living on earth: some thoughts on the next president (REVISED FOR THE MAN) - by Bil Johnson

the next president does not need to be a leader,
those working towards a just and moral society are not followers
a president should be a catalyst
the next president should be strong in character
should have courage.
the next president should be humble, which is not the same as weak,
i would argue humility is the exact opposite of weakness
i do not want a president who is bull-headed, the willingness to admit mistakes
then work to correct them is all but lost in our current batch of representatives.
i want a president who understands that government is by, of, and for the people. it is the people. and the people have the ability to change it. please, mr. president...a corporation is not a person. therefore a corporation should not have freedom of speech or due process etc etc. there is not a corporate bill of rights. the "right to profit" is not a right that supercedes
the right to a decent and honorable life. the "right to profit" is a luxury built on the backs of countless who did not profit (i do not begrudge the rich. only the rich and oblivious).
i want a president who will not succumb to the "unbridled savagry of capatalism" (pope john paul II).
i want a president who will ask the american people to sacrifice for the greater good. and war is not for the greater good. war is a profit game for wolves and vultures.
i do not want a president who suggests we should buy more things to ease our apparent
restlessness. the "pathology of consumption' (barry lopez) is a disease and we've all got it.
the next president should realize that our current pace of living is clearly not sustainable. the most basic premise of capatalism is, in fact, unsustainable. which came first production or consumption? in order to keep the machine squeaky-clean we will grow exponentially, chasing our tail of progress.
the next president should realize that growth is enemy of true progress. i want a president
who will surround himself with those who think differently.
i do not want a president who golfs. i want a president who has a nasty fadeaway jumper from, oh, say, 18-feet.
the next president should never use the phrase "acceptable level of violence"
and so on and so forth...

          wilLiam

FUTURE - by Bil Johnson

1.18.08

boy
the last month
you've been put through the wringer
flu
cold
pink eye
ear infection ear infection
and still
that smile. that laugh.

1.21.08

jack was born an anarchist in the true sense of the word (aren't all children?)
innocent. enlightened. anarchist.
authority figures are ignored with confidence. no rule-of-law no rule of class or race
no arbitrary self-righteous leader-figure holds sway over him.
he wishes no ill-will or harm he simply wants the shackles to dissolve.
he will disarm with a smile as he deconstructs a routine of days once believed to be
etched in stone. grinding ones focus until it is centered only on what is real what is tangible
what is truth. what is truth?
a look into jack's arresting blue-eyes is a look into our deep past.
food shelter unconditional love. these are all that exist.
as it should be.

1.28.08

AWAKE - by Bil Johnson

arresting blue eyes
testing these earthly waters
are all that exist
     *
loves to laugh out loud
at 'no-no you can't do that'
bookshelf waterfall
     *
simplicity jack
buddha jesus muhammad
simplicity son
     *
in your mind i know
already walking that trail
peaks and flowers bloom
     *
constant stream of sound
testing pitch and breath control
tiny tic-tac teeth
     *
yanking out leg hairs
your cuteness can't ease my pain
pinching cheeks as well

11.29.07
the pledge of grievance - by Bil Johnson

you.
is what we never were.
silent.
we no longer are.
invisible.
no more.
stepping through the fog.
of fanatical nationalism.
       can someone scream.
  please.

i am first a husband and father.
son. brother. grandson nephew cousin uncle.
i can no more swear allegiance to a government.
than a government can swear allegiance to me.

ALIVE - by Bil Johnson

cold mountain warm plain
syntax energy barrage
spanning centuries
     *
warm winter day but
i can see the cold coming
rather unpleasant looking
     *
old breath/wind still strong
makes phantoms from dirty snow
moans and cries and sings
     *
saw the old trickster
back burnt red like prairie grass
grinning coyote
     *
cold stella artois
london calling jack dancing
should i stay or should i go
     *
weather can't fool
one whom watches birds you know
i fly by moonlight

the bodhisattva chronicles - by Bil Johnson

“looking for the extraordinary outside of daily routine is like pushing aside waves to look for water”
-the zen way

heard gary snyder has cancer
wonder if he's outside right now
smiling at venus

-i should plant a tree
----------------------------------------------------

4.12.7

i wish you could speak
or sing to me
the intimate rhythms
of your mother's heartbeat
---------------------------------------------------

4.12.7

brandi and jack lie sleeping
in that sacred mother-son-form
his mouth full
breathing heavy through the nose
----------------------------------------------------

4.13.7

scent of sweet cut grass
cottonwoods and willows burst
sun has made her case
*
flash of red on wing
winds shifting marshes explode
cranes take wing clouds pierce
-----------------------------------------------------

4.16.7

furrowed brow-eyes lost in baby fat
chubby cheeks beet-red
arms like a pugilist
quick quack of your cry
and the anger has passed
----------------------------------------------------

4.16.7

my chocolate cocker spaniel
has rainbows in his eyes
-----------------------------------------------------

4.16.7

Son
(you were a universe at birth)

in your third week
perhaps you remember
more than i'll ever know
capture and keep my face
as it is now
my gaze
as it is now
full of amazement in you
our eyes explore each other
we wonder in the marvel of us
------------------------------------------------------

4.17.7

you arrived enlightened
wide grey eyes
a bodhisattva of the spring
---------------------------------------------

4.17.7

wish i could see through
the shifting eyes of an infant
the world is a cloud
----------------------------------------------

4.18.7

jackson paul
the storm of your cries can be seen
gathering force from a distance
we wait-
hoping
-it passes by
-------------------------------------

4.18.7
"apologies to the published"

my condolences
to the published

you writers-for-pay
masters of syntax.

your rhythm may come easy
speech may be sure

but in the darkest hour before dawn
the hushed voice of a father
timidly reading his own words
is all that can soothe his newborn son.
----------------------------------------------------

We sleep like machine guns in the night: Haiku and non-Haiku - by Bil Johnson

you came with the rain
riding in on the thunder
heart beat. lightning bolt.
-----------------------------------------

hands grasping mouth want
eyes search wide alive alert
toes splayed legs stretching
-------------------------------------------

4.8.9

in late night hours
great horned owl singing dreams
jack stirs in deep sleep
-----------------------------------------

our sleep comes in bursts
like sniper shots in the dark
Pop Pop Pop. silence
------------------------------------------

I have seen
the utilitarian
beauty of the breast
mother. nature.
mother. nurture.
-------------------------------------

rapid-fire
sleeping sessions
sparked by hours of
mindfulness
attentive playfulness
bouts of life
small fits of energy
ensure tonights rest
------------------------------

waiting for my first child, some thoughts - by Bil Johnson

nothing
left to say
empty

forgot
how to spell
can't read
barely speak and i
no longer hear

or remember            i think

there is no longer anything

a revolutionary breath: my ties to the castro regime - by Bil Johnson

i have asthma
and sometimes question the merits
of living in a capatalist society

ernesto 'che' guevara had asthma
and helped ignite a revolution overthrowing a corrupt dictator
in favor of a corrupt dictator

fantastizmo vulturistic apocalypse - by Bil Johnson

restless sky wanderers
black shadows casting black shadows
epiphany-winged eclipse

reflections on french and latino protestors - by Bil Johnson
how easy to wear words -
progressive, sustainable living, forward-thinking -
on our sleeves as a crest a credo
leading the world. (FIRST WORLD as a matter of fact!!)
stamp sucker on my forehead.
tattoo hyporcrite across my back for all to see.
i consume! i waste! i want what i don't need!
we do not protest injustice, we do not take to the streets, save for an anniversary.
we are the elite. traitors to the righteous cause what cause? all cause. because.
(i apologized to my unborn children in my dreams and gave a bum a dollar).

Lift - by Bil Johnson

lungs inflate
hold
eyes close
release

passage: a poem for my grandma boatright
or as my cousins call her,
'granma boaty - by Bil Johnson

got the phone call i'd been expecting
left work early
cried in the parking lot

drove home quiet
drove home numb
tossed keys on the table

drank of a glass of red wine
fell asleep on couch
no dreams came to me

Fields - by Bil Johnson

earth turns now
into sharp winds
heavy fog
breathing thick frost
on red-wine-stained-grass-winters

a permanent home for nomads
or i've been drinking and dreaming of
chauffeuring allen ginsberg
around lincoln - by Bil Johnson

real Bodhisattva recite
lines like syntax distractions
one breath drawn out like warm south winds
break at corners
inhale
sigh
inhale
they die untragic deaths protesting worn-out wars
buried in boring plots flesh devoured
like spoken word
outcast
laugh wrinkled eye corners
turn up like they now
everything is. but nothing. real.
mountains erupt from nothingclouds
and grain by grain by pebble
impermenance wears on the soul
on the soil
forever peaks whisked away
snaking across dry hills of sand
seeking the mouth
seeking enlightenment

First Snow - Bil Johnson




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Description - Photography

••• First snow of the year - Missouri Riverfront Trail

snow was wet
clothes & sky were heavy & damp
but spirits were lifted.
for some reason winter is
why I live where I live
and why I consider everybody
who lives south & west of me
to be decidedly weaker.

Feb Nine oshix - by Bil Johnson

i use words like 'radical' and 'change'
snap clavicles
been clinically
labeled
lyrically
insane
penny for your thoughts-you can keep the change
you spit hot air-got oil on the brain?
my lines shine bright trapped the sun in my veins
and rhymes find flight like migratory ways
leave you breathless for days
your an afterthought
sentences that level like
earthquakes and aftershocks.

Untitled - Bil Johnson




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Description - Photography

••• True beauty
is finding the extraordinary
in the ordinary.

A part of. Not apart from.

A sense of place. History.
Respect.

I know where I live.

Breach the borders. Lines on a map.
Arbitrary.

I know where to go
to see what is there.


 

A Dear James Letter - by Bil Johnson

12.28.04
5:35am CST

dear james,
it was good to see you. to hear you. to know you. dream you. watch you. absorb you. forget you. in time. remember you again. i wonder. did i see your plane. at cruising height. punching drab sky clouds waiting to erupt in orgrasm-rain-burst-sequence. picking drops off the ground. freezing them. add orange extract. and eat'um on a stick. looking up. i followed a rain drop from birth to death. it ended on cracked pavement. and began again. i caught acid-rain on my tongue. and scorched my wife's inner thigh.
and there you were. with your knowledge. your language. your way. can't help but laugh. though i love. the serious you. insightful. sincere. curious. yes, that's it. your curiousity. the flash in the eye. twisting off a cap.

anyways
good to see you
white shooza

balance - by Bil Johnson

ted kooser
a famous man.
says-
sit quietly. pen cradles in fingers.
mind open.
and wait.
                              (words flicker and drift
                              as so many leaves in wind)

have no dillusions of granduer my friend
not all of us will be remembered
most, in fact, will be forgotten.
but not our stories.

they may arrive in chaos
like cranes to the platte.

or they will dance lightly
through our mind
like summer rain passing

buteo jamaicensis - by Bil Johnson

red-tailed hawk
perched
high above the hills
surveying its depleted
        home
        hills
belly protruding
full of squirrel

dreams - by Bil Johnson

dreams
aug. 25
10,500 ft.
    stretched between two lodgepole pines
hammock swaying in the cold winds
        come screaming off the peaks
    swooshing the tree tops
rebel aspens--leaves tinted gold in this late summer season--
sing to the pines--who moan and creek in reply
i huddle beneath
lazing away
eyes moving from edward abbey novel
to sliver of blue sky
eyelids laboring
finally
letting go
i tumble off the mountain
into my dreams

Haikus - by Bil Johnson

our lady moon
vanishes into onsetting light
flashing cheshire grin

i slept on a mountain
and tried to
avoid rocks

what is my mind
but mountains and rivers
without end

i want to walk
into the woods
and inhale

Haikus From the Road - by Bil Johnson

rockies rising true
elk graze on alpine tundra
juniper and sage

 

sun breaking through clouds
reveals rumpled wasatch peaks
and sunflower to

 

scattered herds of elk
and some pent up buffalo
are all that remain

 

across the salt flats
a desert of white mirage
we race like rockets

 

in a sea of sage
an island of cottonwoods
over prairies rise

Haikus From the West - by Bil Johnson

walking between homes
underneath star-filled heavens
picking wild plums

 

floating down river
osprey crow trout lizard snake
retreat as we pass

 

brandi and carrie
giggling drunk in the tent
no sleep damn goldfinch

 

paul and don "one more beer"
dancing with the locals by night
headaches in the morn'

i am catholic - by Bil Johnson

i want to scream
until my throat bleeds
the insanity of all things

and weep for the
athiests who don't exist
hanging in my lowly stocking

and wrap my regrets
in blinking lights
red blue green its all in the air

i want to gather thoughts
and unmanifested dreams
and---its all words to me

--its all green to me--

and shout to the ocean
trenches and plankton
proclaiming the world beautiful

and cure that ozone madness
with butterflies
and albino crocodiles

and name every star
flickering through impossible
sad atmospheric haze

and loggers will
fell empty skyscrapers
and we'll all work in redwood and oak

i want an epiphany
ignorance is not bliss
and god won't forget us. can't.

and we'll all believe in everything
because we know
nothing is real

it was late - by Bil Johnson

It was late
                              10pm
          at least for me
when you came to bed
    i didn't roll over
    i'm sorry
anyway.
i knew you were beautiful
lying beside me
breathing quietly

lawrence, KS - by Bil Johnson

   oceans wept
   waves fell on surf
   for you were leaving

we drank our minds
in a marathon of
blaring trombones
and trumpets
blasting
down lonely roads

drinking to greatness and past glories
never knowing what lies behind the green door

you bit craigs ear in the name of
terminal velocity and
the dominance of cockroaches

you leapt tables topped with pints
not quite making it
we scared bouncers and spilled
onto early morning streets
with blurred visions but vivid memories
of 3am pool games in defense of something bigger than us
of tongues down the random throats of friends
and the soft hum of the road lulling us to sleep

my a.m. commute - by Bil Johnson

i wake with the constellations. and mars.
burning up the black.
interstellar explosions. on the edge of.
event horizons. swallowing our moon.
from my vantage point. the earths axis.
is obvious.
columbus was a farce.
an instigator.
a taker.
              genocide.

Oh Stop Yourself - by Bil Johnson

a cool summer morning
grass bending under fresh dew
i sit on the porch swing
and breath in rythme with the creaking chain

rastafarian light bulb left on from last night's gathering
i sip on some orange juice
and slowly nibble toasted pbj
        (no worries. no need. not much ambition either. not at the moment)

the whir of a bike brings me back
mizl, pack on back, heading nowhere,
pulls over for a quick chat...

        (fast forward. a few months later)
snow packed hard on the ground
i'm walking to work every morning
nothing starts a day like hardy on his deck..."good morning mr. johnson"
"a fine morning indeed." i'd reply.

goddamn.
i miss that.
            i miss the clanking of empty beer bottles
            chess games abandoned in mid-strike
            and the anticipation of every weekend
            ...the little things from each of you.
            you are all suspended that way in my mind
            small pieces of perfection forever...

one love - by Bil Johnson

chest high in the warm sea
sun melting into the horizon
cooling the velvet sand
our shadows stretching long before us

local fishermen drift past
with their take
snappers and conch shells
for the local market

a soft carribean breeze
whispers past us
harmonious pleas of tuff gong
carry on the wind--crying out for justice

we emerge with the stars
beacons of light on an ink black canvas sky
rastas calling out for one people one blood
one love

'oso' - by Bil Johnson

and we dance and we wail
rejoicing in sunsets

drinking to moons
as lives flash before us

clouds cover blue skies
take thoughts to heaven

please just one more drink
before i must go

when poems come to me - by Bil Johnson

while walking.
the rhythm of breath
fluidity of body
relaxing of the mind
and
out of the silence
it comes rushing

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