We sail we sleep we scry by land
We dig a pit beneath the sand
A place to keep the sun at bay
At dark we rise and find our way

With our faithful companion by our side
Put it all on the table and let it ride
Close to the drop-off on our long slide

The land we left becomes a dream
The ghosts we knew, they rise like steam
They leave some trails against the sky
All but invisible to the eye

With our faithful companion by our side
Put it all on the table and let it ride
Close to the drop-off on our long slide

Call off the search party,
Let mourners wail by the shore

Point to the spot where our ship disappeared
We're not coming home any more

Should you succeed and breach the coast
You tell your friends you've seen a ghost
You tell them all there's nothing here worth dying for
You leave it there

With our faithful companion by our side
Put it all on the table and let it ride
Close to the drop-off on our long slide

I yearn for the girl I used to be.

The girl who used to care about her studies.
The girl who used to write poetry.
The girl who used to sing confidently.
The girl who used to paint vividly.
The girl who used to love freely.
The girl who used to care deeply.

I do not care about my studies (as much).
I do not write poetry (as much).
I do not sing confidently (as much).
I do not paint vividly (as much).
I do not love freely (as much).
I do not care deeply (as much).

The intensity has passed on,
to younger generations,
to newer beings,
to fresh souls,
with more to live for,
with more to care for,
and with more to prepare for,
than I.

For I am old,
and I will continue to do the things I love,
but not with the passion,
but not with the love,
but not with the care,
but not with the confidence,
but not with the freedom,
that I once had.

f.m.s.

I got wet.

Then I got more wet.

Then I lost my keys.

And my shoes were filled with rain,

chattering teeth, soaked to my thighs

through to my skin

shrivelled up feet, trench foot set in

but then I think about real trench foot
and silently apologise to the poor sods
who died with wet feet

I cried when I peeled off my clothes

I felt sorry for myself

But the little un had made me a hot drink

So I thought myself lucky

I am not native to wet and cold

The sun is needed for us growin' old

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no more

So Close.

You sewed your mouth.
When it rained in your head.
For what it's lived.
& what it's not.
You sickened yourself to stay home
for me.
Come see me.
& lay in this bed.
Your algorithmic speech.
Flaunted.
Sitting sweater.
Tears seducing the *****.
Its dance.
Its cry.
You to be the muse.
You to make the sigh.
Of love & relief.
& with visions so delicate.
& prompted.
You play the strings then slumber.
Kept warm under.
Passing the sound.
Around.
& around it went.
& still goes.




Garrett Johnson.