Carl Martin Johnson
Poet,  Author,  Slayer of Dragons

© Carl Martin Johnson, All rights reserved

I AM THE STORM
By Carl Martin Johnson

My enemy best fear me!
Beware, I am the storm!
Should devil spawn come near me,
I will inflict great harm.

I have heard the villain’s threat.
He shouts from far away.
Should he come close he will regret
The insults cast my way.

I will hold my peace.
Let him have his say.
Let his confidence increase
Until the battle day.

Then he will suffer my lash of lightning.
In my deluge he will drown.
He will cringe from thunder frightening,
As my sharp winds cut him down.

He will fall hard to his knees,
Begging Heaven for quick death,
My bloody tempest all he sees,
As I suck out his last breath.
 

_______________________________________________

 

NO SLAVE
By Carl Martin Johnson

God, please see me here.
In me you’ll find no slave.
I stand, but not in fear.
You made me to be brave.

You created me as friend.
As your friend I will be true.
If a servant was your end,
There are others that will do.

I do not bow before you.
For in your image I’m designed.
I love rather than adore you.
My home is in your Mind.

Teach me how to grow.
I want to be your pride.
With your help one day I’ll know
What you are like inside.

_______________________________________________
 

TOLL FOR ME, BELL
By Carl Martin Johnson

Toll sadly for me, bell.
Peal softly for my sorrow.
Here in pain I dwell,
With no hope for tomorrow.

She loved me full, I know.
But grim Death’s pull was stronger.
I still beg her not to go,
Though she answers me no longer.

Her lips, once warm, are cold.
Her rosy cheeks now pale.
I beg God she be paroled,
Yet all my prayers fail.

Hot tears pour from my eyes.
Rain that brings no life.
My love hears not my cries,
As I’m slashed by grief’s sharp knife.

I know I must endure,
‘Til you toll my funeral, Bell.
This heartache with no cure
That is worse than any Hell.

 

_______________________________________________

 

SOULSTORM
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

A storm is brewing in my soul.
I wince at the lightning’s lashing.
I fight hard to keep control,
Under the boom of thunder crashing.

 

Soon the torrent will pour down.
Am I ready for the flood?
If I am able not to drown,
Will I suffocate in the mud?

 

I see the gathering cloud
Growing larger, thick and dark.
Like a rolling funeral shroud
Smothering my lifespark.

 

I must fight through the gloom.
Light hope’s radiant fire.
Else I’ll surely meet my doom.
And my living will expire.

 

_______________________________________________

 

SOFT WIND OF THE GHOST
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

A soft wind crossed my face,
Its aroma fresh and clean.
Leaving me with a trace
Of memory yet unseen.

 

I sensed a loving friend,
A friend I’d never met
Who would guard me to the end
From a danger I forget.

 

I saw a moving shape,
Yet only through closed eyes.
I was ready to escape,
But cowardice I despise.

 

Then deeply I breathed in.
The ghost wind I inhaled.
It devoured my sin,
And I saw Paradise unveiled.

 

_______________________________________________

 

LOST SOUL
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

Have you seen a soul run by?
I lost mine yesterday..
I think I made it cry.
Then it ran away.

 

I guess I let it down.
It expected more from me.
I know I made it frown
With my lack of integrity.

 

Should it have remained inside,
I would have dragged it down to Hell.
My many sins I could not hide.
My soul knew that too well.

 

If I found my precious soul,
I will beg it to come home.
Only together are we whole,
Nothing if we roam.

 

I will swear to make it glad,
To change my sinner’s ways.
Embrace the good, reject the bad.
Until the end of both our days.

 

_______________________________________________

 

THE DRAGON’S EYE
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

The dragon’s eye glowed bright
As I stole by his cave.
I should have stopped to fight.
I was not so brave.

 

I could smell his dark foul breath
From the darkness where he lay.
It carried the stench of death,
The odor of decay.

 

My guilt forced me to turn.
He was trapped inside his lair,
Though his firebreath would deathly burn.
I knew I should beware.

 

But, if not me, then who?
Do I let him rage and kill?
I know what I must do.
God grant me strength and will.

 

_______________________________________________

 

DEWDROPS ON SEPTEMBER MORN
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

In the gold light of the dawn,
Her pink breasts dripped with dew.
The old day had moved on.
She stood naked in a day brand new.

 

Early sun rays fired her hair,
Life gleamed bright in her eyes.
She bathed her beauty unaware
She was such a lovely prize.

 

Splashing in the cool, clear water,
She cleansed from feet to thighs.
She was perfect, Nature’s daughter.
I fought to hide my ardent sighs.

 

Each morning I’ll return
To watch the nymph at play.
I will let my passion burn
Until at last she smiles my way.

 

_______________________________________________

 

GHOST RIDERS
By Carl Martin Johnson

The horseman rode slow in the desert night,
Tired from what he’d done.
Seemed like all he did was fight.
Wasn’t life more than his gun?

The man today had fallen hard.
He took a while to die.
He kept praying to the Lord,
Kept trying not to cry.

He’d been a man who needed killing,
Who would murder, rape and rob.
Trash for the grave he would be filling.
To the gunfighter just a job.

The pistolero once kept count
When he was young and proud.
But as the numbers began to mount,
The dead became a crowd.

Great clouds were rolling in
Over the mountains he was nearing.
Dark and gloomy as his sin.
And he shivered in his fearing.

Inside them lightning was dancing,
Amid loose rumbling thunder.
He saw phantom ponies prancing,
And the riders they were under.

From the flashes grew a red-eyed herd,
Their long horns glistening white.
The spectral riders on horses spurred,
As they drove them through the night.

The gunman heard them call his name.
Every rider dead by his gun.
His quick draw, his deadly aim,
Had damned them every one.

Their leader turned his demon gaze
And hissed the devil’s warning.
“Cowboy change your killing ways,
Or you’ll ride with us one morning.”

The gunman held his ground,
Though terror froze his soul
At the cursed dead’s wailing sound
Coming from Hell’s deepest hole.

He took his gun out slow,
Then dropped it in the dirt.
The herd passed like lava flow,
Leaving the gunfighter unhurt.

The pistolero watched the beasts move on,
Abandoning the killer to his fate.
He wandered, aimless, into the dawn,
Praying it was not too late.
_______________________________________

FROM AFAR
By Carl Martin Johnson

I must love you from afar.
You will never be my bride.
I know the way things are,
My feelings I must hide.

You warm me with your glance
When we pass from day to day.
But it seems, in this life’s dance,
Our song will never play.

We lie with others in the night,
Yet together when we dream.
Only then comes our delight.
Only then can our hearts scheme.

I pray we’ll live again,
Next time with better fate.
Then your love I’ll win.
But in this life it’s too late.

_______________________________________________

I HEARD GOD LAUGH
By Carl Martin Johnson

I think I heard God laugh just then.
Or maybe it was thunder.
Whatever the sound might have been,
It filled my mind with wonder.

What strikes humor in God’s mind?
What would bring a grin?
Perhaps watching our Mankind,
Committing petty, prideful sin.

Yet it could have been a roared delight,
Joy in His creation.
Making all that’s wrong come right
In Celestial celebration.

Could be it was no sound at all,
Rather a rumble in my soul.
Not God’s laughter, but His call,
Saying I’m part of His Whole.

 

_______________________________________________

 

TAKE ME
By Carl Martin Johnson

I’m your wild stallion, break me!
Crush me in your arms.
I’ll do all that you make me.
Command me with your charms.

I want no soft caress.
Give me the deep rake of your claws.
Let us writhe in brute excess,
Bound only by love’s laws.

Should you leave a gentle bruise,
It will be from passion’s pain.
This erotic play we choose
Gives me no cause to complain

Wrap your legs around me tight.
Allow me no retreat.
Scratch, my love, and bite.
Rough loving leaves no defeat.

_______________________________________________

 

THE PEOPLE IN MY DREAMS
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

What becomes of people in my dreams
When I have come awake?
Do they climb up stray moonbeams
Looking for a path to take

 

Are there chambers in my brain
Where these actors go to rest?
Dressing rooms where they remain
Until their encore request.

 

Do they gather for a chat,
About the next night’s plays?
Or, being too tired for that,
Just go their separate ways?

 

I look forward to my sleep
For the company they bring.
They make me laugh or weep,
But always a song to sing.

 

Perhaps one day I’ll meet them,
Here in the world that’s real.
I will rush to greet them,
And tell them how I feel.

 

_______________________________________________

 

TIRED AND WEARY
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

I’m so tired and weary, Lord.
My poor back is breaking.
Sometimes life gets very hard,
A nightmare with no waking.

 

Seems like there’s a boulder
Blocking every mile of road.
And I’m getting so much older
That it’s hard to bear the load.

 

I hate to complain, Lord.
Don’t like to be so weak.
My spirit would likely be restored
With the brief rest that I seek.

 

I know a way that’s best.
A way that would last longer.
Instead of granting rest,
Why not just make me stronger?

 

_______________________________________________

 

WHAT THE TIGER EATS
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

The tiger cannot live on straw.
He must have bloody meat.
He is ruled by nature’s law.
To survive the cat must eat.

 

His fangs are sharp and long.
His eyes are clear and bright.
He is quick and strong,
King of the jungle night.

 

But he only acts to his design.
In the ocean he’s no danger.
On swimming fish he cannot dine.
There the tiger is a stranger.

 

If you must kill the beast,
And you have lost your knife,
Deprive him of his feast.
That will take his life.

 

Fence him in a grassy field,
With no prey to sustain him.
His strength he will soon yield.
Hunger will soon drain him.

 

_______________________________________________

 

DISTANT THUNDER
By Carl Martin Johnson

 

Thunder echoed through the hills,
Warning a storm was coming.
Premonition of battle kills,
Was the somber war gods’ drumming.

 

For a walking staff he used his spear,
As he rushed to catch the others.
He would not permit his fear
To keep him from his brothers.

 

The spearpoint was a sharpened stone
Fit tight with bison sinew.
From the same beast his cloak was sewn.
The meat let his life continue.

 

The enemy was fierce of face.
Painted red and black.
They sought to take his people’s place.
But his tribe would push them back.

 

His thoughts went to his wife and young.
Would they starve if he should fall?
If he died brave, he would be sung.
And his family helped by all.

 

The booming thunder gave him heart.
They were war gods’ rousing cries.
He resolved this day to do his part,
Though he join them in the skies.

 

_______________________________________________

 

MEMORY OF LOVE IN SPRING GRASS
By Carl Martin Johnson

She recalled the blazing flame
Of love’s splendor in Spring grass.
She could not forget his name,
Nor would the memory ever pass.

For her it was the first.
Her lust was tinged with fear.
But she slaked her body’s thirst
With the lover she held dear.

She had gazed into his eyes.
His love was clear to see.
As she whispered her love cries,
She could not know what was to be.

Their passion would lose heat.
Their fiery union would grow cold.
The taste of love, once sweet,
Would become stale and old.

Yet the memory stayed fresh.
She could visit it when she tried.
Her heart could still feel love’s hot flesh,
Though the reality had died.

 

_______________________________________________

 

THE SOFTNESS OF A SAD SOUL
By Carl Martin Johnson

There’s a softness to the soul that’s sad,
Leaving it vulnerable to despair.
When it’s lost the primal joy it had,
Hope cannot live there.

The sad soul feels forsaken
By God and all His grace.
All faith forever taken
Of again finding Life’s embrace.

A sad soul can kill.
Its host body depart.
Erode the human will,
And freeze the beating heart.

But a sad soul can heal.
Wounded hearts can be made well.
Numb spirits once more to feel,
Casting off melancholy’s spell.

Bright dreams will come again.
Dampened feelings will rise high.
So let delight back in,
And live before you die.

_______________________________________________

HER EAR
By Carl Martin Johnson

Her ear was like an oyster shell,
Soft pink and curving fine.
He inhaled the aroma of her fresh life smell,
And breathed down her arching spine.

He moved in close behind her,
Yet she was unaware.
The world was blessed to find her
With the beauty she spread there.

Her love was one so pure,
It made his soul feel clean.
He knew it would endure.
She would always be his queen.

And across her precious ear
Lay a single shining curl
From the hair of his sweet dear,
His darling baby girl.
_______________________________________