Michael Lee Johnson, US

 

 

Free Verse   Bird Feeder   Baby, born just a sparrow- first flight from balcony to tree limb. A chip of corn falls from the feeder to the ground. 2007     Raindrop Baby   I’m a raindrop Chicago baby silhouetted in the night, single-ringed single person minus the 24 carat gold. A harvester of night life, star crystal, a gatherer of sluts in my imagination. 2009     Days Pass   Days pass, Cold is winter, At night birds hide in trees. Doves at bird feeder don’t count days- No cares. 2008     Boat in a Pond   Boat in a pond abandoned without oars tied to a steel post, floats on top of an artist palette, rocks sideways with wind, edges slightly west- the sun sets. 2007     Face on a Bus   Face on a bus, passing by, nameless, stares out the framed window, frozen like skeleton bone- boredom nibbling away at his time.  1972     Illinois Trains   Trains, love them, hate them the way they play sound; songs they sing. Transformers switch, vibrate the power into poetry, shake notes out of the sky. Short stretch, street to street, long stretches, Chicago, Elgin, Rockford, though prairie towns of Illinois- running the same rails over, attached to many places. Shrill sound of horns dig deep in bowel of urban earth like backhoes; developers changing passing landscapes with faint, greed filled faces. As the trains pass to history, train sounds fall silent, a minor key. 2007