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Poems (5)!

Nonsense poetry...

I'm as crazy as Kansas in August...
I can relate tho' I've never been there
If you'll excuse, I think I too would choose
to remember a childhood somewhere...

The fifties were cool, it was way back at school
When we thought we could be all our dreams...
But then came our lives as we soon became wives
We were coming apart at the seams...

Oh I'm as Kookie as Canton Good fortune
I kept my dreams, though I cannot say why
If you'll excuse if your picture I use
I'm so glad I'm so glad I'm so glad that my dreams help me fly!

c.13 feb 2000 Jane Johnson

'Pure Nonsense'

The wonderful way words work themselves
Like 'virtual dreams of mechanical elves'
Makes 'soundbytes-with-data' a ribbon-like beast
Whereas sense, against nonsense, is plain fare at feast...
With wit and with wisdom, we wield words like wands,
Trading 'freedom from fantasy' for freeing our bonds...
I'm not crazy for logic that's boring and staid
When words that weave magic can leap, shine, and fade
For a brief entertainment, why, nonsense profound
Delights, lifting heavy hearts clear off the ground,
Since levity and gravity's constant ebb and flow
Show both whimsy and beauty - like Love's afterglow!

'A Christmas Trio'

Happy Christmas...
Happy Concepts...

This is the Concept tree
with lights and decorations glowing...
Parcels a-foot, like rivers flowing
a stream of packaged, addressed ideas
a dream of skilfully-woven fears
dressed up as children's playthings,
justified and brought to attention...
God consciousness? Hardly a mention
for this is the kingdom of baal down here...
Like chattering thieves, consumers, shopkeepers,
raise challenge to Death not to cull us nor reap us
endlessly processing fairy fools-gold
'tis tinsel and glitter, not water we hold -
we get more run down as our well runs dry
we live like machines till our batteries die...
Eating the concepts, eating the leaves,
letting head forget what the heart believes,
while the baal puppet-master just laughs at our cry
as the pain and the friction make sparks and wars fly...
Is this the gold that the fairies hold?
Then why the echo in my soul saying "Sold!"
the one-way ticket to paradise?
Where you and I, my beloved, fly
untouched by such poisonous fruits as these...

A British Christmas
For Asylum Seekers...

So is 'Peace' the less
When said by foreign tongue
Or when sweet hymns of love
by other cultures sung?
Does Faith only impress
When words are understood
Or is it Heart, the witness
Of what makes Heart feel good?

We have no gauge for tongue
Though words be sweet
If intent is not pure,
They're poisoned meat
Sometimes, though I hear
In my mother's tongue,
The words are meaningless,
Casually flung

If politicians' words
Are said for effect
Their meaning can be hard
For us to detect
But the quick brief smile
The shrug, the solitary tear
Speak volumes when the words
I cannot hear

'Peace' in a thousand tongues
Is yet one word
Meaning more than any sound
By our ears heard
So why the xenophobic lie
'No room at the Inn'
When hearts can open wide
To let Love in...

* * * * *

A Christmas Gift...

Oh, make the most of Youth, Sweetpea,
For swift it passes by
When first, at birth
'Down' stands for Earth,
And 'Up There' is the sky...

Oh, make the most of Health, Young Plum,
For soon enough we try
To use our Health
To increase our Wealth,
And the Joy of life passes by...

Oh, make the most of Love, Dear Heart,
It's the sweetest of Life's jewels
And it's easy to lose,
As we chop and choose,
In the search for Life's simple rules...

Oh, make the most of Breath, my love,
Of wind and limb, and Time
For the closer we come to Death, my dear,
It's the gift the most sublime
Breath's Gift, it's the most sublime...

* * * * *

The above 'Christmas Trio' was written at different times, but posted together in response to a thread on the message board of

The Dome Writers' Site

My Grandmother
(My Grandson Joshua might say)
By Jane Johnson, Copyright 2000

Grandmother's house is full of mess
Of bric a brac and more or less
Anything else you'd think to find
That other folks have left behind

There's a load of papers, magazines
In piles and stacks - and each one leans
As if it were about to fall
With more bric a brac strewn over all.

There are things she meant to throw away
Or put somewhere - just the other day
There are jobs undone, half finished, there
Since she couldn't manage, no one to care

There are letters to write, and bills to pay
(They'll have to wait for another day)
The washing up's done, but the dishes are still
On the draining board, or the window sill

The clothes are washed, and left in a pile
In the living room - they'll go up in a while
In the bedroom it's just the same as before
It's hard to get inside the door

The papers are strewn all over the floor
Wherever you look, there is mess - and more
Her medicines queue beside her bed
Some are old, some are new, I asked, 'Why?' - She said;

'At least I can find them there, my dear,
If I took them downstairs, they'd disappear.'
Granny's Hoover is broken, her gas cooker leaks
The new one's stood there in the lounge for weeks

'When the gas man comes, he'll take this one away'
Says Granny, but when asked; 'Well, not today!'
('Would you like some tea?' she asks with a smile
As she washes a cup that's been there for a while)

'Can I get you some toast? Or a biscuit or two?
There's plenty here - your favourite, too!'
(You know she's bought them just for you,
In case you might visit, for something to do.)

Lord knows what she does with her time each day
As she potters around, but there's one thing I'll say
For Granny's enrolled at the College, you see,
As she wants to learn new things, to keep up with me

She's enjoyed it so much, she now does two or three
Kinds of study - for hours - music, songs, poetry
I really don't know how she does it at all
There are so many things that she can't recall

She forgets our names, what we do, what we said
But still she does washing and sees we are fed
She has me to stay when my Mum works at night
In the pub down the road - I'm with Granny, all right?

She lets me watch telly, play computer games
Who cares if she doesn't remember their names?
She tells me a story - or two, three, or four
(And sometimes I get her to tell me some more)

She gets Choco-cornflakes in 'specially for me
And smiles, as she sits there, drinking her tea.
Though I wake her too early, she doesn't mind
The wrinkles she has on her face just look kind

We get up quite early, there's so much to do
Walk the dog, have a bath, (and have breakfast too
Before Mummy gets here to take me away)
My Granny says 'What are you doing today?'

I think she's funny - like Mummy is too
Pretending my rabbit talks back to you
'Well, Mr B rabbit?' I heard her say
'What does the B stand for, answer me pray?'

'Why Bunny, of course!' he replies with a squeak
(I know Granny says it, her voice goes all weak)
Then he bounces (she makes him) and goes on and on
Till it seems like he's 'Someone' and rabbit is gone!

Then she gives him to me to have fun with, and goes
Downstairs to do something - what, nobody knows!
I go down to see her, I've got dressed at last
And tidied my jim-jams and made the bed fast

She's there in the kitchen, waiting for me
With a smile on her face, like she's pleased to see
A person my age - like my Mum was before
'Cause Granny was a Mummy in the days of yore!

The Music Playing is 'Nero To Infinity'
Composed, performed, and recorded
By Jane Johnson Copyright2000

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