Brian Johnston Poems

I live to write though life's a whore
That fucks the ones I love and more,
Who leaving, fly to Ecuador
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Well the Universe woke up one morning and moaned,
'My God! Yesterday sure was a blast! '
'I just wish I had something to look forward to, '
'What are odds this expansion will last? '
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As I 'gayly' reflect on your birthday tomorrow,
I've reason for pause both in joy and in sorrow,
But give me 'three minutes' and know, take this in,
That forever I'll love you, divorce too, a win,
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Do all birds of a feather sing sweetly together,
Or do they like a pig take a plea deal, then squeal!
Praise God! Mercy's a choice that will not end their voice!
Oh! Is 'stacking the deck' not real sin? What the heck! ?
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A man must curse, my lady fair,
But if dawn's light still finds you there,
His pain filled words become a prayer...
Like violet laced maiden hair,
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Like a rose, you filled space in the parlor,
The candles on tables made pale,
Queen of all you surveyed, unaware of my day dreams,
You rose, the first star over dale!
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As a smoke from dying ember
Softly wafts so gently upward
Let my poem's labored burning
Still have warmth to touch your heart.
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I suspect there are many things I'll never know
Mind of God in my mind truly such a huge part,
Those who think that they understand Bible's intent
Just prove vanity's part of the court jester's art.
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I wake to trill of colored leaves
The fall of last night's dreams,
An onshore breeze whose movements
Please and cool my restless schemes.
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When you write a poem, though words are white hot,
Though its message is crusted with ice,
There will always be reader who's blest by the light,
And the one who will thaw its advice.
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