noel-johnson
American
Born and raised in Kansas City, I now live on the border of Mexico in Arizona. My work is restoring and protecting wetlands and beyond that I dream of living by the sea. Writing has been a lifeboat for me, a gentle companion and avenue for expression. Sometime when my days are not so full with cattails, mallards and trails (which I love) I want to combine writing with handmade paper and art books. Thank you for sharing your work with me... it's so much more fun this way!
After the last embrace
After the last goodbye..
Won't you linger longer...
Change your mind and stay.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
Spirits, sages, mystics and wizards
shamans and charmers
voodoo, hoodoo...wanga and juju
and..
old old women- those teller of tales
weavers of dreams....casters of spells
Warnings of darkness and deepness
conjuring clues or readings
from spangled stars on black nights
Guidance on this spiritual journey... this mystical quest
Sunrise into sunset... dark into night
Answers to questions you never asked
Questions to answers
long buried in self shrouded past
There are those who would lead you
to dark alleys astray
Those who would steal your hearts diamonds,
your trust.. and betray
You hear whispers and rumors
strange tongues, and hushed voices... muffled sighs
You search for everything and nothing in the shadowy mist
What are true truths... what are lies?
Keep your eyes open..receive the whole
and know..
That real truth is sometimes
in the unexpected, the untold, the unwritten, the uncharted....
Like..
in the moment of exhale from one true kiss!
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
If you walk into your fields,
to reap what you had sown..
And find that only rocks and stones lay
where you had wished a harvest...
Begin to gather rock by rock and stone by stone
to build instead a mountain.
Then climb up to the summit,
and wait till dark to see the spangled sky... so glorious!
you cannot help but pray,
And...
You might want to make a wish again...
that's what stars are for!
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
In this border town where lines are smudged
a ****** girl finds her place
hot nights and spanish guitar lulls her into a past lugar..
where hands and mouths and more touched and found
and now..
she's still that same ****** girl
guitar strings wrap around her history and she grabs hold
just as she was about to fall into a sad memory..not that old.
a border town..or further south can bring reality to the guesses of the masses
that beauty and love can exist in between the spaces
where the should nots and could nots can't get to no matter the color of our faces
she won't stay here... but she's glad she came for awhile.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC