draft : jesus poem / needs work
johanna_lea
even unto the least of these_
blessed by the brush of his robe
touched by a brilliant hand
water to wine; loaves and fishes.
ministering to the sick; raising the dead.
how could that radiant face
be so warm and clear? his gentle words
soothed the savage beast...
his presence healed the sick.

now travelling to jerusalem
to finish this passion play
he enters the city riding
an ass; his followers a throng
and a threat to roman order.
king of the jews? the messiah?
what farce it this? says pilot
as he dries his hands.

quickly the sanhedrin agree
this revolutionary man
must not disturb the
uneasy political alliance
under roman hands
is great suffering.

one man looks his destiny
in the eye, accepting the call
of sacrifice...scapegoat
for his people_ he will die.
carrying their sins
for love of the sinners.

one man

poem: cant buy me love
johanna_lea
if to score is the goal
and money the answer,
humanity vanishes, another
sold soul chained
to the golden roots
of man's family tree_
its evil blossoms

november poems
johanna_lea
winding red path
in rime-white grasses_
winter pasture


bright brief glimpse_
scarlet maple blazes
against lowery skies

pale gold leaves
dancing small pirouettes
on blustery day


a brilliant flash_
blood-red fireplug
on dull brown roadside


candy apple
rain-slicker
lucent tangerine


dawn's chill wind
rattles these old walls
slips through the cracks_
thirty years carrying firewood
worth every step


in dreaming world
dark shadows' strange reflections_
images of waking life,
yet undeciphered

poem : reflection
johanna_lea
if light casts a shadow
what is the shadow of darkness?
a silvered mirror cannot
reflect itself_ only
an endless play of windows
infinite, unseen
our shadows hold
a glimpse of a hidden world_
where we allow our eye-less souls
to swim freely_ unknowing
we are not
invisible.

poem: crossing the waters
johanna_lea
she is crossing the waters
she rides a willing lily-pad
she travels to meet her nat-spirit
her mother's guide and protector
as her mother's mother before her
the women of the family know him well
he teaches love and wisdom.... and gives
peace to their hearts,
their understanding souls

she brings an offering
to a tiny nat-house on the shore
tucked into the green, seen only
by the women who love him


clear eyes downcast
smooth face expressionless
a bud not yet flowered
she floats, a slim green slip
calling soft prayers to him
respectful, graceful
almost-woman


she is seeking an answer_
her mother wants her to marry
still a girl, she must be a bride
her womanhood is calling her__ yet
she knows no answer to give.

the nat considers ... pleased
in the sweet air surrounding,
her innocence and perfume
countless girls have come and gone
always with the same answer,
he whispers in her delicate ear:
it will be new
whether you make it new
or not.




-

poem: dorothy
johanna_lea
~ dorothy ~ ( post-manic iambic 1997)
so as my stress or distress flares
my star, it shines exceeding bright
my mind flies where i do not dare
to hold my Self in all that light
requires a healthy balanced life
and love of friends to keep you true
to see that Self that's all of you
no part is hid from Love's true Light
no speed and chatter in the night
this soul's endured the furnace bright
with diamond pressure ... done's the fight
this ruby heart is homeward bound
her ruby slippers on solid ground.

poem for fall
johanna_lea
bare cherries
ruby sweet gum
blushing dogwood_
autumn leaves
autumn arrives

poem : re-birthday party
johanna_lea
8/3/2014 for beth


to the waters, again ~
(green sunday afternoon
silence broken only by
children swimming amok)
immersed, cleansed,
speaking softly_ as
last year floats downriver,
the queen smiles, content
all is right in the world, today.
she is ready to embrace
another year_ renewed
we climb the hill
to the house in the trees,
for birthday cake and creme brulee.

pom : birthday party 7/23/14
johanna_lea
- birthday party -

dress up family dinner
candlelight and spaghetti
purple balloons and creme brulee
swimming in the river in a linen skirt

sixty-one ~ what fun!

poem : cocooned
johanna_lea
those of us -
not hermetically sealed
in game rooms
of closed-off houses
on their cul-de-sacs
in gated communities -
will always know
the deep satisfaction
of unfiltered morning air

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