week of July 30 - August 5th, 2007
Michael Lee Johnson and Michael A. Skinner
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Michael Lee Johnson
Mr. Michael Lee Johnson lives in Chicago, IL after spending 10 years in Edmonton, Alberta Canada during the Viet Nam era. He is a freelance writer and poet. He is heavy influenced by Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Irving Layton, and Leonard Cohen. 250 plus poems published. He is a member of Poets & Writers, Inc; Directory of American Poets & Fictions Writers: pw.org/directory . Recent publications: The Orange Room Review, Bolts of Silk, Chantarelle's Notebook, The Foliate Oak Online Literary Magazine, Poetry Cemetery, Official Site of Laura Hird, The Centrifugal Eye, Adagio Verse Quarterly, Scorched Earth Publishing, Café Del Soul (The Cynic Online Magazine) and many others. Published in USA, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, Nigeria Africa, India, United Kingdom. Mr. Johnson has a paper book pending publication with iUniverse Publishers.
The following work is Copyright © 2007, and owned by Michael Lee Johnson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
travels the world
of my bathroom.
Stops at the kitty litter box
on occasion for refueling.
One thousand round trips
including the bathtub area,
and buzzes past the toilet bowl.
Steady pilot, good mileage.
Frequent flier miles.
I swat his journey to an
In the rain
He drove off the road edge.
He was drunk.
It never rains in a dry casket.
Michael A. Skinner
Michael A. Skinner from Orlando Florida, is the author of Liquid Mirror: Waiting on the New Moon. He is a web developer and itinerant poet who writes what he sees.
Visit him on the web here: http://www.poetryman6969.com/poetry.html
The following work is Copyright © 2007, and owned by Michael A. Skinner and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Buzzards and Cane Toads
Troubling the Glass
At dawn a west wind troubles the still waters of an inland lake
Awakening the deep.
Splashes of light like silent shouts glare
across the water. They started in a straight forward
way to cross the lake in the gathering dark
but the wind rippled water broke up the
attack and smeared out the forces of light
into a undulating wedge.
Carrying her dead like earrings.
Muddying the greens.
And always a mashed potato sky.
With some people it's the birds and the bees
but with you it's all buzzards and cane toads.
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