The last thing civil...

I am the haunted room, the angry spirit,
The wrath of men that drive,
Close to the curb after nightfall.

I am the found child, the hidden smile,
I am the man who cannot be nice any longer,
I am the wrath of a dusty child with
forever frayed laces.

I am folders filed away never to be seen again,
The irritating creak in a floorboard,
Waking you at night,
The countenance of all things shired.

I am the reigning face.
The memory creeping in at dawn.
I am the wrath of women
kneading dough in tropical places.

I am the special one,
The one who holds your smile,
I am the crisp thing.
Spring laundry.
The hope of the last mile,
The letdown of the first.

I am the hurt of women who take to stages,
After midnight.
The sermon beating down from altars.
I am the wrath of your universe,
Your world of four walls.

I am the cinder burning close to your fingertips,
The end of the wick,
The last of the wax.
I am the relent of answers evaded,
without end.

I am the denial of girls on their backs,
eyes toward heaven.
I am the sun that will never rise.
I am the wrath of the history of scorn.

I am the trophy of racial ambiguity,
The perfect shade to not offend,
your black or your white.
I am the beginning of a rite.
The last thing civil.

I am the pace of an older time.
When sophisticates and their formality were sublime.
I am the rising, ringing vapor of present loss,

I am the anchor of motion.

I am the hunger of a thousand child soldiers.
I am the diseased water they drink,
The wrath of raped mothers grieving children,
stolen away.

I am the dance with no melody,
The tune you can hum,
But cannot remember the lyrics.
I am the wrath of young boys,
Covered in grime and eyeliner,
Jumping into the cars of men
on the strip.

I am inside your time,
But, outside forever.
I am a night, with no stars.
A darkened sky, with no rainfall,
The wrath of a life,
less lived.

Jason Christopher Johnson
December 18, 2012

The Past Prison

This wretched, dead thing
Dangling, dragging behind me.
Weighted down by the damage
and deep scars 
of years,
hurt scabbed over...

Never fully healing,
Never really having a reaping
in the soul.
This thick, shired, cut up life,
Dense beneath my feet.
Wet with my own tears, mud like
and new...

Holding my heart down,
like lighter notes 
underneath the strength of musk.
And, I stood in a place
And, I sank,
fell down under some altar of you
that I created time-well,
but full of esteemed regret,
some heavy, burdened life
pulling at my shoulders,
keeping me in the thud of this mud.

I wanted forward,
to a place where this life 
had something for me.
But, this heavy dead, dangling past life 
held me here,
riddled with illusions
of comfort...

But, whole views 
of mirror things
told different stories.
Tales of illegitimacy in ruin
and trusts that were shallow 
and empty.

And, I fell underneath
the weight of it,
that dead, dangling past life
that was here
and full
and consuming.

I accepted it.
And, I lay there underneath
it's burdened weight.

I closed my eyes,
breathing in and out
a release of relent.

Jason Christopher Johnson 
November 23, 2012

The Ghosts of You...

When did the halls here become footfalls for your memory,
Whisper things and shadows, and all the remnants
of your face unseen?

Like some summer/time day that crested easily into night,
The line crossed that no one saw,
The missing timbre of your voice,
No hem to my haw.

When did the faults of echoes blur into one haunting scream,
Breathing just to taunt, torment
All the hope and promise that once did live here?

When did your eyes lose their shine,
Like suns wrestling against the cover of clouds,
The dust of stars falling from a night's sky.

Your voice,
Doesn't calm,
Doesn't sound of peace like it used to.
Your hand,
Doesn't soothe,
It's not gentle anymore,
Bruises in the home/place,
Holes in panels of doors,
Shaking, earthquake things.

And, we lived in these haunted walls,
Dancing around you and your many moods,
Eggshells scattered about,
Like fragments of days gone by,
Cracked and hopeless,
Fragile and ruined.

When did your heart pulse leave, give out, give up
Like the runner who believes he's lost the race,
The model who can no longer give face?

When did you decide my love wasn't enough,
that everything outside was better than the within.

When did the happiness all become a simple fit,
choosing to turn to the chaos of some dark,
hapless, world.

When did the peacetime yield to turmoil,
a choice we both made.

When did your heart stop beating anew,
When will you return,
And, we can be rid of these simple,
ghosts of you?

Jason Christopher Johnson
November 19, 2012

After the storm...

As the winds settled down on us,
Whipping up chaos,
Casting down debris,
Washing it all over us with 
furious rains.
As the heavens opened up
It's mouth spilling out 
fits of uproarious thunder,
and fitful displays of lightning,
in our once calm sky.
I matched my voice to meet yours,
Loud and oblivious,
to your feelings,
your heartsong.
You flailed about,
In a marred tirade,
of discarded thought and
painful, unnecessary truths.

As the symphony,
rose to a powerful, listless
cacophony of sounds,
Our anger did too.
Screams and unintelligible
banter,
Yielding to the love and care,
we hold for each other.
I puffed up and out, 
Cyclonic and crippling 
to any of your means and measures,
Disregarding any hope or feeling or care,
And,
you hurt.
Wounded,
Like displaced things,
Broken glass, 
A timid, cornered thing.

And, we danced a dance,
of vengeance and betrayal,
A fight matching the winds and rain,
and thunder and lightning,
No sirens, 
for warning,
No radios, 
for reminders to take cover,
No visibility of this cloud,
standing full on in it's hover.

As, the winds,
lost strength,
and, we grew tired of the fight,
Pride/stills held strong,
Neither would let the other
finish their song.
We each needed the other
to know he was wrong.

And, as limbs and trash things,
and all manner of displacement,
settled around our abode,
We still fought, 
loudly chaotic,
Holding some force of the winds
Inside our hearts, 
Not willing to let go,
No hope to let our vulnerabilities show.
And, the storm calmed.
We did not,
And, we grew tired,
And, still peace would not come.
And, we moved,
outside, this place.
A brewed thing of hatred, anger,
and loss. 

And, peace settled down,
like the winds had,
And, the debris,
were all still, 
and there was only the
foolishness of our voices,
And, birds did began to sing,
Full up with happiness and cheer,
And, in the horizon,
glimpses of sunlight did appear.

And, we stood still,
Taking in the damage we had caused.
Feelings, hope, passion, 
all gone, 
leveled out like some farmland field.
Sprinkled, all over with things,
that did not belong,
And, we were both left wondering,
why didn't I just nurture his song.
To look back now,
And, have to rebuild,
is surely as task,
neither of us would have willed,
But, this storm was quick.
It was strong. 
We kept looking into each other's eyes,
Trying to decide where to pick up and how to move on.

Jason Christopher Johnson
September 30, 2012

The Last Time

To toss and turn to the tune of
your light sleep murmurs,
so rhythmic,
pulsing with the beat of my open heart.

To wake and look at you in
morning's twilight,
beautiful sun-stained face,
half smiling at some distant dream.

To have a bed/ridden,
morning talk with you,
spoken in hoarse lush
half sleep whispers.

To wake and share coffee
and speak of what we both hoped
to do inside of a day, a moment,
a lifetime.

To send you off,
Smelling of fresh, haunting things,
cinnamon and chocolate and tobacco,
spice notes.
And freshly pressed, sharp...
A dapper man.
My dapper man.

To wade through my day,
Waiting for an end,
Just to see you again.
Never to know
That moment would not come.

You would not return to me,
To our heart/place,
To this abode.

If ever I had known,
I would have stretched out that
morning sleep talk,
held onto your every word,
stared deeper into your eyes,
fought for more.

If ever I had known,
I would have lingered on your lips,
wrapped my hands tighter around your hips,
cherished your breath on my skin,
prayed harder for your return.

If ever I had known,
I would have taken in the scent of you more,
your earth notes, and the complex smell of you,
so that I'd remember for
the future.

If ever I had known,
That morning would be the last time,
I could see you and you could see me,
I would have smiled more,
Not complained of your smoke
and hairs in the sink,
and wrinkled clothes tossed about the bed and bathroom.
I would have created a place of remembrance in my heart
big enough for all our past
and, present things.

If ever I had known.

Jason Christopher Johnson
September 30, 2012

Where to go...

With all things said,
And, feelings neatly packed away
Inside dire words,
Everything else washed out
by landslides of tears,
brushed off, missing pieces
like infantile fears.

With all movements forward, stalled
All the nights sitting on hands,
waiting inside of duty for your call.

With all dreams, pushed out of
Our heart/place,
The remembrance of newness,
Caught up in my throat,
Memories, we cannot bear to let
go, and can't begin to look through.

With all hope tucked away in boxes,
Alongside, framed photos and cards and
letters,
and books full up with pressed flowers,
We'll have to leave this place,
Starting over with a new pace.

Where to go...
How to move or forge ahead,
or even breathe.
How to create a home/stead,
with no roots or foundations,
with you.

With all the days and years,
Behind us,
Starting regretfully,
Longingly at our backs,
Whispering to us,
That we didn't try hard enough,
Share more,
Trust greater,
Fear less,
Embrace time/shared,
Where to go...

With all the leanings for some,
Better days pressed against us,
Closed, in and out,
Like some walled in things,
No more voices to sing,
No more tries to bring.

With all sadness,
Pressed down and tucked away,
Into some moving truck,
All, prayers lamented a little too late,
With suns set, and despair,
Sealing our fate,
We moved forward,
Not knowing,
Where to go.

Jason Christopher Johnson

so often

so often

I'm left here in the most
unsheltered, hungered state
waiting, wading in the thick,
just to reach your attentions.

We experience rows of good
like full bloom harvest things,
un/wanton and unabashed,
like heavy fall wheat to a farmland.

The good is followed
by flood/stills of the bad,
harbored hatred and darkened, bitter things,
like a monsoon season rife with hope killings.

And, then the peacetime comes
yielding some long begotten hope,
like a day of eclipsed suns and harbor moons,
and this love gone too soon.

I awaken without you here,
like a parched land,
with no water near.
with no prayer, only fear.

I wish to take leave,
my own warnings I shall not heed,
like a lie/wish to a hopeful thing,
I feed like a fledgling on
the falseness you will bring.

Jason Christopher Johnson
August 28, 2012

And, I could never...

A smile I could never capture with my own,
A touch I could never bear the weight of,
The hand that would not reach for mine,
A love that would exist only outside our time.

Words, spoken in secret places,
In hushed voices,
In scarce times,
Inside impossible dwellings,

Feelings, ignored and quelled down,
Deep into the confines of forgotten places,
Moved against, simplistic borrowed
spaces.

A heart I could never ease into my own,
A home I could not dare construct alone,
The place where we could not meet,
No compromise, no movement here.

Hope, against future leanings,
That you would be here with me,
Until the end of whatever time,
we could find.

Truth, that neither could bare to face,
You, me.
A discerned wall of honesty.
A steeling, calm and disastrous place to be.

One thing,
I could never inhabit,
One thing,
I could never console,
One place,
I could never be,
The crest of your soul.

Jason Christopher Johnson
August 23, 2012

Your promise.

Like the beauty of a word on my tongue,
Or sun underneath my tone,
Bathed in the circumstance of hope,
Believed and full and true.

Like the feeling of strength of solid ground beneath my feet,
Or newness wrapped softly in surprise,
Full up with the wonderment of a brand new day,
Trusted and still, overwhelmingly fey.

Like the stillness of some crisp winter's night,
Or a fresh, whole moon,
Like a beautiful time, gone all to soon,
Missed and loved for the weight of your truth.

Like the weightlessness of waters,
Or wisps of dandelion petals in summer's air,
Cornered ease and hopeful ruminations,
Easy and light and truly pure.

Like the best vintage of a red wine,
Or ancient scenes of ruins,
Tragically beautiful and perfectly flawed,
I could only sit and marvel in some new/fangled awe.

Your truth, your wholeness
Displayed out for me,
In some solid form,
Like an unmoving, deep-rooted tree.

Your promise, of life, of love
Splayed unbearably wide,
Covering all that surrounds me,
Breathing a new life, a new way into my whole world.

Jason Christopher Johnson
August 10, 2012

Some New Day

Yesterday crept away,
Like a thief in the night,
Prancing away on tipped-toes,
With stolen voices,
Marred days,
And all hope packed away.
The hours danced around,
Lingering like humidity during
summer dusks.
Everything was stalled and hinged,
On the movement of your heart.
I stood,
time/still,
In this foreign life/place,
Trying to keep tomorrow away with sheer will,
Trying to hold onto some dream.
this me
this you
this us
this we that would never be.
Yesterday slinked off,
As I was sleeping,
Dreams full up with your face,
A life lived with you,
Like some prison formed by your pace.

And,
in days after,
I moved about like sludge,
Thick and craftless,
Slow moving.
There was no life here.

Some intrepid morn,
I stepped outside on
a misty Summer's day,
and, the wet grass beneath my feet
felt good.
and, the winds embraced me warmly,
full up with comfort and delight.
and, the sun began to shine on my brownskin,
warm and whole.
And, I knew,
in that instant,
Days will begin and end,
without you.
I will breath in and out,
without you.
I will hear music,
without you.
I will live,
In this time,
In my own way,
Forward thinking,
Song singing,
Dream catching,
And love giving.

Jason Christopher Johnson
August 9, 2012

The Holding.

The Holding.

I walked around,
For weeks, months.
Head bowed
and tongue clicked
firmly against my teeth.
I breathed shallow,
Without spirit
or fervor.
Freshness stalled,
and there was no
life/blood flowing here.
I sat around,
Interminably,
on my hands,
afraid to move among
all the egg shells placed
around me in this
so called life/room.

I danced past
mirrors,
Not wanting to view
anything bearing truth,
or foresight.
I lived in single rooms,
distanced to outside,
formed away from him,
from you.
I chopped up flowers,
in gardens, around.
Livid with beauty and
all things light, pleasant.

I muted my life,
from music,
from all melodious
and harmonious things.
I vacilated in dark,
quiet places,
grieveing the life I had lost.
memories left to simply linger.
growths and lives stalled.

How to start,
anew and fledgling,
on unknown, foreign terrain.
No leaders with staffs,
to guide the parade to some
new/fangled homeplace.
How to breathe,
deeply and take on
fresh, vibrant air,
No guide for steering a course,
or healing from a loss.

How to regain,
rebuild.
When hope has morphed,
vacuous,
When steps forward,
smart like the heart/pain.
How to sit,
Eyes opened,
Squint like
toward some new day
on some very distant horizon.

Curtains closed,
Blinds drawn,
Head turned,
away from that new light.
not ready to face the day.
not ready for a new way.

Content with languishing,
With this holding on...

Jason Christopher Johnson
July 21, 2012

A Knowing.

For us,
Looking into each other's eyes
Is some unavoidable,
mirror thing.
You see in me,
Traces of your own heartache,
Your horror of sometimes facing a new day.
I see in you,
A thing not loved,
like I could.
A pain untended,
like I would,
A hope unfulfilled,
like I should.

For us,
Being in the presence of each other,
Is some necessary,
uncontrollable thing.
You see in me,
A loneliness not easily quenched,
A hesitation to even go home at night.
I see in you,
A man not touched,
like I would,
A need unattended,
like I could
A heart un/smoothed,
like I should.

For you,
Duty rings of most import,
Like some pavlovian to
a distant bell.

For me,
Fantasy rules the universe
of my heart...
...dreams full of you,
your countenance,
your needs,
my measures,
to meet your means.

For us,
No end looms near,
Like looking out onto
an ocean filled horizon.
The place where land
has left water.
The space where dreams
have left the mind, the heart,
In exchange for daily life fodder.

For me,
If I could say anything,
I would say...
I understand.
Live your life as you need,
But, if any of my words,
you would e'er heed...
Rest your hopes, dreams,
simple desires,
in my hand,
in my heart.
I would give the last breath I had,
to simply play the part.

Jason Christopher Johnson
July 6, 2012

The realization.

The realization. 

That your eyes are not deep enough,
They cannot speak enough words, 
Scattered and looming slightly above. 

That your touch is yet too harsh,
It cannot soothe new wounds,
Brash and quickly judged sparse. 

That your smile does not bring joy,
It cannot render even listless hope,
Flitty & fleeting, demure & coy. 

That your hope does not filter out,
It brings no notice of better days,
Holding no gloves for this bout. 

That your wants mean little,
They fill no space in his heart or mind,
Your goodness, not returned in kind. 

That your dream should end,
Waking swiftly into this lifeless place,
That your heart is too shattered to mend. 

That you must pull you up alone,
Isolated pillars inside heart/place ruins,
That you will walk on, alone, toward home. 

Jason Christopher Johnson
March 7, 2012

What I have...

What I have

A heart weighed down,
Like some thing ocean locked,
Passed over by years,
With salted wounds,
And water weight. 

A faith shredded,
Like freshly ruined
Blades of grass,
Chopped of when most ripe,
Like the middle of
Some newfallen day. 
A crest fueled by wishes 
And blind dreams, 
Shrinking to nothing,
Before fully formed. 

A dream, grainy 
Like some antique, forgotten memory
Like a film softly murdered,
By the purity of light. 
An openly, knowingly, 
Intently destroyed thing. 

A mind challenged to,
Worsened realities. 
Ignorance, wedded with bliss,
Regrets, aloft and remiss. 

A love that shall ne'er bloom,
A future and a now,
Blown out & extinguished too soon. 
Like a babe with no feeding mother,
Fires falling prey to smother. 

A need to move away,
No desire to feel,
Or pray. 
A realization of this love,
That shall ne'er be. 
Like some thing ocean locked,
Passed over by years,
With salted wounds,
Weighed down & pressed out,
Removed with no doubt. 
A cross hand and hope to,
Step down from this lofty place,
Where you reign as king.
Where my dreams, my needs,
Have no meaning. 

A walk forward,
Slow & sure, 
Like sand moved about,
By feet, by time. 
Moving toward,
Full,
Happy me. 

Jason Christopher Johnson
February 16, 2011

When it will come...

When it will come...

There was a time when 
The music did sound sweeter,
Like the buds of roses 
In a garden day. 
There was a day when 
Time didn't matter 
And love took up spaces,
Filled our minds and hearts 
With peace and laughter.

There was a place for both these lives
A womb unborn. 
A hope forlorn. 
Like waiting for the clouds to 
Bring in summer rain. 
Or dancing with winds in the thick
Of a countryside plane. 
There came a move
Toward something new 
Like fresh leaves cut off
And thrown down, cast off, askew. 
Your heart began to harden 
Like a gated place I couldn't reach
Full up with steel and hard lines
And a forgotten time. 
There came an exchange 
From your eyes to mine,
Sun to earth. 
And night pride pushed up to a 
Different coast's moon. 
There moves a hope inside 
These eyes. 
There bears a dream inside 
This voice. 
That we shall sing the same song,
Dance the same waltz,
Never fight or embrace pains,
Take up the real things for
The sake of the toss. 
There will come a time, 
When I will simply know 
That hope has left me here,
Abandoned,
A down ship,
Water-filled & unmoving,
Sheltered to nothing,
Just barely looming. 
When that time comes,
I'll pack up all my wood,
Bear my cross & scars, 
And, move on like I should.

Jason Christopher Johnson
February 15, 2012

That Morning

That morning,
I left you sleeping,
Beautifully silent,
Tossing, turning, remembering,
I left longing, yearning,
Painfully, I left you
That morning.

I left you,
Distant and afraid,
Full of wonder and less than new,
You came for me,
Pushed you away,
That morning,
I needed to ask me to stay,
I needed you to wonder what was wrong,
To help find my song.

That morning,
I left me still,
Unmoving,
Silent with no will,
That morning came so suddenly,
At that time,
I felt most free.

That morning,
I needed something more,
Your allegiances I could not ignore.
I needed to leave,
I needed to steal away,
You needed to wander alone.

The time would not stand still,
The misgivings, I could not relive,
That morning I awakened,
That morning, I began to live.

Jason Christopher Johnson
December 14, 2002

Inside

You were always there,
Sealed away and unknown,
Covered and not shown,
Like the bloom of a flower,
Outside it's season,
Or rhyme without reason.

You were alwyas here,
Unseen, subtle,
Like the passing of days,
Into nights,
The skipped beating of the heart,
From a sudden fright.

You are always new,
Wild-eyed, thirsty,
For more, and goodness,
And learned things,
For new evening words,
And songs to sing.

You were always,
Looking, unknowing,
Searching, not realizing,
One day you'd open your eyes,
And, I would have been there,
All the while.

Jason Christopher Johnson
Composed Spring/Summer, 2009

If ever I thought

If ever I thought,
There to be no hope here,
Outside these walls,
Inside your arms.

If ever I thought,
There could be no home for me,
That I would be spindly displaced
from your heart,
Like rains after the storm,
Burrowed earth removed from the worm.

If ever I believed,
No hands,
No heart,
Could build a future in this place,
That there could be no we in this space,
Like waters drained off forgotten shores,
Remnants of ancient lore.

If ever I could not see,
The I in you,
and the you in me,
Like looking swiftly into black,
Faltered days from guilt and lack.

If ever I could not hear,
Your soft breath whispers in the twilight,
A music no voice could contain,
A prayer to ease this pain.

If ever I could not feel,
Your skin against mine,
Your trust in time,
My love,
Returned in kind...

If ever I should take leave.

Jason Christopher Johnson