Some of my favorite poets are: Edna St. Vincent Millay, Emily Dickinson, Stephen Crane, Dorothy Parker and W.H. Auden. more »
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Matt Johnston Poems
At A Fields Cold Edge
At a fields cold edge beneath the moon I crept toward the woods, but ‘twas too soon For one so giddy with childhood fears To enter so quick what once brought tears.
On A Crowded Street
On a crowded street I came upon a man openly sobbing; He clutched his breast While his shoulders softly heaved.
God gave me a breeze A cool summer breeze But I wanted lemonade, So he showed me a path to lemons
A Tail Of The Twisted
Two ancient oaks grew side by side One bent and one upright. The upright oak was strong and proud And lived by simple codes:
'She was mentally disabled, ' they said, And they said ‘but she was sweet.’ And if heaven passed a million souls It would still wrap slippers around her feet.
How Very Special You Are To Feel Such Pa...
The ever sad are never whole You’ve told me this, and that you’re cold And tired from the rain in life, And tired from the rain wrought mold in life.
A Big Black Rabbit
A big black rabbit passed right under the moon On great dark wings to soar and swoon. I called, “Oh great black rabbit where are you off? ” An old fool beside me did chuckle and cough
A Trick Of The Moon
Tomorrow’s sun will shine As tonight’s moon For tonight’s moon glows Like the world is ending
The family sits In a pearly white row, But there’s black in my soul Down deep
I truly never meant to spy, Just caught some movement With my eye. I turned to look
Beethoven achieved greatness I know because he’s in my spell check, If you leave out an E It will correct you.
I came upon no wine That I did not take a sampling of Or even sicken myself with. I assumed it was my privilege
Your next step could wake the dragon. Do you want to wake the dragon? It might eat you. Do you wish you had on armor
Child, I know you are not in the best place. I hear all your cries to me And know even of your smallest hurt.
At A Fields Cold Edge
At a fields cold edge beneath the moon
I crept toward the woods, but ‘twas too soon
For one so giddy with childhood fears
To enter so quick what once brought tears.
So I turned and ran back through the field
To howl at the moon that was my shield
Against pitch of black, and woodsy brink,
And this was daring enough I think.