Apple Juice Love

Aging brings loss, but sweetness persists
Love is pressed from what endures

Life, a ripe apple—
Red Delicious,
rumour of hell,
bittersweet to the core.
If you can taste it with
& chew it with false teeth.
Most friends have vanished—
ghosts slipping beyond
shadowed, silent doors.
That parlour where no returns.
It’s only a rumour.
Yet, I wander the garden,
fields stripped of grace,
grapes foot pressed into concord—
faith fermenting in the barrel
of hidden old gospel & songs.
Kneeling in this season of loss.
Lies the tartness of redemption.
While others (wheeled) wield the devil’s
fork in the heat of their own fires.
So, squeeze what sweetness remains,
press me—
last sweetness.
In your apple juice jar of love.

I Conceal My Craft

An armadillo symbolizes guarded creativity
This poem contrasts self-protection with vulnerability

I conceal my craft beneath my shell.
Mine of an armadillo, snug in its embrace,
nestled near its warmth,
as insects buzz under the midday sun,
where stories collide with struggles,
and words fester like unresolved thoughts,
distant from the critics’ needle pen hearts.
Their relentless demands, cold cash,
and hollow praise layered thick with honey
on pages between verses, where every line
holds a lingering scent or memory.
I gaze up at the vast sky and chuckle.
Speaking in tongues nervously out of mind
shining chimes waiting for the next critic
to declare my thoughts don’t flow,
out of character, my rhythm’s a misstep.
I tally each word, joy, and sorrow.
One poem, one collection of verses for me;
One poem, one collection, a poetry book against me.
Breathe shallow, breathe hard for the heart with age.
I conceal my craft under the armour of the armadillo.

Dove Bar Poem

In this short poem relationship differences
create distance and longing

An ex-lover told me she loved
Dove dark chocolate bars.
Dove bars were suitable for lovers.
She ate dark Dove bars.
I ate light Dove milk chocolate.
She was healthy; I was sad.
We often got into fights over this.
She was manic, and I was depressive.
Sex was a bouncing basketball affair.
She was healthy, not knowing her disease.
I was sad, stealing apples.
Swiped from Farmer John’s orchard.
Sleeping wherever
I found a pillow.
A pillow wherever found.

Tonight, Tonight

This poem embraces solace in moonlight
trusting dawn’s gentle promise

Tonight, I am the moon’s envoy,
bare feet awash in silver.
Longing settles in me—
spark or ember, I remain.
Thunder soft as cat paws,
storms now gentle memory.
I flutter, no longer afraid,
teaching darkness to move gently.
Tonight, I find comfort
in the moon’s borrowed light,
trusting dawn will come.

Michael Lee Johnson lived in Canada for ten years during the Vietnam era. Today, he is a poet in the greater Chicagoland area, IL. He has 418-plus YouTube poetry videos. Michael Lee Johnson is an internationally published poet in 47 countries, a song lyricist with several published poetry books, and a nominee for 8 Pushcart Prize awards and 8 Best of the Net nominations. He has over 710 published poems. He is the editor-in-chief of three poetry anthologies, all of which are available on Amazon, and has authored several poetry books and chapbooks. Michael has administered and created 6 Facebook poetry groups. Member of the Illinois State Poetry Society: http://www.illinoispoets.org/ and Poets & Writers: https://www.pw.org/.  His poems have been translated into several foreign languages. Awards/Contests: International Award of Excellence ‘Citta’ Del Galateo-Antonio De Ferrariis XI Edition 2024 Milan, Italy-Poetry. Poem, Michael Lee Johnson, “If I Were Young Again.”  Please consider me for a Best of the Net or Pushcart nomination.

You can find more of Michael’s work here on Ink Pantry.