Sunday, March 31, 2013


Tomorrow - ahh at last, NAPOWRIMO. Fodder for ideas, for forms, for creativity! Camaraderie! Join the group at NAPOWRIMO   April at last with more chance of rain than snow and poems, lots of poems.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Write a poem a day in April!

Take the challenge, join NAPOWRIMO and write one poem each day in April. Or, just write a few! Get the details here:

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Sneak It In (Keep)

I had published a Cento here - but took it down when a spider crawling for one of the poets checked the blog. I wondered how I would like it if someone used one of my lines in a Cento poem that completely changed its meaning. Answer: I would not like it much. So instead, here's a poem of mine, Sneak It In, published in The Green Tricycle, an online journal which has now gone dark.

Sneak It In
        for Jeff

If you play jazz you
can take a breezy name like
Urbie or Ella and title pieces
with talk of percussion's
spaced beats and woodwind's
shady nature, then usher in
the do-wrong do-wrong
of a cheating lover. You can
address with offhand ease
the don't cry spills
of life on the street.
Big things that come straight
in the slur and faint of a sax -
coaxed to life from nonchalance.
Ice it all off with a vamp's
slow voice conjuring
implicit innuendos
from isotopes to Isadora.

Patricia L. Johnson

Monday, March 4, 2013

Yoga Lesson

Here is a poem that is published in Ars Medica, Spring 2012, Vol. 8, No. 2

This is the finished version published in 2012 in Ars Medica

Yoga Lesson

Patricia L. Johnson

We are not friends, although good neighbours.
She’s asked me to teach her some poses

to help soothe tight tissues, gently stretch sore
muscles that burn since cancer took one breast.

She comes out of the downward pose, raises
her exercise shirt above her waist.

She faces close in her secure manner
irises afire with sienna and black specks,

gathers the fabric of the T-shirt, pulls
it over shoulders, over her strong-muscled torso.

Her expression softens, “See how good
they made it look?” I look at firm sleek skin,

at the reconstruction. The perfectly matched
weight of the form of the replacement breast

rounds believably beneath her skin.
I wonder at the lack of exposed scars,

the perfect placement of her nipple.
When I can speak I tell her, "You are beautiful."

No change in her face, she places her hands
on the mat, returns to Savanasana.

Her arms and legs hold the inverted-V posture.
She is content with her command of pose.

There is nothing I might say
that could replace the pliancy and contour

of nature’s milky glands;
but what I told her was the truth.