Four poems | by Michael Lee Johnson

Classic 70’s Chick (V2)

Classic 70’s chick

scent of these times

gold digger want to be.

Poet & scholar stuck on

T.S. Eliot “The Waste Land.”

She tracks down a few stray men,

prospect hunks, & greenback dreams.

Her long legs stretched out

beneath this dinette table, these

high wooden heels hang out

@ Dusty, Dingy Bar & Grill.

She’s drenched-Charlie by Revlon 1973,

high hopes 4 sugar daddies,

fragile body, insecure but lean.

She wears that hot apple, sex red, jumpsuit.

That yellow bandana hangs

around her neck lowered downtown

below her bosom with a grin.

Her head stuff, insulated with cotton candy dreams

cramped in a Chinese fortune cookie aphorism.

G-String strung up itching @ her buttocks

positioned in spot her world for a change.

In action verbs flow,

this dance, these melodies,

Walt Disney world,

her magic pen, her ink that flows.

Restless Hawk (V2)


The angels of wings are always in flight

be the devil or archangel Michael.

I’m a hawk, I’m a night owl night

barroom flights, fighter,

seeing eyes that eye me contact,

not blind, a rhythm of sensuality.

I take my shower, deep breath,

scrub good off my skin, breath

in the single night, air alone.

These shadows highway unknown

Jesus crosses my night path 

Jesus crosses my sky early morn

with a paintbrush, a rainbow

and a promise when

I wake a new dream begins.

Single life is a barroom bitch.

Saskatchewan Sky




just a preview of love,

chip off 

an edge of


chip an edge off


and opening

multiple eyes

toward spring.

Theylovers, find themselves

near evening bush fire

great seal fish and open lake,

cuddle together

so wonderful there

where she comes from,

where did she go to

from here.

Leonard Cohen My Friend (V2)

Death is a bitch and a whore

comes with hat on or off, 

Jewish, Christian or lover years ago called Nancy.

Death is a passport, a left behind baggage note.

My leverage sinks, I see you pass human.

These my fears, your fright, being broke, old-royalties stole Suzanne.

Now branches, extended limbs, point outward nowhere-

doors Montreal collapse tomb, dance with me,

end perfume love, a few dead flowers.


Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, Illinois.  Mr. Johnson published in more than 1016 publications, his poems have appeared in 35 countries, he edits, publishes 10 different poetry sites.  Michael Lee Johnson, Itasca, IL, nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards for poetry 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016/and 2 Best of the Net 2017.  He also has 156 poetry videos on YouTube:  He is the Editor-in-chief of the anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze and Editor-in-chief of a second poetry anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses which is now available here:


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