is a weak man’s sin.
I would not go back the way I came.
I faced the door and kicked it in.
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RAINBOW II
By Carl Martin Johnson
Some say the rainbow is God’s smile.
Upside down to show his humor.
I believe I’ll think on that a while.
Could be just a rumor.
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MY BLOOD IS INK FOR MY VERSES
By Carl Martin Johnson
In spilled blood I dip my quill
To give feeling to my verse.
That truth from my paper spill
For blessing or for curse.
Lest the hurt I’ve felt be wasted,
Lest joyous instants go unsung,
Unshared all the life I’ve tasted,
After my funeral bell is rung.
I seek to show where I have failed,
And the few times I have won.
How the good mostly prevailed.
Clouds only briefly hid the sun.
If what I’ve learned can help my kind,
There will be value in my pains.
Worth my fellow man may find
In the crimson from my veins.
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BREATHE HER NAME SOFTLY
By Carl Martin Johnson
Breathe her name softly to me,
Gentle midnight breeze,
Or the pain will cut sharp through me,
Drive me to my knees.
In the dim light I feel kissed.
I look around but she is gone,
Evaporated with the mist,
Leaving me alone to carry on.
I will close my eyes one night,
And my soul will softly rise.
Then together we’ll take flight
Swirling forever in the skies.
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THE NIGHTWATCHMAN
By Carl Martin Johnson
He stands vigil in the night,
Eyes cutting through the dark.
Watching lest the serpent bite,
Alert to evil’s spark.
Mankind is in his charge
While the angels sleep.
A daunting task, and large,
But one the Nightwatchman can keep.
Lie easy in your bed,
Shadow creatures held at bay.
Those who would harm, alive or dead,
The Nightwatchman keeps away.
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MIND MUSIC
By Carl Martin Johnson
I hear music playing,
But only in my mind.
I don’t know what it’s saying,
Or if its message I can find.
The notes are from a higher scale,
An unworldly plane.
An angel’s soft perfumed exhale,
And the cosmos’ cry of pain.
The universe is singing.
Its harmony galaxies unites.
Yet, I can’t tell if it is bringing
Baptism or funeral rites.
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THE MINOR POET
By Carl Martin Johnson
A minor poet lived alone
In a cottage by the sea.
Words that he wrote, although his own,
Most often came to be.
This special gift brought the poet fame
And sufficient wealth to live.
He exploited this talent with no shame,
Taking what the world would give.
Of all those things which came to pass,
Events hurtful, or worse,
One was most horribly tragic, alas.
It was the poet-prophet’s curse.
He tried hard his hand to hold,
Stop his pen from spreading ink.
His heart grew frozen, icy cold.
His spirit began to sink.
But the words he could not control.
No more than servant was his pen.
The verses commanded life and soul.
Dictated virtue…ordered sin.
As the lines slowly bled out,
Letter after damning letter,
No longer was there any doubt
The poem would not get better.
His fate could not be stopped,
Locked to the story his words would tell.
Into the ocean his body dropped.
His soul condemned to Hell.
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YOUR TOES
By Carl Martin Johnson
Each one a luscious berry,
Exotic, enticing fruit.
Arousing? They are very.
Things of beauty, more than cute.
I bring them softly to my lips.
Breathe their perfume, blossom sweet.
Taste their nectar in short sips,
Graceful ornaments of your feet.
Now I worship, one by one.
Suck them softly, but with ardor.
Increasing fervor before I’m done.
More affection, nursing harder.
I make you twist and moan,
Struggling to endure the pleasure.
You beg to be left alone,
But I know what you treasure.
Later in the night,
We will make our love complete.
Sharing the delight,
That began on your dear feet.
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BEHIND THE SUN
By Carl Martin Johnson
Now I see behind the sun.
It’s brightness does not blind me.
The Universe and I are one,
Where God alone can find me.
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