Clarity & Frailty
Gabrielle A. Johansen
Some Advice for Nocturnal Aviators
When flying, be sure to
keep your eyes open.
You might never get
the chance to fly again.
You wouldn't want to miss
the patchwork of farm and field
or the jutting layers of
metal and man and machine.
When rising on the air, always
feel the wind on your face.
Marvel at the wonderment
of all your individual atoms
hurtling free of your head into
clouds and sun and moon.
Don't be afraid and don't cry.
There's no reason to be sad,
no reason at all.
Connecting the Dots
sawdust floors and wooden stools
ringed his world. Mama and Papa
poured the drinks. He played tag with
the mouser cat, slipping between the legs
of beer swilling workers.
But Mama and Papa were invited
to a fatal dance, lingering in lethargy,
coughing up blood.
The bar gave way to desert.
Doctors said fresh air would do the trick.
His parents died within the year.
The little boy bounced back East.
When he was as gangly as a scarecrow,
the doctors saw a shadow on his lung.
Outside the shadow on the world grew larger.
He was sent to be better
where the lawns were manicured
and the bars were on the windows.
Not the other children or the soft voices
of the women clad in white nor the well
meant fatherly tones of the men
who kept him there could take away
his need to be free.
When his voice was as deep as a gravel
pit,
he popped out from the bubble,
sallied forth to continue the journey,
leading to his own baby boy
and bouncing days and times of
blood coughed up and dances stopped
in the middle of the song.
Hammer Healing
Hammer, heal this
breached wall of a heart.
Tack on a patch
to see it through
the onslaught of
sharper objects,
the ones that cause
puncture wounds.
A nail tapped in here,
a spot of glue there,
temporary measure, at best
an improvised shield,
but better, by far
than a wrecking crew.
Answer in Repetition
Not knowing the wanted answers,
much less what questions to ask.
The romantic lure of youth
longing for starlit abyss,
an incessant nothing,
the dare death is believed to be.
Sink down deep, into the
vast rocking ocean, the swells
and shocks, the eddies and
whorls crashing, breaking forever,
infinite ascension and recession.
Some answers don't need to be asked for.
Some answers are right inside, all the time.
Glass Actions
with a clear heart,
remaining transparent
to allow a view
of all that has
come and gone.
Glass blesses
the confidences
overheard.
Wisely witnessing
the shared sacrifices.
Glass holds
the souls that would
fly away frantic
with a calm
which stills
and soothes.
Glass catches
tears, extracts
the salt and
makes holy
water.
Copyright 2001Gabrielle A. Johansen
Listing of Poems
Some Advice for Nocturnal Aviators