Archive for the ‘soundbites and sidebars’ Category

Hazy Arizona Sky

Sunday, April 2nd, 2017

by Michael Lee Johnson

 

Midnight,

Sonoran Desert,

sleep, baby talk, dust covering my eyelids.

No need for covers, blankets,

sunscreen, sand is my pillow.

Adaptations

morning fireball

hurls into Arizona sky,

survival shifts gears,

momentum becomes a racecar driver

baking down on cracked,

crusted earth-

makes Prickly Pear cactus

open to visitors just a mirage,

cactus naked spit and slice

rubbery skull, glut open

dreams, flood dry.

Western cowboy wishes, whistles, and movies

valley one cup of cool, clear, fool’s desert gold

dust refreshing poison of the valley.

Bring desert sunflowers, sand dunes, bandanas,

leave your cell phone at home.

 

more readings by Michael Lee Johnson

more Multi-Media Content

home

 

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

Solo Boxing

Sunday, March 26th, 2017

by Michael Lee Johnson

 

Solo boxing, past midnight,

tugging emotions out of memories embedded,

tossing dice, reliving vices, revisiting affairs,

playing solitaire-marathon night,

hopscotch player, toss the rock,

shots of Bourbon.

 

more readings by Michael Lee Johnson

more Multi-Media Content

home

 

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

Little Desert Flower

Sunday, March 19th, 2017

by Michael Lee Johnson 

 

Out of this poem

grows a little desert flower.

it is blue sorrow

it waits for your return.

You escape so you must from me

refuge, folded, wrapped in cool spring rain leaves-

avoiding July, August heat.

South wind hell-fire burns memories within you,

branded I tattoo you, leave my mark,

in rose barren fields fueled with burned and desert stubble.

Yet I wait here, a loyal believer throat raw in thirst.

I wrest thunder gods gathering ritual-prayer rain.

It is lonely here grit, tears rub my eyes without relief.

Yet I catch myself loafing away in the wind waiting fate

to whisper those tiny messages

writer of this storm welded wings,

I go unnoticed but the burned eyes of red-tailed hawk

pinch of hope, sheltered by the doves.

I tip a toast to quench your thirst,

one shot of Tequila my little, purple, desert flower.

 

more readings by Michael Lee Johnson

more Multi-Media Content

home

 

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

Alberta Bound

Monday, March 13th, 2017

by Michael Lee Johnson

 

I own a gate to this prairie

that ends facing the Rocky Mountains.

They call it Alberta

trail of endless blue sky

asylum of endless winters,

hermitage of indolent retracted sun.

Deep freeze drips haphazardly into spring.

Drumheller, dinosaur badlands, dried bones,

ancient hoodoos sculpt high, prairie toadstools.

Alberta highway 2 opens the gateway of endless miles.

Travel weary I stop by roadsides, ears open to whispering pines.

In harmony North to South

Gordon Lightfoot pitches out

a tone

“Alberta Bound.”

With independence in my veins,

I am long way from my home.

 

more readings by Michael Lee Johnson

more Multi-Media Content

home

 

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

Lion in my Heart

Thursday, March 9th, 2017

by Michael Lee Johnson

 

There is a heart embedded inside this male lion, I swear.

I eat leaves and underbrush, foliage of the forest, I belch.

Then I fall in love with birds, strangers and wild women.

Tears fall into the lush forest green below,

like Chinese crystal glass beads, shatter.

Then I realize it’s not the jungle, but I that am alone.

In the morning when the bed squeaks, both alarm clocks erupt,

I realize I’m alone in my jungle.

I hear the calls of the wild-

the streetcars, and the metro trains,

wake me in my sleep in my jungle alone,

let me belch in my belly with my Tums,

let me dream in my aloneness I swell.

There is a heart embedded inside this male lion,

I swear jungle man, lion lover, and city dweller.

 

more readings by Michael Lee Johnson

more Multi-Media Content

home

 

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

Songs of Sobriety: The Edge of Things

Sunday, December 4th, 2016

by C. Steven Blue

 


 

The Edge of Things

Here I sit . . .
On the edge of things
Afraid to walk near the Sun
Thrown by the great hand of Destiny
Yearning for dreams yet begun

Out from the sky
Comes the blue light of Love
Shining like all that could be
Strikes me awake
For the first time in ages
Reminds me of what I can see

Reminds me I sing
For the ones still in cages
Convey bits and pieces
That come out in stages

And play to an audience
Fraught with despair
To shine some hope down
Through the darkness they share

I’m sitting here . . . perched
On the edge of things
You wait for me to recite
Born from the image
Of feelings I’ve known
Or gathered from dreams in the night

You gaze in my eyes
With the sadness of tears
For the Lovers of Love
Who still fall . . .
While I sing you the tales
Of the true ones in time
Who . . . knowing their fate
Still risk all

Reminds me I sing
For the ones still in cages
Convey bits and pieces
That come out in stages

And play to an audience
Fraught with despair
To shine some hope down
Through the darkness they share
Here I sit . . .
On the edge of things
Daring to walk near the Sun
Thrown by the great hand of Destiny
Loving the dreams I’ve begun
Yes . . . loving the dreams I’ve begun

 

more Songs of Sobriety

home

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

Songs of Sobriety: 3:44

Thursday, November 24th, 2016

by C. Steven Blue
 

 

3:44

It’s three forty four
and the dealer’s knockin’ at my door.
Go away—please now,
and set my mind at ease.

I’ve felt that pain many times before.
I don’t want to feel it anymore,
so go away—please, dealer,
leave me alone.

Lord help me!
Don’t let me answer!
I’m so vulnerable
right now.

I want to shut out
the pain inside
and the dealer knows
just how.

Please, oh God,
make the knockin’ go away.
I like the way I feel life now;
it’s getting better day by day.

I feel so alone right now.
Stay by my side.
That old pain came back today.
I broke down and cried.

Tears welled up in me.
Resentments were felt.
But it’s still not as bad
as when the dealer dealt.

So help me walk through
this pain once more;
so I won’t have to wake up
with my face on the floor.

It’s three forty four
and the dealer’s knockin’ at my door.
Go away—please,
and set my mind at ease.

I don’t want to score!
I don’t want to be sore!
I don’t want you no more—for sure!
And it’s three forty four.

 

 

more Songs of Sobriety

home

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

Songs of Sobriety: Chair Dreams

Tuesday, November 15th, 2016

by C. Steven Blue

Chair Dreams

Picture—

a hopeless drug addict,

isolated in his loneliness,

sitting in a chair, starin’ out his window

dreaming about a world

he cannot participate in,

wishing he could find a way out,

crying in his lonely desperation…

this is called… “Chair Dreams.”

Sitting in my chair

Starin’ out my window

Dreaming about all the things

I’m gonna do… and see… and be

You’re gonna love me

And it’s going to be the best love ever

If I can just get out of this chair

And get it together

Chair dreams

Take me here and there

Chair dreams

Take me everywhere

Chair dreams

Seem so crystal clear

    For a moment

But then they’re gone… again

And it’s just another chair dream

I know I was gonna have

A hit song

And a house in the country

Sit in a rocker on my front porch

With endless inspiration

I know I was gonna paint

My masterpiece

And write a prize-winning novel

And I remember it

Sometimes when I’m high enough

But I just can’t seem

To get out of this chair

Can’t seem to get motivated

To go anywhere

And my dream slips away

To the back of my mind

‘Till another day

When the right combination finds

My chair dreams

Chair dreams

Take me here and there

Chair dreams

Take me everywhere

Chair dreams

Seem so crystal clear

    For a moment

But then they’re gone… again

It’s just another chair dream

Sittin’ in my chair

Starin’ out the window

Dreamin’ ‘bout all the things…

I’m gonna be

You’re gonna love me

And it’s going to be the best love ever

If I can just get out of this chair

And get it together

Yes, chair dreams

Take me here and there

My chair dreams

They take me everywhere

My chair dreams

Seem so crystal clear

    For a moment

But then they’re gone… again

It’s just another chair dream

Chair dreams

Take me here and there

Chair dreams

Take me everywhere

Chair dreams

—Take me outta here

Chair dreams

Seem so crystal clear

    For a moment

But then I’m gone again

And it’s just another chair dream

 
 
 

more Songs of Sobriety

home

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

Tracks on God’s Arms

Thursday, October 13th, 2016

Tracks on God’s Arms

God left the building for a brief period, today

all the heroin addicts and anyone,

with even a single single scar on their wrist,

came home, finally

everyone put down the needles and razors

and finally ate up the solace of the day

you can see a sight like never before;

everyone dumping the baggies of cinnamon down the drain

all because God was gone,

searching for something black and bitter

while we all rejoiced

 

 
more from And Her Name was Morphine

 
home

 

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

The Beast Around Here

Thursday, October 6th, 2016

by Richie Shiers Jr

as read by Steve Garland

 

The Beast Around Here

I chased the dragon

I chased that beast home and back and eventually beat it

I chased the cynical thing up the curvature and jut

of its cheekbones that I hopped off

to parachute back down to happy

the only traces are bread crumbs that I’m sweeping now,

and the marks that my cold shoulder left

I stomp my feet when the beast comes back

apologizing and all the usual sorrows it feels

I put my arms in a sling and it leaves again

once, not again though,

I scaled the dragon’s scales

and felt it’s glistening ivory teeth

it snarled, hissed, and embraced me

I couldn’t push it

or leave

it would stay posted with it’s eyes open

for weeks on weeks

it hunkered down into dirt after, however

and escaped safely

tiptoeing, and stomping once the chase began

 

more from And Her Name Was Morphine

home

 

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinrssby feather

Welcome to
defenestrationism reality.

Read full projects from our
retro navigation panel, left,
or start with !What's New!

Follow Us