OLDER

Looking beyond surface, whether

smooth, disquiet or creased –

does not arise spontaneously.

Only now, when life has

forced my hand, do I

seek source in

everyone.

No fault or even intention,

culture coursing

strong through the blood –

genetics stronger. And though soul has

ever yearned to freely feel, this

person that I have become glimpses,

only in scattered fragments, the

nature of self -

never mind another.

But when clarity comes, it

ignites, sparks inside.

In that well worn

face is another myself –

one who has laughed, loved,

quarreled and sexed,

interpreted the world through

mask and mayhem - yet we

share in common wonder, awe,

the same uncertainties -

pounding of blood in the

temples, shedding of

youth and even longing –

until life, like the soil,

wrests us under and we break

free of flesh to

rejoin cosmos as

glittering atoms of awareness,

imploding through time, space and,

for all we know,

eternity.

- copyright 2010, Bela Johnson

(photo Scott Nearing - peaceworkmagazine.org)

TECHNO FAILURE

I should bend to technology.

Thrill to smart clink produced when

perfectly flat pot belly

flops onto glass,

illuminated by electric

spirals of heat.

Instead I long for blue fire, the

sizzle of condensation’s kiss,

living flame.

Yearn to heft iron cast onto

burner grate – vessel requiring

special washing, swipe of

olive oil onto pitted base,

crusted like asphalt from

generations of

honest service.

- copyright 2010, Bela Johnson

KINDNESS

... cannot be bought, bestowed or

begged, it needs to be

learned if not

innate to the spirit.

When all is exhausted,

manipulations useless, when

means by which the wit is worn

threadbare – it may

appear, then vanish with just

one

minute

obstacle.

Yet, when adversity and travail leave

no doubt the humanity we

share in common,

It emerges –

meekly at first, then

stronger, like a stranger

coming forth from

too long in shadow – a

dear, lost companion,

returned to make merry and

awaken one into

life more

fully.

- copyright 2009, Bela Johnson

ANTS

The mind loves detail or

accepts it, long as it

rhymes or carries a tune, catchy like some

Madison Avenue doughnut dirge –

Gathers like storm clouds on the horizon,

picking up energy, speed,

endurance – then

pounding, plodding - an

army of fiery ants,

nesting in the folds of grey matter,

marching straight through the

poison bait and

into the sugar bowl.

- copyright 2009, Bela Johnson

image copyright Alex Grey

SLEEP

We did not do it well.

slumbering in the darkness,

tripping over minefields of the past -

Days Gone By.

Withering evening bids us entry, but

to where?

Unknown territory of the gods, we

cannot control

that landscape.

Restless sleep

guarantees remembrance, making

that world into this -

Reality becomes distorted,

Lingering between dawn and

dreading dusk.

- copyright 2006, Bela Johnson

WORD

Wheel turns, hands clutch the

face of time caught

stretching its wings.

Creativity shelved when

circumstance inserts itself.

Mundane acts,

excuses for living, rob

breath meant for

beauty’s expression.

How much energy spills when we

attempt to cull kindness from the

rubble of relationship? What is

left of right action when

another’s blindness

robs us of the light?

Inside a small flicker sets

fire to the soul, flames

licking insides clean.

And then,

warmed by wisdom,

she takes flight.

- Copyright 2009, Bela Johnson

DEAD TULIPS

Folded over in defeat they lie,

backs broken –

testament to paradox.

Brilliant crimson, black

kaleidoscope centers -

perfection amidst decay.

Isn’t it time to face the

inevitable? Resist the

impulse to improve?

Silent sedge and flower

accept place betwixt

bud and beyond,

bowing to the

grace that sustains while the

sun streams golden halos on

field and forest.

- Copyright Bela Johnson, 2009