Hi, I’m Stace, and here’s my Bud® Haiku
Party poetry
Twenty-somethings shilling beer
Who needs real writers?
— Stace Johnson, 2002
Category Archives: Original Poetry
Inspirational Inadequacy
An author breathes within the book before
Me, holding forth upon his mistress, Art.
She rides upon his words into my heart,
Inspiring me to try my hand once more.
Expecting muse caress, I feel a door
Slam harshly. My inadequacies start
To show, as inspirations now depart
And settle with the dust upon the floor.
“It’s not supposed to be that easy, kid,”
The author says. “We have to face our fears.
The essence of the Art is in the pain,
The struggle to express the feelings hid
Beneath our hearts and in between our ears.
So pick that pencil up and try again.”
— Stace Johnson, 2000
Unwhole
Unwhole
Holes in heart and mind
If you peek through you may find
A holesome soul too
— Stace Johnson, 1997
Tikkune
Tikkune
The crimes of body, heart and mind reflect
Upward into my soul. My spirit strains
To fly on high while tethered from below.
To make a change in spirit I must make
A change in how I live; the world of soul
Can not be whole if leaking like a sieve.
The holes in soul must be repaired before
It can begin to soar. To fill the holes
I made with thoughtless acts of years before,
I must atone for wrongs I’ve done. To free
My soul for flight I must begin with me.
And so I chant the Aleph-Beis and do
My work the best I can; I volunteer
My time to help advance my fellow man.
I question all my motives, I exa-
Mine all my fears. I keep my rage in check
So I won’t be the cause of others’ tears.
I strive to keep integrity in place
So I can give my soul a little grace.
With every act of good I do, my soul
Lifts up a little more. I know the day
Will come when it will finally learn to soar.
— Stace Johnson, 1997
New Year’s Day
New Year’s Day
My name is Edward Andrew, and I’m six years old.
You lie in the wheeled bed, puffy and pale
Riding the waves of morphine
(or is it Bartlett Lake?)
I help the illusion along.
Howdy howdy there, friends and neighbors!
This is El Monte Slim f’m El Monte Slim Chev’rlet …
A cough chokes you back awake,
Fear and confusion cloud your eyes
No, don’t speak; I point to the tube
You say goodbye with your eyes.
… I wait for delivery each day until three,
Oh Lord, woncha buy me a color TV?
A simple flick of the switch and my decision is final.
A few shuddering, spasmodic breaths and it is done.
You expire at my side, hand in my hand, my
Tears exposed in the glare of my own inadequacy.
See ya at the beach, Bro.
— Stace Johnson, 1997