Randal Johnson

World War II novels
With tattered covers
Worn out bindings
And faded pages
...

Along the sidewalk he strode,
'Neath the shade of a well worn Stetson,
Past a thicket of women.
They beckoned to him.
...

Raindrops splash on a dashboard Jesus.
A coroner's van sits black as a crow.
Streetlight halos hang empty of angels.
Only hemlocks watch over the scene below.
...

Should time of my demise be left to choose,
Procrastination be my loyal ruse.
And if the place be left to utter sway,
Then name a place beyond the far away.
...

So many dusty memories
Rest on such high shelves
That my stooping brain
Can no longer reach them.
...

Please teach me nothing, let me find my own way.
Let me make my own mark on the wall,
Below the millions who have come before me,
Above the millions who behind me crawl.
...

My unsettled thoughts
Seem to stir in November,
And I wonder, do you have
A month that you dread?
...