Poetry Porch: Poetry


By Robert K. Johnson

On many days,
listening to concert music
sweep me forward
the way a surge of surf
carries its white ripples—

or laughing at a madcap movie’s
roller coaster plot—

or joining in the banter
lobbed back and forth
above restaurant plates
filled with succulent food—

I am a red balloon
bobbing in a spring breeze

                  and yet, even on nights
that follow these days,

waking up in a bed
surrounded by midnight,
I feel forest lost
and foodless

                  and hear
the heavy tread of sadness
approaching where I lie.

Copyright © 2015 by Robert K. Johnson.