Poetry and Prose

A place to share your poetry and short stories.

Members: 9
Latest Activity: Jul 26, 2016

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Ride Cowboy Ride by Marty Robbins

Started by Michael Johnson Jul 26, 2016. 0 Replies

Ride, cowboy, ride Don't ride too slow Tucson's a mighty long way yet to goHe started his long ride in Prescott The sun was a hundred or more On down he rode at full gallopInto the flat desert…Continue

Anasazi Poem By Gershon Hepner

Started by Michael Johnson May 20, 2016. 0 Replies

They used to think that it was drought that drove the Anasazi out of southwest cities on the mesas, to die there, like forgotten races.We still don’t understand the basisof their departure without…Continue

Not For The Love I Can Take Mike Cross

Started by Michael Johnson May 13, 2016. 0 Replies

As I was out walking, one late lonely night Looking for something like love A beautiful lady appeared in my sightWith a loveliness dreams are made ofShe looked in my eyes, and she saw through my mind…Continue

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Comment by Michael Johnson on February 15, 2016 at 3:41am

A lovely Cigarette

I stand outside my building smoking a cigarette.
cold. alone. isolated.
this love of mine forces me to shun my friends.
each drag brings me happiness.
each drag torches my body.
for reasons unknown I now think of her.
hazel. gorgeous. stunning.
I bring the brown. white love. to my mouth and inhale.
each drag brings me joy.
each drag slowly kills me.
our love was something magnificent. unmatched. special.
we were together forever;
considering forever was twelve months.
I notice this cigarette.
look at it differently.
it forces me to shun others.
it brings me unmatched joy.
it can't last forever.
each drag makes me glad.
each drag destroys me.
why do I remember her now?
as I am alone. cold. smoking.
maybe this is her.
each drag leads to another drag,
each drag always ends in ashes.

Pete Jan 1, 2013

Comment by Michael Johnson on February 15, 2016 at 2:43am

Until We Shun...

When we put forth a new idea
and others we abhor
we never seem to miss
all that we had before.
Inside our mind, inside ourselves,
all other truths can cease
and only if we destroy "I"
can other thoughts increase.
All I see destroy this world
comes from one iniquity.
We'll always be but blind children
until we shun our vanity.

Nov 23rd 2012

Comment by Michael Johnson on December 16, 2015 at 11:48pm

Before The Monkeys Came

We'll go wild into the noon
to find what love there is to find
an angel on the bedpost
or a demon in the mind
and we'll be happy as we were
before the monkeys came
and put the flowers into pots
and gave love sinful names.

When apple trees were apple trees
and not the curse of man
and all the mountains piled high
were only heaps of sand
there were no "yellow" roses then
the roses were all red
and lovers slept on grassy banks
and never knew a bed.

We'll go wild into the noon
and try to be the same
the way we were awhile ago
before the monkeys came
when every street was Eden street
and Man our only name
that was oh so long ago
before the monkeys came.

Rod McKuen
From Stanyan Street & Other Sorrows


Comment by Michael Johnson on November 28, 2015 at 5:07am

A Sourdough Story

Hark to the Sourdough story, told at sixty below,
When the pipes are lit and we smoke and spit
Into the campfire glow'
Rugged are we and hoary, and statin' a general rule,
A genooine Sourdough story
Ain't no yarn for the Sunday School.

A Sourdough came to stake his claim in Heavn' one morning early.
Saint Peter cried: "Who waits outside them gates so bright and pearly?"
"I'm recent dead" the Sourdough said "and crave to visit Hades,
Where haply pine some pals O' mine includin' certain ladies."
Said Peter "Go, you old Sourdough, from life so crooly riven;
And if ye fail to find their trail, we'll have a snoop round Heaven".

He waved, and Lo! that old Sourdough dropped down to Hell's red spaces;
But though 'twas hot he couldn't spot them old familiar faces.
The bedrock burned, and so he turned, and climbed with footsteps fleeter,
The stairway straight to Heaven's gate, and there, of course, was Peter.
"I cannot see my mates" sez he," among those damned forever".
I have a hunch some of the bunch in Heaven I'll discover".
Said Peter"True; and this I'll do (since Sourdoughs are my failing)
You see them guys in Paradise, lined up against the railing-
As bald as coots, in birthday suits, with beards below the middle...
Well I'll allow you in right now, if you can solve a riddle:
Among that gang of stiffs who hang and dodder round the portals,
Is one who's name is known to Fame; it's Adam, first of mortals.
For quiets sake he makes a break from Eve, which is his Madame...
Well, there's the gate, to crash it straight, just spy the guy that's Adam".

The old Sourdough went down the row of greybeards ruminatin'
With optics dim they peered at him, and pressed agin the gratin'.
In every face he sought some trace of our ancestral father;
But though he stared, he soon despaired the faintest clue to gather.
Then suddenly he whooped with glee: "Ha! Ha! an inspiration".
And to and fro along the row he ran with animation.
To Peter bold he cried: "Behold there are eleven.
Suppose I fix on number six; say Boy! How's that for Heaven"?

"By gosh! you win." said Pete "step in. But tell me how you chose him'
There like as pins; all might be twins. There's nothing to disclose him."
The Sourdough said: "Twas hard; my head was seething with commotion.
I felt a dunce; then all at once I had a gorgeous notion.
I stooped and peered beneath each beard that drooped like fleece of mutton.
My search was crowned... that bird i found; ain't got no belly button."

Robert W. Service

Comment by Tsoi Tawodi on April 2, 2015 at 4:32pm


I awoke this morning
No birds were singing
There were no birds at all

I looked out the window
The trees were all gone
Only houses covered the land
No birds

Looking upward
No sky to be seen
Only haze
Brown and thick

My young daughter came running,
Daddy, daddy....we have to go to the zoo!
Because they have the last living bear!

My stomach churned
I felt sick
What have we done?
Is this really happening?

Why is there only one bear left?
What did you do with them?

Tears welled into my eyes
Can you tell me what a bird was?

Is it true that there used to be wolves?
Where did they go?

Tell me of the old days...
When there used to be animals and we weren’t sick all the time

And tears of guilt ran as a river

3 Hawks

Comment by Tsoi Tawodi on February 9, 2014 at 8:41pm

Earth Lessons

Walk in mountain forests
Where your false pride has no value

Listen well to all your Earth Teachers
For they care not about your ego

Dare to touch Earth Mother with your heart
That you might hear echoes of ancient wisdom

Allow Wind Spirits to caress your face
And sense freedom not born of material possessions

Drink purity from water veins of our Earth Mother
To drown the arrogance creating your thirst for power

Make time to observe the ant
For she will instruct you in the ways of true humility

Search out the glistening grain of sand
If you wish to see natural beauty

Contemplate the forming of rounded river stones
That you might conquer change

Observe the deer among dewy grasses
And they will teach you the giveaway

Focus on the mighty bear
Should you dare to look within yourself

Listen to the Stellers Jay
For her squawking may be your echo

Look beyond the end of your nose
And see a world that can live without you

Watch the snake as he sheds his skin
That you can learn to let go of hurtful things

Study the ways of wolf
Where family value exceeds the self

Observe the spider carefully
What you do to the web of life, you do to yourself

View stars on a moonless night
To know there is light in the darkest of times

Pursue an eye for an eye
And you may be blinded first

Watch the butterfly as she dances in flight
That your own actions may be as beautiful

Open your ears that you might hear beyond yourself
Or has your own voice made you deaf?

Now, gaze into still waters
And observe what you really reflect

Sidanelai (we are family)

3 Hawks

Comment by Wildthing ~ Mike on May 26, 2012 at 12:31pm

Sleeping; unmindful of the passing storm.
Dreaming; of sunny days, and running through fields of barley and corn.
Waking; to a blessed brand new summer’s morn.
Working; out in the fields from dusk till dawn.
Evening; a time to be thankful, however tired and worn.


Comment by Tsoi Tawodi on September 21, 2011 at 6:11am
(morning in the mountains)

Eduda … Grandfather
The greatest of artists You are
Beauty is Yours to create
Power resonates in Your works

With a single brush stroke,
Sky fills with ominous wonder
Clouds build and darken
Inspired by Your medicine

Wind Spirits dance with Trees
Voices echoing Your strength
And they sing to all that is
Of harmony and balance

Joy You bring to this day
Touching all wishing to be touched
Kissing life with a great mystery
Humbling those who truly see

Today, I am grateful,
For tasting this moment in time
I am surrounded with Your gifts
And I simply get to be

Wado Eduda
3 Hawks
Comment by LadyHawkღ on March 21, 2011 at 12:24pm
Comment by LadyHawkღ on March 21, 2011 at 12:14pm

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