Sunday, January 6 – Poems from the past

Eulogy For A Poem
I’ve missed these lonely nights
Where words poured through my soul
Melting icicles that drip with cold thoughts
Longing for beauty as she smiles in consonants
And voraciously laughs in vowels
Typed or written to soothe the anxiety of assimilation
A concept taken for granted as we peer
Through lit screens emancipated by wireless dreams
And roads that travel everywhere and lead us into
And occasional satisfaction
Words dripping from desire as the night sleeps on
With an audience of stars that shift directions
Keeping time in a wound up black hole of light
Reflecting back each image as fast as my mind
Can travel
Correcting all the pragmatic punctuation that slips
From coffee stained bookmarks
Homeless from lack of attention
Replaced by digital dialogues dancing on video monitors
Similar to the eye of Cyclops
Staring at my empty poetry portfolio
Begging for attention
Relieved at the sight of one
Squeezed out bloody turnip of a poem
Glistening in the promise of another.
It occurs to me that I am not finished
That I am still alive with Einstein’s belief in

©Ellen Johnson – June 14 2006

This poem is available on the CD “These Days” featuring Sheila Jordan improvising in the background (available at iTunes and CDBaby.com).

(For Sheila Jordan)

Little messenger
Singing jazz
As she passes our way
On the wings of blackbirds
That blow bebop changes
While telling Charlie’s stories
Through sagacious Cherokee eyes
Not a surprise
To watch wood and flesh
Inspired by the rhythm of ancient ancestors
Calling from the heart of time
The phrases of truth
Dripping down piano keys
Just to please
The songbird
Who perches on our souls
Spreading her seeds of joy
And love
And hope
While God holds her essence
In the perpetual palm of his spirit
As a gift to humanity.

Ellen Johnson
©2004 Long Snows Moon Music


I’ve been writing poetry since I was a young child.

For some reason it was one of the ways I expressed my inner voice.

In 5th grade I wrote a poem about Abraham Lincoln. It started out

“Lincoln, oh Lincoln, what can I say To tell you how happy we are on this day…”
It was obviously for Lincoln’s birthday and I was asked to speak it in front of the school assembly, which might have been my actual first real performance on stage.
After that I continued to write and was an avid reader too. In 6th grade I wrote a sonnet about death. Yes, about death. Which I’m sure today would have been considered a red flag for some heinous crime I would commit in my lifetime. Instead it was an indication of my never-ending curiosity about life of which death is a big part.

Poetry has always been a way for me to express my unstructured being much like a photographer creates images of emotion. Some of these are sweet and simple and others may surprise you as the content is dark and many times irreverent.

I just figure I’m too old to care now. I’m documenting my experience as a human, being on this planet. It has moments of pure beauty along with deep frustration. I’m not trying to make my fortune by writing by perhaps writing for good fortune. We’ll see.

So I hope some of these poems resonate with your being in some capacity.

If not, that’s fine. Move on…


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