VoicesNet.com Recent Poems of Chris Michael Johnson - Copyright for all poems displayed belong to author

Michaelmas by Chris Michael Johnson

9/25/2007

Daniel 12.1

Come great Spirit,
stand up! time is short,
September herald of
Satan's demise.

The bottlebrush flares,
there is scent in the
wind
expectant.

Medjugorje messenger,
still a time of Grace,
but judgement
not far off

on Eagle's wings
will soar and glare -
dark clouds
disperse

and fall away....

The Green Cross by Chris Michael Johnson

8/7/2009

Invited, viewed
art, emerging
inspiration,
yet pagan.

Sun and Moon,
rocks,
all creation,
wine was sipped,

candles lit,
a story told,
great applause,
arty in-crowd.

Questioned,
approval sought,
just one point,
where was God?

(c) 2009

Wollongong NSW

A still small voice by Chris Michael Johnson

7/5/2007

Furious wind
unleashes chaos,
branches snap,
bins upturn.

Sirens scream,
power goes,
angry nature
seeks revenge.

Amid the clatter
and the clang,
the city roars,
accelerates....

Meditate !
switch off....
a still small voice
in silence calls....

Exile by Chris Michael Johnson

7/27/2008

Vegetables simmer
on a stove,
soon a soup will
warm my simple day.

The fire is
friendly,
companion on a
winter's afternoon.

Parrots
chatter, noisy
extroverts,
like most in this brazen land.

Soon to be in
England,
hugged and made
to feel like a king.

A prodigal's return
for at least a while,
and there with hobbits
Oh God! renewed by the Shire.

Wollongong NSW Australia

Timed out by Chris Michael Johnson

6/8/2007

Troubled wind,
ferocious, unlike the
friendly busters of
the past

threatens roofs,
and the homeless
feel a winter chill,
that politicians couldn't know.

Secure by fire
I see the hungry,
helpless eyes, which
"By the grace of God" go I.

And there in a stable
He was homeless too,
to be tortured, mocked, and
politicians made it so.

Water at great price by Chris Michael Johnson

6/28/2007

Incessant rain
fills the dams,
and snakes retreat
to the mountains.

The drought leaves
my room with
endless cracks
from shoddy foundations.

The creeks are
filled with gushing
flow, and many
prayers are answered now.

A lesson learned?
and have the suicides
not been in vain?
Only time will tell.

All in the mind by Chris Michael Johnson

6/23/2009

The various birds
that chatter all around,
shrieking, warbling,
confident

are not preoccupied
with parliament,
the price of oil,
Iran.

Dogs in distant
estates
seem not to care
about money!

Trees seem
detached
from war,
computer games.

In the ground
red peppers
think not of
Hetty Johnstone.

And all around
green consciousness,
gently rustling,
Creator's song.

Slowing down! by Chris Michael Johnson

5/19/2007

Quiet Saturday, time
to pick up pen
and meditate.

No keyboard rush,
longhand lazy. Hear
birds and rustling trees.

The wind arises,
children playing,
breeze returns.

There's time, and
sounds of stillness,
treasured space.

The King of Peace
is patient, Whom I
expect with steady prayer.

Wollongong NSW 2007

Kings Cross southerly buster by Chris Michael Johnson

5/17/2007

(or Wind of change)

Cleansing rain, flushes drains,
cesspits, excrement blocked with vice,
where hot pantsed whores, mock the laws,
"a girl love?" any price.

Stoically they tease, yet freeze,
paraded flesh in weather vile,
advertised by pussy cats
in dress suits, Greek Italian style.

European accents voice
temptations, multifarious choice,
and if you're bent on something queer,
Carlisle House is very near.

Young guys for sale
play pinball in adjacent hall,
stoned on angel dust or dope,
that's the only way they cope.

Lancastrian queen asks me the time,
in his flat the beer's all mine,
"Come round son, give it a try!"
but no way mate, "no thanks, goodbye!"

Now and then the cops appear,
making sure the way is clear,
everything's ok of course,
money talk right through the force.

Sweat starched, drunk, and on a bench,
lies a man whose dignity's wrenched,
how he got there, who can tell?
usual tale, boozed road to hell.

Endless stream of cabs patrol,
vacant lives, engaged, their goal,
more souls destroyed, but not enough,
there's plenty yet, who gives a stuff?

Sydney 1979

Prayer Cells by Chris Michael Johnson

4/27/2009

Medjugorje - Our Lady's April 25 2009 Message

"Dear children! Today I call you all to pray for peace and to witness it in your families so that peace may become the highest treasure on this peaceless earth. I am your Queen of Peace and your mother. I desire to lead you on the way of peace, which comes only from God. Therefore pray,pray, pray.
Thank you for having responded to my call."

To rage against
the Machine is
futile,

plays straight
into the hands of
the Enemy!

stirs only
hatred, anger,
death.

Surrender!
letting go,
white flag.

Then in the stillness
there is power,
transcending peace,
eternal Love.

A scented rose by Chris Michael Johnson

4/26/2008

Message of Our Lady of Medjugorje
25th April 2008

"Dear Children! Also today, I call all of you to grow in God's
love as a flower which feels the warm rays of spring.
In this way,also you,little children,grow in God's love and
carry it to all those who are far from God. Seek God's will
and do good to those whom God has put on your way,and be light and joy. Thank you for having responded to my call."

A scented rose
of sweet perfume
gave fragrant sign to me.

And though unworthy
to be called
Her fragrance spoke to me.

And so each month
God's will be done,
a perfect flower given,

I can respond
by passing on
this simple rosary.

The ballad of the Forest Lodge Hotel by Chris Michael Johnson

4/26/2007

I tried Ben Halling in a bar,
but being a pom I didn't get far,
I did an unaustralian thing,
now of my banditry I'll sing...

It seemed to me when standing there
watching blokes, a pissy affair,
that loads of money was being thrown
down on the counter, and left alone.

Now, being a bit of a Robin Hood,
I reckoned to do a load of good,
so , fearlessly I took my paper
and shiftilly I tried this caper...

as each bloke left the bar less change,
I sauntered up within his range,
and with my weapon, unexpected,
dropped it on the coins, and collected!

This seem quite a fruitful plot,
for close by ten I'd quite a pot,
but now the tragic bit of it,
the bloke next to me was patriotic!

He'd left five cents in front of him,
and being carefree, drunk and dim,
I put my hand upon his stack,
dropped coin in pocket, turned my back....

"You bloody rogue! you drongo, blue!
What the hell's come over you?
That's for the barmaid, bloody thief!"
I gasped, gulped, groaned, and growled
"good grief!"

The landlord then joined in the fray,
"been watchin' you sometime, g'day!"

"Dear chap," I said,
"it's not for beer
that I'm collecting money here,
it's for the kids in Kampuchea,
hope to send some camp some cheer!"

"Put the money on the bar,
for I get the police to youse."
All twenty five cents, night's bequest,
was placed on top as per request,

"now get out quickly,
disappear!
don't want the likes of you in here!"
"excuse me, are you barring me?"
"that's right mate," he said pungently.

"Ah well, goodnight!"
I shook his hand,
he shook mine too, good chap he's grand.

Now if you want a moral calling,
when you're out try some Ben Halling,
but don't rip off the working class,
it gets all us poor sods the arse!

1979

Schizophrenia by Chris Michael Johnson

4/14/2007

Amazed!
and in a moment...
I'm stoned !
grounded.

Under trees I snarl,
enraged!
then stoned
once more
again!

I'm grounded
by the under being
trees!

and leaves
that gentle, gently
stone me!

And it's cool now...
thank God!
It's sacred ground.

Shellharbour Hospital 2005

The Little Ones by Chris Michael Johnson

4/12/2009

I trudge up a hill
lost in thought, heavy
with the burden of
attachment.

I pass by the school,
and hear the voices
of infants playing.

Suddenly all smiles,
they wave in unison,
greet me as I pass.

My load is lightened,
renewed in hope
the little ones can do
what we dare not.

The Little Ones by Chris Michael Johnson

4/12/2009

I trudge up a hill
lost in thought, heavy
with the burden of
attachment.

I pass by the school
and hear voices
of infants playing.

Suddenly all smiles,
they wave in unison,
greet me as I pass.

My load is lightened,
renewed in hope
the little ones can do
what we dare not.

MILLENIUM by Chris Michael Johnson

3/7/2005

Stretched out toward the Infinite.
Converging, unforeseen,
An unexpected cusp of past
And future tense.
Expanding to a myriad possibilities,
Toward a resolution of the counterpoint,
A harmony unfurls - some thousand
Years, maybe, or even more.
Unlike some wind-tossed leaf
That settles to decay,
The autumn of my life
Becoming spring today.

Quiet Time by Chris Michael Johnson

3/29/2008

The slamming of a door
breaks the quiet
of an autumn afternoon.

Tonight there'll be
a party, another binge,
graffiti on the walls.

Where is God in
this metropolis,
in all of this?

In timeless silence
Nature sings....
Ah! He is everywhere.

(c) 2008

Baroque and beyond by Chris Michael Johnson

3/25/2007

Tonight I'll dare to dream,
lush grass beneath my feet,
breath dankness in the air,
hear raindrops touching leaves.

Tonight I'll be alone
with Bach on radio,
wander back in years,
disconnect myself

From grunge and internet,
cruel carnage on the roads,
telephone, tv.
Connect myself with self.

Then having closed my eyes,
cast out the world again,
pregnant solitude,
and words are born in time.

Aniline (Sydney sunset) by Chris Michael Johnson

3/25/2007

The Perfect Artist settles down,
nomadic, ceaseless is his task,
visual treats to tease the town,
silhoutte divine unmask.

Watch in awe his passing canvas
brushing sky with gentle strokes,
in communion - clouds with sky - mass,
crimson, purple, night invokes.

Flushing oils which draw light in
to a radiant focus - gold,
descending as the end begins,
evaporate to icy cold.

Now the masterpiece is through
He moves away, begins anew.

Minnamurra 1971 by Chris Michael Johnson

3/25/2007

Days of piss and poetry!
Pink Floyd and Miles -
tentative maturity,
Mao and the bomb.

Time was reckoned by tides,
the ins and out of the river,
and the beckoning of gulls
who displayed on the wharf.

Fishes jumped and dogs laughed,
old diggers dangled lines
in motionless boats, drinking beer,
wanting nothing.

We passed a giddy year
hedonistic and brown -we'd
plunge into early morning water,
race to the spit,
watch the surf
crash on virgin beach,
known only to few.

The bush where tiger snakes
threatened security - we cheated them!
and peaceful nights broken only by
distant waves around the island -
where sharks fed.

A paradise of potential,
half taken possibibilities.
In love with life itself,
too young to consummate.