Fireflies
By Ryan Johnson
Star drops litter the quiet street outside
Dead fireflies
Fallen from a night sky where others walk With turned down gazes
The trees all grow downward here
Like leafy ostriches burying their coniferous heads In denial of the maddening world around them Street signs are backwards
And maps lead away from where you’re going So one doesn’t have to worry when one gets lost And the moon is still down below
Shining up along the way
As ways are often hard to come by
In this out of the way place
Turning eyes upwards
Small rats the size of ants
And ants the size of elephants
Scurry along the side alley looking for sustenance The shadows cast like street lamps in the rising light And dead fireflies begin fluttering
Drops of stars
Rising above the leafy ostriches Stretching towards the freedom of morning
Council Of the Mind
By Ryan Johnson
Behind the storm strong trees evening began its stretching the
Lady, our night mother, keeper of cycles and master of motion
Pointed her shadow west
East had already fallen happily under her song drifting sleepilly into dreams
reaching a bobbing skiff built for one
anxious for what will be revealed
Pointing a hooked red claw off the bow of the small skiff
the Crab, with ocean dripping from its carapace of red mountains
says, “Look to the Moon.”
Rays from a sleepy sun drift drunkenly away as the moon wakes in the sky
pondering these ever changing wheels
of birth, of living, and of death.
Elegant words dance from a beak atop the center mast
the Albatross, the oceans pathfinder, and keeper of celestial maps
states, “You are the way.”
Shadows of memory shimmer among swells of sea this bobbing skiff alone
finding truth in the sweeping waves
living through myself not others
Echoes of a thousand voices ripple along the water line
the Siren, eyes to the abyss of passion and master of divine currents
shares, “Trust and move with.”
Near the neglected rudder sits tiny stars flickering their promised freedoms
don’t go tinkering with life’s mechanisms
no, it is to trust these unseen currents
Thorny blue scales cut neatly out of the darkening water
the Serpent keeper of infiniti and master of the entirety of experience
chuckles, “It’s always unfolding.”
Westwindow
By Ryan Johnson
I’m staring out
the brightening west window
towards the invisible ocean
Pine Trees sway gently
on overgrown grass
like paint brushes
reaching to the sky
Painting hues of orange
and red
as the sun leaves
the dark blue canvas
Now the salty symphony
of the coast comes
crashing alive with
the oceans gong
splashing the allegro
As the joyous harmonies
of finches
and chickadees
animate the work of the trees
Where the obsidian
of the east
meets the carnelian
of the west
A plane lights the border
with white dots
turning east like stars
traveling home from vacation
I wonder
what the stars did
out in the blue sky
the one they headed home from
did they swim
in the vast sea
above
Were they lovers
coming home
from their honeymoon
They are gone now
back home
and I wait alone
with questions
Longing
as night falls
on the west window
I’ll see them soon
Ryan has two amazing kids who inspire them to explore their creative potentials. They are a full time student at Lane, literature and philosophy majors. Ryan is in work study at the respite room near the health center, and loves writing. Generally, Ryan enjoys writing poetry, prose, and short fiction but they also enjoy writing research and argument essay’s. “Though I wouldn’t say an argumentative essay is my ideal way to wind down at the end of a day.” – Ryan
