I was born in the Bronx and raised in the East New York hood of Brooklyn. Got 2 brothers and 5 sisters, not all the same mother and father, but all brothers and sisters nonetheless. We weren't the poorest people in the neighborhood but it was rough. Then again, although it was rough, we were happy and we were healthy. Moms did the best she could raising us and thank God ... more »
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Richard Johnson Poems
What is this thing called Happiness And why do we search so vehemently for it...
What are we doing here...? How did it get this far...? What reason had we to fool ourselves? To live true lies the way we are.
I Want You To Want Me...
You say you need me but, I want you to want me. Needing something in a sense is bondage. You need something in order to get something you want. You need air to stay alive. Air is needed but what is wanted is to
Where were you When I needed love…? When my heart decided that blood was no longer enough To keep life in these limbs…?
Days Of Love...
Somedays I know you love me Somedays I don't
Though in truth, I am a pessimist Expecting a trampled heart So I keep everyone at an arm’s length Until they have proven their worth
Here I stand on this balcony... I take a pull and then take a sip
The Analytical Mind… The Persistent Heart… The mind will reason, will rationalize, will consider But the heart, it can only feel The mind can perceive, can observe, can calculate
Comments about Richard Johnson
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
What is this thing called Happiness
And why do we search so vehemently for it...
Is it a place comparable with paradise
Is the grass truly greener there
Or is it something tangible
A treasure perhaps
Something you could possess and own
Though laughable it seems
Or is it just another of our 101 fleeting emotions
That plague us in our mortal conscience
Profitting us nothing
As momentary as ectasy
Or is it something deeper
Perchance Happiness is that change
From stable and ongoing termoil