Carl Martin Johnson
Poet, Author, Slayer of Dragons
© Carl Martin Johnson, All rights reserved
MONTANA WIND
By Carl Martin Johnson
Montana wind cuts like a spear
Hurled down from Arctic ice.
It can freeze your heart and all that’s dear.
Only love can thaw its vise.
Montana Woman’s heart was warmed
By her love of a man.
Its lightning passion struck and stormed.
And the Arctic wind just ran.
Now another chill has come.
A cold that is born of fear.
Her man has marched to the warrior’s drum,
And left her lonely here.
Her eyes are the blue of winter sky.
Her hair like summer wheat.
She stands on the hill, too strong to cry,
To brave to concede defeat.
She looks far out across the plains,
Dispatching her soul to find him,
Keeping alive what hope remains
Sending her own angel to mind him.
He is missing now too many days.
Deep inside she knows he’s gone.
Still, day and night she prays.
It gives her hope to carry on.
Though her heart is breaking,
She smiles at what has been,
And the dreams she had ‘til waking
In the cold Montana wind.
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GUN RUN
By Carl Martin Johnson
No moon tonight…that’s good.
Just got to worry about the noise,
Even in this coyote neighborhood,
‘Cause these four-wheelers aren’t quiet toys.
I’ve got her packed real tight.
No chance the weapons will come loose.
If I lose this load tonight,
My neck’s in a goddamn noose.
I always worry on the border.
Not so bad when I get across.
This side has got some order.
In Mexico the gun is boss.
I waited too long in that bar,
Shipment ran late from San Antone.
My contact point’s too far
To arrive with me alone.
We’ll need these guns to fight.
The federales let us down.
The cartel owns the night
In the forest ‘round our town.
With these guns, we’ll have a chance.
No more machetes alone.
Now when the bastards want to dance,
The music will have a balanced tone.
Got wet at the river ford.
Don’t think it hurt the ammunition.
Said a prayer to the Lord
It’d get across in good condition.
I see headlights up ahead.
Nobody uses this dirt track.
If it’s the bad guys, I am dead,
But I’m sure not turning back.
I’ll pull off, turn out my lights.
There’s a chance they haven’t seen.
This kind of night these desert fights
Can be messy, hard and mean.
They stopped, but come again.
I think they might’ve found me.
I could run, maybe I’d win.
But there’s open desert all around me.
Hell, my weapons are brand new.
Might just put one to the test.
Show these punks what I can do.
See which of us is best.
Too bad there’s not a moon.
I’d like to see it, just in case.
Anyway, I’ll know real soon
If tonight is my last race.
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SWEET CHARIOT
By Carl Martin Johnson
Sweet chariot take me from this cell.
Its stones are hard and drear.
If I can’t get into Heaven, take me to Hell.
That’s better than being here.
His horse was fast; so was his gun.
I didn’t stand a chance.
Only gave that lawman a short run.
Now the hangman’s got this dance.
The fight I fought was mostly fair.
I only killed the one.
After all, they was stealin’ my fair share
Of the robbin’ we just done.
Was the damned whiskey caused it all,
Like my dear Momma said it would.
Many a strong man it’s made to fall,
But I never was much good.
Guess my life of crime ends right here,
In this two-bit cowtown jail.
No more whiskey, no more beer,
‘Cause I sure ain’t getting’ bail.
So, Chariot, swing on down.
Carry me off to the life to come.
In this life I’m just a clown.
In the next I won’t be so dumb.
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THE BATH
By Carl Martin Johnson
Liquid crystal music drops
Splash their harmony in the pool.
I freeze as her chaste robe drops
Leaving her naked on the stool.
The door is open..Does she know?
I stand silent, in a daze,
While I watch in the dim light’s glow,
My manhood set ablaze.
She pours oil from a jeweled flask.
Spiced aroma fills the air,
As she bends to labor at her task
With a wanton sort of flair.
She slides a foot into the water.
I spy soft down between her thighs.
I feel my cheeks becoming hotter,
My manly fever starts to rise.
She slips into the perfumed blend.
I watch her loveliness submerge,
And her long smooth legs extend
Driving me wild with passion’s urge.
Firm mounds topped with desire
Rise above the water line.
Amorous fuel to my fire
At seeing a body so divine.
She luxuriates in warm anointing,
Arms stretched back and chest thrown out.
No part of her is disappointing.
I quickly smother a lustful shout.
Her hands move slowly down
To a place I cannot see.
Oh, God, please let me drown
There where she brews a beauty’s tea.
Now she writhes in hidden pleasure.
I wish my eyes inside her mind.
What great erotic treasure,
What sensuous scenes would I find?
She relaxes, sponging lithe limbs clean.
I envy the caressing tool.
My heart kisses what my eyes have seen.
I am forever her lover’s fool.
Dripping sweet I watch her rise.
Her expression now I see.
Is my voyeur’s visit a surprise?
Or was this an act she meant for me?
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PASSION’S BED
By Carl Martin Johnson
Fall with me into passion’s bed.
Let your musk inflame my loins.
We will spend urges love has bred,
As my body with yours joins.
Your soft parts I will touch,
Caress until you moan.
No request from you too much,
No erotic art unknown.
Graze me with silk fingers.
Bring me fully awake to love.
Every kiss of wet fire lingers,
Fueling desires I’ve been dreaming of.
Forbidden pleasures we’ll devour
Until our blessed lust is sated,
Entwined, writhing hour by hour
In carnal paradise we’ve created.
Our hot energies will rise
Like a rocket of red fire,
Until we burst into the skies
Of our amorous desire.
Then we will lie still, close and wet,
Our bodies content and gorged,
In the bed where love and passion met,
Where Venus’ crown was forged.
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STAND
By Carl Martin Johnson
Stand….let no man move you,
If you are in the right.
Unless they can disprove you,
Stand, and bear the fight.
We know evil often wins
Because the righteous are too weak
To condemn atrocious sins
That afflict those who are meek.
Fight those who would destroy
What you know is good and just,
Or your children will not enjoy
That which you hold in trust.
Far easier to move aside,
Avoiding battle’s pain,
To have so little pride
That the tyrant keeps his reign.
Cowards are by man and God abhorred.
Be not so despised.
A brave man is by all adored,
His courage highly prized.
Be of the brave…of that bold guard
Who serve as Paladins.
Keep enemies of truth forever barred.
Shield your people from the despot’s win.
Stand with your brothers, arm in arm.
Phalanx against Satan’s whim.
And if the Father tells you to disarm,
By God, stand up to Him.
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BLESSED CURSE OF THE SOUL
By Carl Martin Johnson
My soul sinks into oceans deep,
Waters closing over my head,
Thinking thoughts I cannot keep,
No sooner born than they are dead.
I look for reasons for my being,
For what purpose I draw breath.
But I find myself only seeing
That full knowledge comes with death.
Yet I’ve an impatient genie inside me
I’ve released to find the key,
And the rules I need to guide me,
To set my spirit free.
I am locked in this existence,
My body feeds so my mind can wander,
Reaching out with great persistence,
Grasping bits of world’s mind to ponder.
Only mankind is so cursed.
Other animals neither care nor wonder.
Unlike us, they have no thirst
To know they are not just Nature’s blunder.
I have no choice but to pay the toll
For my immortality.
I have a human soul,
And it will not let me be.
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GIANTS
By Carl Martin Johnson
Giants always walk the earth.
You can see them if you try.
Sometimes they have great height and girth.
Sometimes no more than you or I.
Their broad shoulders carry us
In times of strife and danger.
When the enemy tries to bury us,
A giant is the battle changer.
Giants always lead the way
In mankind’s journey forward.
They will take us to the day
We spread our species starward.
But you may not recognize them.
They may not look the part.
In fact, it may surprise them
That they have a giant’s heart.
So, if there is wrong you seek to right,
Keep your own spirit defiant.
Go with courage into the fight,
For you may be a giant.
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SHE-DEVIL
By Carl Martin Johnson
It is not love, but passion
That drives me to her door,
To get my daily ration
Of what I’m hungry for.
I cannot break her hold,
Her damned erotic spell.
Her body is hot; her heart cold
She is not Heaven; she is Hell.
I rinse her perfumed sweat from me
When she throws me from her bed.
I curse the lust that overcomes me.
I beg the saints to strike me dead.
Like a dog I pant behind her,
Begging for a pet.
I wish to God I could not find her.
She gives me nothing but regret.
Her luscious breasts are Satan’s fruits.
Her body Eden’s garden
Growing lush from the Devil’s roots.
For my sin there is no pardon.
I feel all my muscles throbbing
With our coupling’s anticipation,
Though it is my soul she’s robbing
Of any chance at sweet salvation.
Every day I pray for strength
To break passion’s chains that bind me,
But when I press naked against her length,
I know that God can never find me.
Only in her heat do I find peace.
It will be so until I die.
Between her thighs my sole release,
Despite my tortured spirit cry.
I can only pray for death,
My addiction so complete.
As long as I have breath,
Real love and I will never meet.
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THE LITTLE KING
By Carl Martin Johnson
The Little King awoke one day,
Deciding on a ride
To find the things along the way
In which he took most pride.
He smiled wide, breathing crystal air,
Inhaling its flowered scent,
Looking out over his kingdom fair
At the endless firmament.
The mountains rose majestic high,
Their peaks climbing into cloud,
Great borders to the clear blue sky,
He saw them and was proud.
His steed galloped on to the ocean shore
Where waves thundered o’er the sand,
Crashing against the rocks in foaming roar.
He saw that it was grand.
His birds’ sweet music caressed his ears.
Their colors kissed his eyes.
He shed happy, royal tears
At their beauty in his skies.
Great beasts he saw that roamed the land
In their grandeur and their strength.
All was just as he had planned
Throughout his kingdom’s breadth and length.
He traveled on into the desert night,
Stars glowing on the sky’s dark curtain.
Heaven’s glory clear and bright,
Nothing more magnificent he was certain.
When orange ember warned of dawn
Below the eastern land,
He weighed all he had gazed upon,
All at his command.
It satisfied the Little King
That his domain was so fine.
There was only one missing thing
To make his empire divine.
Then, on the horizon an outline grew,
Taking shape as it came nearer.
It was someone the Little King knew
When its features became clearer.
It was Man, tired and dry,
Struggling across the sand.
The Little King watched him go by,
And thought to lend a hand.
Instead he let Man pass him by,
Acknowledging his nod,
Looking with an admiring eye,
Feeling as if he should applaud.
Of all his subjects, this was the one
Who was free to win or lose.
And though Man’s rise had just begun,
It was he the Little King would choose.
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THUNDER AND LIGHTNING
By Carl Martin Johnson
Tell them I am coming.
Announce I’m on my way.
Herald with deep drumming,
‘Ere I blast night into day.
Roar out your warning dire.
Storm is our world, my friend.
Make them dread my fire,
Fear it may be their end.
When my power strikes the ground,
They will cower low in fright.
Only the bravest will be found
To stand against my might.
The gods will select from those
The leaders of the race.
From the stalwart who dare oppose
My jagged, fiery face.
You and I we cull the weak,
Thunder, my dear friend.
Without the elite we seek,
Mankind would surely end.
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YOUR BACK
By Carl Martin Johnson
The smooth slope of your spine
Curves white like a desert dune.
Your skin, silk-soft and fine,
Glowing white in the summer moon.
We lie naked on tender grass,
Made warm by our love’s heat,
Bodies cooling as breezes pass,
Feeling sated and complete.
You sleep like a new wife,
Stomach down and arms extended.
Your sex absorbing renewed life,
From earth-energy neverended.
I slip a trembling finger along your breast,
Where it bulges lovely white,
Inviting more, but I let you rest.
For our couplings we have all night.
I lean across your sculpted back.
I graze you with moist lips,
Down in amorous prayer they track,
Moving slowly to your hips.
I breathe the perfume of your skin,
Scented opium to my brain.
I envision all erotic sin.
I am wondrously insane.
My hand strokes your supple thighs.
I feel the muscles that have held me.
In your sleep you whisper sighs,
Renewing the ardor that compelled me.
I will rouse you soon from dreaming,
As I am now aroused too well,
And sweet erotic thoughts are teeming
Summoned by your sweet back’s spell.
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A NEW LIFE
By Carl Martin Johnson
Each day is a new life.
Yesterday is past.
Come happiness or strife,
Only change will last.
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