Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Great few days of poetry all over town...

DAVID TRINIDAD & ROBYN SCHIFF

Sunday, October 15, 7 pm
Myopic Books
1564 N. Milwaukee Ave, Wicker Park, Chicago

6 Comments:

At 1:12 PM, Blogger chicagopoetry said...

Say, what is this, guys? I don't set up milk.blogspot or discrete.blogspot or myopic.blogspot so why do you set up chicagopoetry.blogspot? I established the domain name chicagopoetry fair and square and promoted it through seven years of hard work and I really don't appreciate when people piggyback on it like this. I have nothing against any of you, and I often help spread the word for you guys, so I don't understand why you would use my domain name like this.

--CJ

 
At 11:15 PM, Blogger Michael said...

Mr. Michael Lee Johnson lives in Chicago, IL. after spending 10 years in Edmonton, Alberta Canada during the Viet Nam era. He is a freelance writer and poet. He is heavy influenced by Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, & William Carlos Williams, Leonard Cohen.

He is presently self-employed, with a previous background in social service areas. He has a B.A. degree in sociology, worked on a Masters Program in Correctional Administration, started a pre-Phd program & quit. He took a creative writing course in university on a pass/fail basis-he failed.

Mr. Michael Lee Johnson has several poems pending publication March. through Nov. 2007. He has a huge box of "unfinished" poems, dating back to 1965-67 to the present. They are getting published faster than he can revive or revise them. Yellowed papers, wrinkled napkins and all, they wait for the hand of revival. He have not submitted poems, till recently, since the early 70's,- remember, the "old fashioned" way, via mail. In 2006/2007, over 200 poems have been publisher or pending publication by Michael Lee Johnson. He is a member of Poets & Writers, Inc; Directory of American Poets & Fictions Writers: http://www.pw.org/directory/. A sample of published poems can be found at:

The Orange Room Review website: http://www.freewebs.com/theorangeroomreview/;
Bolts Of Silk website: http://boltsofsilk.blogspot.com;
The Flask Review: http://www.freewebs.com/theflaskreview/;
Apollo's Lyre, in their webzine: http://www.apollos-lyre.com/;
Chantarelle's Notebook website: http://www.chantarellesnotebook.co m;
Fresh! On Line Literary Magazine website: http://members.aol.com/shirgerald/shortst.htm
The Foliate Oak Online Literary Magazine: http://www.foliateoak.uamont.edu/.
Poetry Cemetery: http://www.poetrycemetery.com/
Ken*Again: http://kenagain.freeservers.com/
Official Site of Laura Hird, Showcased Featured Poet: http://www.laurahird.com.
Poets & Writers, Inc.; Directory of Poets & Fiction Writers: http://www.pw.org/directory/
The Centrifugal Eye: http://centrifugaleye.com/.
Adagio Verse Quarterly: http://www.geocities.com/adagioversequarterly/
Miller’s Pond: http://millerspondpoetry.com/

Many additional poem, too many to mention here.


Michael Lee Johnson
1531 West Irving Park Rd, 212C
Itasca, Illinois 60143
Ph: 630-467-1332/30
Itasca, Illinois 60143
poetryman@walla.com
or
poetryboy@walla.com




Open to editorial comment & corrections.
Poems below


Caricature Of An Early Planter
(Edmonton, Alberta Canada)



He is a gardener
with a spyglass.

With an ice pick
cavities are chopped
out of the earths torpid
mouth, dry seeds are packed
in with frostbitten fingertips.

He rakes his yard clear
of all snow in winter
so green blades of grass
will pop through frozen
earth.

He will weed, thin his garden early.
He is a realist; he writes poetry also.



Edmonton Streets


Dec. 23rd,
alone,
40 below zero,
he died a cold
winter death
on 105th St.
near North
Saskatchewan River.

In his steel casket
buried beneath
rooted, frozen earth,
squirms the
lifeless breathing
of winter.



Unknown Poet From Rue Montpelier


I warned you darts with advise
strong words tripping over emotions
like an imbecile -
so you think you’re Leonard Cohen
loving some naked Nancy in a cluttered
matchbox apartment overlooking
European culture simulated,
above some obscure, narrow
Montreal street?

For your information,
straight poetics from insanities Almanac,
Leonard Cohen died years ago
in a twisted pickle poem he
entitled “Narcissism.”

Do you & your welfare lover
desire to be the 2nd generation,
deceased , unnoticed, unheard of,
unwarranted for failure artists
inside this thin, onion skinned wall
dingy with your dreams?
I warned you darts with advise,
tapering off with your impotence.



Revolutionary Snow


Poem dancer,
Russian yellow in revolutionary white snow.
Am I really Yuri Zhivago
Hidden in this funeral procession
Held high by paw bearers, looking at my dead father?
Lifting him up stairs into the Russian Orthodox church?
Only for the sake of snowflakes & the pouring
of aged Vodka on the casket?
Only for the growth of rebellious youth,
the sweet aging of wrath?
Does a somber poet lose his flavor
Of word and dance & turn to medicine-
like children finding meaning
in racing around rooms and mazes
holding hands and losing direction
before their breath stops, the punctuation dies?
Poem dancer Russian yellow in white snow-
50/50 the poet dies alone.


Wind Chimes

The wind chimes
On the balcony
Today,
Make different
Sounds in all
Different directions-
My thoughts follow them.


Playful


Nothing
more playful
than a gray
moth dancing
-skeleton wings-
and a green-eyed
cat prancing
-paws swatting-
around a
lit kerosene
lamp
-shadow boxing-
& we all
had fun
in the
moonlight



Bipolar


Awake
night
light
jungle
twisted branches of thought.
One character linked to the
insane personality of the other.
Bipolar in a universe of singles.
The fear of aloneness hearing
cracks in your walls; the joy
jumbling into the municipal pool
in Hillside, Illinois at 3 am.
Bipolar, witched, and alone.
Late to work staring at your
employer dart split eyes.
Tattered with memories dancing
on the tablecloth with glee
slapped on the face with a teaspoon
just to feel the sadness leave.
Bipolar, witched, and alone.
Seldom ever hear happiness
that doesn’t sound like a fire
siren camping in your eardrums.
Meds crank up & crank down;
moods follow the meds
or do meds follow the moods?
Personal wars echo words in my ears.
Even during silent times the night
roars like street jungles.
Bipolar, witched, and alone.


Battered Behind Dark Glasses


An otherwise beautiful lady
with eyes matted & closed
is not exactly sleeping.

The trouble goes deeper,
the doctor has a laser
light drill penetrating her eyes
That have turned thunderstorm
Black with smudges of red & pink.

She tells herself this will never
happen again, there will be no
rebirth with him.

In idle hours she self-nurses
a cave of hurts. The lights are off;
her eyes are bruised & burning.

In the morning, still in bed she looks in a mirror,
Her face thickened with puff & irony-
she weeps splinters sounds.

Above her head on the lamp desk the alarm clock keep ticking,
across the room, around the corner, the refrigerator keeps humming.

The man who had his way is dark in her, like distant echoes
embedded in a memory or shadow.

She owes him nothing. He hears none of her sounds.

 
At 11:15 PM, Blogger Michael said...

Mr. Michael Lee Johnson lives in Chicago, IL. after spending 10 years in Edmonton, Alberta Canada during the Viet Nam era. He is a freelance writer and poet. He is heavy influenced by Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, & William Carlos Williams, Leonard Cohen.

He is presently self-employed, with a previous background in social service areas. He has a B.A. degree in sociology, worked on a Masters Program in Correctional Administration, started a pre-Phd program & quit. He took a creative writing course in university on a pass/fail basis-he failed.

Mr. Michael Lee Johnson has several poems pending publication March. through Nov. 2007. He has a huge box of "unfinished" poems, dating back to 1965-67 to the present. They are getting published faster than he can revive or revise them. Yellowed papers, wrinkled napkins and all, they wait for the hand of revival. He have not submitted poems, till recently, since the early 70's,- remember, the "old fashioned" way, via mail. In 2006/2007, over 200 poems have been publisher or pending publication by Michael Lee Johnson. He is a member of Poets & Writers, Inc; Directory of American Poets & Fictions Writers: http://www.pw.org/directory/. A sample of published poems can be found at:

The Orange Room Review website: http://www.freewebs.com/theorangeroomreview/;
Bolts Of Silk website: http://boltsofsilk.blogspot.com;
The Flask Review: http://www.freewebs.com/theflaskreview/;
Apollo's Lyre, in their webzine: http://www.apollos-lyre.com/;
Chantarelle's Notebook website: http://www.chantarellesnotebook.co m;
Fresh! On Line Literary Magazine website: http://members.aol.com/shirgerald/shortst.htm
The Foliate Oak Online Literary Magazine: http://www.foliateoak.uamont.edu/.
Poetry Cemetery: http://www.poetrycemetery.com/
Ken*Again: http://kenagain.freeservers.com/
Official Site of Laura Hird, Showcased Featured Poet: http://www.laurahird.com.
Poets & Writers, Inc.; Directory of Poets & Fiction Writers: http://www.pw.org/directory/
The Centrifugal Eye: http://centrifugaleye.com/.
Adagio Verse Quarterly: http://www.geocities.com/adagioversequarterly/
Miller’s Pond: http://millerspondpoetry.com/

Many additional poem, too many to mention here.


Michael Lee Johnson
1531 West Irving Park Rd, 212C
Itasca, Illinois 60143
Ph: 630-467-1332/30
Itasca, Illinois 60143
poetryman@walla.com
or
poetryboy@walla.com




Open to editorial comment & corrections.
Poems below


Caricature Of An Early Planter
(Edmonton, Alberta Canada)



He is a gardener
with a spyglass.

With an ice pick
cavities are chopped
out of the earths torpid
mouth, dry seeds are packed
in with frostbitten fingertips.

He rakes his yard clear
of all snow in winter
so green blades of grass
will pop through frozen
earth.

He will weed, thin his garden early.
He is a realist; he writes poetry also.



Edmonton Streets


Dec. 23rd,
alone,
40 below zero,
he died a cold
winter death
on 105th St.
near North
Saskatchewan River.

In his steel casket
buried beneath
rooted, frozen earth,
squirms the
lifeless breathing
of winter.



Unknown Poet From Rue Montpelier


I warned you darts with advise
strong words tripping over emotions
like an imbecile -
so you think you’re Leonard Cohen
loving some naked Nancy in a cluttered
matchbox apartment overlooking
European culture simulated,
above some obscure, narrow
Montreal street?

For your information,
straight poetics from insanities Almanac,
Leonard Cohen died years ago
in a twisted pickle poem he
entitled “Narcissism.”

Do you & your welfare lover
desire to be the 2nd generation,
deceased , unnoticed, unheard of,
unwarranted for failure artists
inside this thin, onion skinned wall
dingy with your dreams?
I warned you darts with advise,
tapering off with your impotence.



Revolutionary Snow


Poem dancer,
Russian yellow in revolutionary white snow.
Am I really Yuri Zhivago
Hidden in this funeral procession
Held high by paw bearers, looking at my dead father?
Lifting him up stairs into the Russian Orthodox church?
Only for the sake of snowflakes & the pouring
of aged Vodka on the casket?
Only for the growth of rebellious youth,
the sweet aging of wrath?
Does a somber poet lose his flavor
Of word and dance & turn to medicine-
like children finding meaning
in racing around rooms and mazes
holding hands and losing direction
before their breath stops, the punctuation dies?
Poem dancer Russian yellow in white snow-
50/50 the poet dies alone.


Wind Chimes

The wind chimes
On the balcony
Today,
Make different
Sounds in all
Different directions-
My thoughts follow them.


Playful


Nothing
more playful
than a gray
moth dancing
-skeleton wings-
and a green-eyed
cat prancing
-paws swatting-
around a
lit kerosene
lamp
-shadow boxing-
& we all
had fun
in the
moonlight



Bipolar


Awake
night
light
jungle
twisted branches of thought.
One character linked to the
insane personality of the other.
Bipolar in a universe of singles.
The fear of aloneness hearing
cracks in your walls; the joy
jumbling into the municipal pool
in Hillside, Illinois at 3 am.
Bipolar, witched, and alone.
Late to work staring at your
employer dart split eyes.
Tattered with memories dancing
on the tablecloth with glee
slapped on the face with a teaspoon
just to feel the sadness leave.
Bipolar, witched, and alone.
Seldom ever hear happiness
that doesn’t sound like a fire
siren camping in your eardrums.
Meds crank up & crank down;
moods follow the meds
or do meds follow the moods?
Personal wars echo words in my ears.
Even during silent times the night
roars like street jungles.
Bipolar, witched, and alone.


Battered Behind Dark Glasses


An otherwise beautiful lady
with eyes matted & closed
is not exactly sleeping.

The trouble goes deeper,
the doctor has a laser
light drill penetrating her eyes
That have turned thunderstorm
Black with smudges of red & pink.

She tells herself this will never
happen again, there will be no
rebirth with him.

In idle hours she self-nurses
a cave of hurts. The lights are off;
her eyes are bruised & burning.

In the morning, still in bed she looks in a mirror,
Her face thickened with puff & irony-
she weeps splinters sounds.

Above her head on the lamp desk the alarm clock keep ticking,
across the room, around the corner, the refrigerator keeps humming.

The man who had his way is dark in her, like distant echoes
embedded in a memory or shadow.

She owes him nothing. He hears none of her sounds.

 
At 5:05 AM, Blogger Michael said...

Mr. Michael Lee Johnson lives in Chicago. He is a freelance writer and poet, heavily influenced by Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Irving Layton, and Leonard Cohen. Now The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom is available for purchase iUniverse Publishers at: http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?isbn=0-595-46091-7 The ISBN # is: 0-595-46091-7.
E-Book also available at iUniverse at: http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?isbn=0-595-90391-6
Michael Lee Johnson’s 1st chapbook of poems and his first paperback of poems are both available for purchase or download at: lulu.com. You can visit his storefront here: http://stores.lulu.com/poetryboy The Lost American: A Tender Touch & a Shade of Blue (Chapbook); The Lost American II: From Exile to Freedom (Paperback).
His website can be found at: http://poetryman.mysite.com/.

The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom, by raising star, Michael Lee Johnson, poet and freelance writer, is about one man's journey into exile to Canada over the Vietnam War many years ago, his struggle, his survival, his road to recovery and strength manifesting itself through his prose, poems, and personal convictions. Mr. Michael Lee Johnson now lives in Illinois, United States. We feel sure you will delight in his work. Michael is a poet, painting his words with a tender and gentle touch, allowing them to create a broad landscape with just a few deceptively simple strokes. Take a short flight into freedom and read the adventures of an unusual life, touching the moments many with an average eye simply miss. Whether it be the agony of self-imposed exile for a cause; or a tender moment with lights flickering in the dark, the emotions come through. Here are two sample poems:

Skinny Indiana Boy

With a heart once as big as Texas
or Alberta where he came from,
the draft resister tries to erase
the memory of his sordid past;
coming out of the Rockies,
down over the slate, out of self-imposed exile,
he leaves the northland shaking
his bandaged fists at the prairie sky.
He was robbed of his own conviction
by a war that ended, others forgot,
there was nothing left to die for, to wait for,
no more protest signs to carry in the dark -
only the chill of the northern winter left
to remind him of what he once felt,
once talked about.
The night looked long in his deep green eyes
robbing his faint life away.
The scream of loneliness has turned
his innards inside out to pity.
Non-religious accept for those
weakened moments, empty nights,
vacant lots, he leaves behind lightless
ten years of those silent wars
without refuge.
He no longer speaks with bullets bleeding
from his mouth, he no longer searches
the quiet whispers that echo in the pines.
Now he is at home near the land of Indiana lakes
where in his childhood he created the vision for his
now dead dream, content to say nothing radical anymore-
just glad to be alive.

-1981-

Flight of the Eagle

From the dawn, dusty skies
comes the time when
the eagle flies-
without thought,
without aid of wind,
like a kite detached without string,
the eagle in flight leaves no traces,
no trails, no roadways-
never a feather drops
out of the sky.

-1981-


Mr. Michael Lee Johnson lives in Chicago, IL after spending 10 years in Edmonton, Alberta Canada during the Viet Nam era. He is a freelance writer and poet. He is heavy influenced by Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Irving Layton, and Leonard Cohen. To date he has over 348 poems published in over 133 journals and online publications. He is a member of Poets & Writers, Inc and Directory of American Poets and Fictions Writers: http://www.pw.org/directory/. He has been published in the United States, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, Nigeria, India, and the United Kingdom.

Author can be contacted at: poetryman@walla.com or promomanusa@gmail.com

 
At 5:07 AM, Blogger Michael said...

Mr. Michael Lee Johnson lives in Chicago. He is a freelance writer and poet, heavily influenced by Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Irving Layton, and Leonard Cohen. Now The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom is available for purchase iUniverse Publishers at: http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?isbn=0-595-46091-7 The ISBN # is: 0-595-46091-7.
E-Book also available at iUniverse at: http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?isbn=0-595-90391-6
Michael Lee Johnson’s 1st chapbook of poems and his first paperback of poems are both available for purchase or download at: lulu.com. You can visit his storefront here: http://stores.lulu.com/poetryboy The Lost American: A Tender Touch & a Shade of Blue (Chapbook); The Lost American II: From Exile to Freedom (Paperback).
His website can be found at: http://poetryman.mysite.com/.

The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom, by raising star, Michael Lee Johnson, poet and freelance writer, is about one man's journey into exile to Canada over the Vietnam War many years ago, his struggle, his survival, his road to recovery and strength manifesting itself through his prose, poems, and personal convictions. Mr. Michael Lee Johnson now lives in Illinois, United States. We feel sure you will delight in his work. Michael is a poet, painting his words with a tender and gentle touch, allowing them to create a broad landscape with just a few deceptively simple strokes. Take a short flight into freedom and read the adventures of an unusual life, touching the moments many with an average eye simply miss. Whether it be the agony of self-imposed exile for a cause; or a tender moment with lights flickering in the dark, the emotions come through. Here are two sample poems:

Skinny Indiana Boy

With a heart once as big as Texas
or Alberta where he came from,
the draft resister tries to erase
the memory of his sordid past;
coming out of the Rockies,
down over the slate, out of self-imposed exile,
he leaves the northland shaking
his bandaged fists at the prairie sky.
He was robbed of his own conviction
by a war that ended, others forgot,
there was nothing left to die for, to wait for,
no more protest signs to carry in the dark -
only the chill of the northern winter left
to remind him of what he once felt,
once talked about.
The night looked long in his deep green eyes
robbing his faint life away.
The scream of loneliness has turned
his innards inside out to pity.
Non-religious accept for those
weakened moments, empty nights,
vacant lots, he leaves behind lightless
ten years of those silent wars
without refuge.
He no longer speaks with bullets bleeding
from his mouth, he no longer searches
the quiet whispers that echo in the pines.
Now he is at home near the land of Indiana lakes
where in his childhood he created the vision for his
now dead dream, content to say nothing radical anymore-
just glad to be alive.

-1981-

Flight of the Eagle

From the dawn, dusty skies
comes the time when
the eagle flies-
without thought,
without aid of wind,
like a kite detached without string,
the eagle in flight leaves no traces,
no trails, no roadways-
never a feather drops
out of the sky.

-1981-


Mr. Michael Lee Johnson lives in Chicago, IL after spending 10 years in Edmonton, Alberta Canada during the Viet Nam era. He is a freelance writer and poet. He is heavy influenced by Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Irving Layton, and Leonard Cohen. To date he has over 348 poems published in over 133 journals and online publications. He is a member of Poets & Writers, Inc and Directory of American Poets and Fictions Writers: http://www.pw.org/directory/. He has been published in the United States, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, Nigeria, India, and the United Kingdom.

Author can be contacted at: poetryman@walla.com or promomanusa@gmail.com

 
At 7:21 AM, Blogger Ridwan said...

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www.onlineuniversalwork.com

 

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