I Am Doing What I Can

I am doing what I can to be a real man.

a true man
a kind man
a feeling man
a dreaming man
a baring-of-my-soul man
a whole man
a rock & rolling man
a don’t-have-to-know-everything man
a questioning man
a seeking & finding man
a peeking-thru-my-fingers man
a speaking-thru-my-actions man
a walk-the-talk man
a strong-yet-bending man
a man-with-a-plan man
a go-with-the-flow man
a show & telling man
a shuffling after man
a leading man
a behind-the-scenes man
a humble man
a rough & tumble man
a man’s man
a good man
a great man
a best man
a mate man
a sensitive man
a dad-of-a-daughter man
a true blue-eyed soul man
a man-of-many-colors man
a diverse man
a poet & painter man
a Renaissance man
a speaking-from-the-heart man
a pre-dawn praying man
a meditating man
a tolerant man
a 9-to-5 man
a trusted & trusting man
a thankful & grateful man
a living-in-the-moment man
a man-of-many-multitudes man

I am doing what I can to be a real man.

- johnny olson

Ready or Not

Change is a’coming.

Sometimes she comes in
crushing white-capped tidal waves.
Or sometimes she comes on
a gentle ripple left
from a fallen autumn leaf.
But she’s always a’coming.

She’s a’coming right now
as I write these fragile words
on this forgotten paper
in this fading notebook
sitting in this shabby cubbyhole
in my modest lil’ home
of my charmed life.

Change is always
breathing
down
your
neck.

She can be a live wire, sometimes.
A lot to handle, sometimes.
By folks like us, sometimes.
But don’t let her fool you,
her sometimes sultry looks
and whispered promises
sometimes seem so promising.
 
Sometimes,
she’s much more
subtly disguised
as a street corner beggar
begging you for some change
and your eyes meet
and you see
her looking back at you
in the bloodshot eyes of this
vagabonded version of you.

Change is a’coming.

Change is ablaze in your brain
as you feel its flame spreading
across synopsizes bridges
on the brink of creations
wonder and amazement.

Change is a’coming.

In a book...in a song...in a stroke of a brush...in a set of rhyming and complimenting words...in a perfectly timed twitch of the index finger capturing the beauty of the moment...in a movement in the arch of a dancer’s back...in the final scene of a barely seen screen adaptation of the book written by the author you love as the song you crave plays with words in verses that you painted just the other day...

Change is a’coming.

In a gentle kiss that lands directly on your soul’s cheek...in a close-eyed embrace from your Daddy’s little girl...in a soul knowing look from your other half of the sky...in this moment right here writing about the moments that change rode in on with vivacious tenacity and took her some new, and much needed ground and momentum...

Change is a’coming.

Change can come
in drip-by-drop erosions,
in imperceptible ways
when seen from day-to-day
but slowly and surely
weaves its way
into your life
in a canyon of grand proportions.

Change can come
in a cold winter’s breath,
killing you with chills that fill
each hidden and unknown crevice
leaving you frozen, broken
and alone.

Change can come
on the bitter bee’s stinger,
quickly bringing pain and fear
and a held back tear
leaving you unclear
on what you’ve done to deserve this.

Change can come
on a butterfly’s wing,
when the rocks and the trees
begin to sing
and winter seeds planted deep
begin to creep out of their skin
and take root,
flowering and blooming in Spring.

Change is a’coming.

Ready or not.

- johnny olson

Sidewalk Silence

These cracks on the sidewalk
have a tale to be told
from many years ago
back in it’s primmest day
when it was freshly laid and paved

so fresh and free of daily debris
that now stuffs it’s clefts
so pristine, so untouched, so clean
only the crafters caring touch
laid hands upon skin

but the yellow tape was removed
and the posts were lifted
and so began it’s slow deterioration

cold and heat days, snow and sleet days
not to mention the years of tears
that fell from the sky
puddles came and puddles dried

walked upon, used and abused
until finally a thin crack formed
and it’s face broke off in places
and it became old and worn
more of an eye sore
then a concrete floor

crushed up butts and angry weeds
now fill in its cavernous seams
and it’s wasting away
in unkempt decay

it’s story untold
never the chance to say its say
cracked and silent til it’s final days

- johnny olson

You Asked Me Why

A fellow mad one
once asked me,
Why do you do it?
Sometimes it seems
the efforts you need
in planting this seed
leave you tired and dry.

I didn't answer him.
I knew the answer deep inside
but never put into words
the what's, when's, where's and why's.

This is what I should'a said:

I do it for the payoff.
I do it for this glorious jackpot
that fills me and spills me.
I do it for this giving and taking.
I do it for this showing and growing and flowing
to bounds unknowing
which keeps me going and going and going.

It came in one phrase
during a very fertile phase
read in the pages
of the Beatnik’s bible...

The whole mad swirl
of everything to come
began then.

...it was that recognition
in Jack’s premonition
that the moment was
electrified and synchronized.
In our one collective push
in the right direction
we knew that
the whole mad swirling world
can be changed forever
if only we opened that door,
if only we gave birth to this swirl.
 
Our creative love child
has never had a house
but has countless homes.

It is this lifeline
which connects us
back to our primal source
and leads us
back into the knowing arms
of our kindred spirits
and carries us
back to our original aboriginal tribe.

I just happened to be the last one
holding the opened door -
to the stage we’re sharing...
to the mic we’re opening...
to the page we’re writing...
to the web we’re weaving...
- and I must keep holding it
‘cos we’re not even close
to closin’ it yet.

It’s the torch
we must keep burning.
It’s the words
we must keep hearing.
It’s the cross
we must keep bearing.
It’s this crown
we must keep wearing.
It’s this moment
we must keep creating.
It’s this love
we must keep making.

We gotta keep moving
every mad day
and we gotta keep building
in every mad way
and we gotta keep preaching
all these things that we say
‘cos we gotta keep being
a piece of this something
because the whole mad swirl of everything
to come is now!
 
You asked me why do I do it?
I do what I do
because someone has to.
It’s my duty.
It’s my responsibility.
It’s my way of giving back.

Now let me ask you a question -
Wouldn’t you do it too,
if this was handed to you?

- johnny olson

Point of Departure

(CG)
I knew you all
Before these shadows
That we now cast
Could see the light
That gives them
Everything that we have become
A story to lead us home
To each

Other’s
Knowing embrace
And tortured days

Like the shadows
That spoke to us
When Mr. Radio
Said that Ginsberg is dead
That truth is a beatnik
Snapping
That these tortured days are
Nothing more
Than training for
Growing up

(JO)
Someone forgot to tell
the radio that it was wrong.
Allen is not dead.
Rippling thru his voice
is our truth
is our vision
is our destiny

is our responsibility

The torch is passed
and the muses shared
the mediums may have evolved
but message is the same

“Hear ye’ hear ye
all you mad ones
find your fellow mad ones...
...and speak the truth
...and express the heart
...and live the dream
...and teach the experience
...and learn the way
...and destroy the barriers
...and evolve to purity
...and...
...and...
...and...

(CG)
We’ve been driving for years, man
We’ve been driving through the gaps
That time forgets
We’ve been looking for that Xanthos
That’ll settle the score
We’ve been listening to everything
Cause that nugget‘s
gonna find its way to our ears, man
Its gonna stir it up for good man
Its gonna manifest that mad
Mad swirl
And suck our motives to the
Bone

We must always die
Before we are reborn
Just as we must fall asleep tonight
Before we can start to climb back
Up out of this hole

(JO)
Just as you must dwell in the darkness
before you can appreciate the light
Just as you must see
before you can seek
Just as you must die
before you can live

These just as-es-es birth more just as-es-es
as the swirl of life spins on mad axis-es

these ageless questions sit loosely on our tongues
that have no answers or solution
that have no compromises or facts
that have no law or doctrine
that only perpetuate the ultimate question,
the one and only question...

“Can you hear me?”

I ask you brother
“Do you hear me?”

I ask you sister
“Do you hear me?”

- cheyenne gallion (CG) and johnny olson (JO)

Torn and Tattered

Yeah, maybe I am torn and tattered
but that don’t matter
‘cos on the inside I’m rich and luxuriant.

But go on, go ahead
and judge me by my cover.
Pick me outta the clearance bin
read the back of the jacket
no big named reviews
with a praising of words
Just a simple synopsis of who I am
an imperfect, worn
torn and tattered book
that doesn’t warrant a second look

That’s the way its always been
in the rough I’ve been the gem
Looked over and forgotten
by those that never mattered
because my cover’s just a tad too tattered.

It’s the ones who look deeper
who finds I’m a keeper
‘cos deep inside this book of me
resides the being I’ve always been

an artist of every kind
a playful yet sharp state of mind
a quick with a joke me
a sharing a toke me
a deeper philosophy
then you’d guess when you looked at me

a living and loving me
a giving and sharing me
a reaching and teaching me
a sympathetic hearing me

But go ahead
And judge me by my cover
It’s just a disguise you will discover

Yeah, I’m torn and tattered
But I don't try to flatter
I only open up
To those that matter

- johnny olson

Mad Circus

This swirling illusion
is only a fusion
of creative energies
forming a synergy
which completely
transforms the ordinary
according to the
quintessential strategy
of transcending humanities
increasing mediocrity
by joyously
and drunkenly
embracing
this creative energy
and expressing living in
all its raw honesty
in this fusing unity
of collective communities
communicating
thru sandblasting
the senses
past these present tenses
creating and curating
this moment in time
that’s a timeless, weightless,
pageless, ageless
circus of madness
and rhymes.

- johnny olson


11,770

How many smokes have I burned
since I wrote my first rhyming words
and attempted to call them poetry?

They seem to burn down so quickly
when you get to getting on a roll.

Sitting abandoned...

...on my lips
...between my fingers
...smoldering in forgotten ashtrays
...and burning holes in my clothes

I’d venture to say
hundreds times thousands...
Eleven-thousand-seven-hundred & seventy

I tell ya’
there’s just nothing like it,
sitting back,
flickin’ my generic bic...

scratching my head
and taking a drag while
scratching a word
and taking a drag that’s
scratching the surface
and taking a drag it’s
scratching that itch
and taking a drag

Then I realize
as I squint thru smoky filmed eyes
that I am done writing
right on time with my smoke

and alas
another crappy poem is born
as the crumpled butt dies

crushed
in an overflowing
stolen hotel ashtray

- johnny olson


Waterline

The tides a-risin'
and I'm realizing
the timin's right,
stay up all night
and ride this fuckin' wave
before it breaks
into the light.

Insane thoughts
are makin' sense
and nothings past
this present tense.
All that seems to matter
tonight
is tonight
and that I stand here
in the light

This generation
with a letter,
an experimentation
of despair,
specimens of some different sort
just waiting for Pops to die
so we can finally get to drive
Impatient for our turn at the wheel.
These boomers never knew.
These trippin hippies had no clue.

They quit on us.
They fucking quit on us.
You know what I say?
I say give it up!
I say you fucked up!
You know what I scream?
I'm not just a slacker Xer,
some wayward drifter,
a born to lose loser.
I just want my turn at the wheel.
I just want my voice to be heard.

The tide's a'rising
and I'm realizing
the timin's right,
to steal the night
and ride this breaking wave
into the light.

- johnny olson


Imagination Ejaculation

imagination ejaculation
messing up my mind.
puddles pool, growing skin…
must clean this mess up,
cover this sin...
before i get caught red-handed
with my mind in a spin.

it starts out with a stimulating thought
and once it starts there is no fighting it,
riding the surges of urges.
i am prisoner to my mind's desires.

i tag along,
tongue wagging
ready for the romp.
ready to begin
this long
vicarious
fuck
of the imagination.

images begin to take form
in the shadowed flashes
behind eyelashes,
a strobe light-like show of sparks
so bright,
so right,
so out of fucking sight
that everything else is obliterated
in a blink of an eye.

i am alive in the voids of my mind.
empty canvases come to life
thru mere whims of wishes and visions.
i am invigorated and rejuvinated
by the streaming dreams i see.

i’m filled up
and the build up
spills over the edges
as my imagination ejaculation
makes a mess again.

- johnny olson


untitled

I am Love and Hate,
Heaven and Hell,
Creator and Destroyer.
A beautifully wicked dichotomy
inside of me.

I am invigorated and rejuvinated
by the streaming dreams I see.
Electricity flows thru me,
goes thru me,
shows thru me,
grows thru me
completely.

And just like that, the fantasy begins.

- johnny olson


R.I.P. Doctor

I read the master
baiting the system
with insane rants and raves.
Mad swirls of words
floating
down
and
out
on paper canvas pages
...blank.

Mad with insanity saying:
"See that there,
that vast white space,
that there is me."

Scratching our heads
in wonder
wondering
just what the hell was said?

But now he's dead.

The doctor
couldn't handle
the white canvas,
sitting still
as the world
turns
on
end

"How 'bout munching on my .45?"

Careful though, Doc,
it'll put a hole
in the back
of your mad head.

The Doctor is dead.

RIP Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005)

- johnny olson


Winged Rat Shat

A pigeon shat on me

I felt a thump
and then...
oozing thru my shirt

A squirt of white
smeared across my finger
as I felt back to confirm
that yes, indeed
that winged rat
shat on me

Ripped off my shirt
with napkin in hand
not caring of my appearence
in the noontime hour of urban park
and cursed the dirty scoundrel
for losing a load of splooge from its filthy ass
and splatting it
smack dab
in the middle of my back

With frenzied swipes
I wiped it up
smeared it and stretched it
I did my best
but there still lies
a faint stain
...to this day...
of white crap
when the damned pigeon
shat on my back

- johnny olson


lost and found

I'm trying hard to find myself. I looked high and low…in the dusty crawl spaces, under yesterday's ragged boxes, at the stained bottom of my old coffee mug and even thru the cracks in the sidewalk. Who knows, maybe I'll find myself somewhere between these letters and words and p.u,n?c!t;u:a(t)i"o'n-s…stranger things have happened, believe you me.

I could have sworn I saw myself on the shit-eating-grin of Mr. Moon man on my latest canvas. Smiling at nothing and everything at once, tinted in fiery reds and oranges and yellows in a swirling sea of blues and greens…
...but then again, maybe not.

I also think I caught wind of my trail somewheres around the Tropic's, Val and I chasing down the night without a penny between us and loving - every - minute of it. He told me to just live…"joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely..." He told me so many things…screaming whispers of midnight exploits, crazy cunts he'd fucked in the hall, hearty meals on someone elses dime, days filled talking at the café, drinking bitter Absinthe and wrestling with our muses. He lives and I live with him, myself and Val painting the town any damn color we choose...

...

Perhaps I've been right here all along, stalking me in the shadows of the evening shades. Out of the corner of my eye I see me and when I turn to catch me I'm gone…poof…an elusive SOB I be. But either way I know we'll meet someday when walking down the street and maybe we'll mutter a quick how-ya-doin' and maybe we'll go catch a cup of joe and ponder the life at the bottom of our mugs. Who knows? Stranger things have happened,
believe you me.

- johnny olson

For Joe

I heard said that art is dying. Folks say there's no voice today that is willing to reach the hearts and minds of the average joe; the 40+ hours a week with no OT joe; the let's build our lives on shaky credit with a 21% APR joe; the one pay check away from living in the car joe, the American dream that's drifting away joe; the let's kill the pain with spirits, herbs and chemicals joe; the fear for our tomorrow's in a world chock full of sorrow's joe; the class I was born into is going extinct and there's no moving up but only going down joe; the masses that passes the classes and still works the mailroom joe; the man on the street with nothing to eat joe; the barely legal boys with their illegal toys who play GI Joe joe; the dying too young my song never sung joe; the teenager dad who wasn't so bad but got dealt the bad hand joe; the drug addicted fool who sits outside the schoolyard retracing his steps to find his way back home joe; the lonely poet who has lost his voice by no choice of his own joe; the can't find it behind them and can't look forward toward the future 'cos tomorrow's not there joe; the living in fear of the 6 o'clock news afraid to hear another 3,000 are struck dead in the name of God joe; the seeker who seeks and finds nothing worthwhile joe; the fool who struck gold only to let it go up in smoke joe; the I'm too tired to deal with this head, sometimes I think I'd rather be dead joe; the coping and hoping for someone to hear this plea joe; those joes; these joes; the you joe; the me joe.

- johnny olson


Dreamchaser

I'm a seer
a doer
a midnight mover
a midnight walker
and a midnight talker.

Midnight's got me tossing and turning
the things that I dream
have got my mind burning.
Gotta remember, gotta hang on
gotta make note, gotta belong
gotta do what I can
the message is clear
the meaning of life
sits so far yet too near.

I'm confused and I'm lost
I'm abused at a cost
I'm turned upside down
around and I'm tossed
as the hands keep a'moving
and the beat keeps a'streamin'
and there's nothing I'm provin'
'cos it's nothing but dreamin'
and nothin' is somethin'
'cos it all has a meanin'
the midnight me sees
what the wakin' me's missin'
If I'd only shut up
if I only could listen
I might catch a glimpse
of what I've been missin'

but the alarm rings out
in the predawn of night
and my feet get a'movin'
while my mind holds on tight
I'm no longer a seer
I'm no longer a doer
I'm just grasping for straws
but it's not a fair fight
as my dream starts to crawl
away from the light

- johnny olson

Beat Prayer

What's going on in our world today?
War and hate
and is it too late
to save our skies?
Our fragile world quickly dies.
Hear the cries of the extinguishing creatures,
birth defect children with monstorous features?
We hate them
but create them
and then we ask why.
Isn't it OK that they should not die?
What's going on in this world tonight?
How can we turn it and make it alright?
Car bombs rocking the buildings to rubble,
terror in hearts, our souls are in trouble,
please hurry up God and make it a double.
The hatred is growing,
the red blood is flowing
and we don't know if you're coming or going.
What's going on in the world this morning?
The rich keep riching and
the poor keep pooring
and the old man upstairs is taking a nap,
the thunder you hear is only his snoring.
Children get madder
and fatter
and splatter
their friends and teachers
in nonchalant matters.
The Mom and Pop stores have all gone away,
mommy and daddy smoke crack and decay.
Grandma and grandpa have nothing to say,
they're grateful they've got one foot in the grave.
Who out there will try to help us?
Is there no oneout there to save us?
With everyone taking the love no one gave,
what's going on in this world today?

- johnny olson


reason and rhyme

now allow me to wax poetically sympathetically to the nationality of breeds out in this vicinity who take things so goddamn seriously and only see the reality they choose to be seeing and being who they were told to be being while us society deficiant vultures venture to the pharmacy physician to fill our scripts with around the corner hospitality to quiet our brain activity allowing me to flow free poetically and not giving sympathy to those fuckin folks who may not "understand" me. this me that I am being is the me I'm meant to be being and I'll wax poetically if I choose to and I'll wear my heart on a sleeve if I choose to and I'll bite your hand if you get too close if I choose to but then again, maybe I won't if I choose to. But that choice is mine and I guess that's the reason and the rhyme for this ranting and raving I've been spraying all over this page while silently praying these words I say may never become a crime.

- johnny olson


unintelligible

crazy talkin'
chicken walkin'
watching gawkers
watching me,
their sidewayed glances
dance with me
feeling finally
for once I'm free…
only they wish they can be.

Too bad I can't just break my head
and feed the world with the fruit of my gourd.
Make their belly's distend with the savorin'
of my flavorin'
that is boiling
in my blood
as I speak with this twisted tongue
that no one else seems to comprehend.

Just a crazy talkin'
chicken walkin'
dreamtime stalkin'
watchin' dude,
sideway glance me
but don't be rude
just leave me be
and see me free
just walk and talk
along with me.

- johnny olson


fabulous roman candles
click here to hear

the ones for me have always been
the mad ones,
the manic ones,
the passionate ones.

the ones who can look at the crooked aged tree and see the beauty in its twisted limbs.

the ones whose eyes catch the horizon set fire in the dawn and their breath is stolen by the view.

the ones who devour a piece of prose and lick their lips, wanting more needing MORE!

the ones who hear music not with their ears but with their souls and even if their limbs lay limp their spirits are dancing with wild abandon

the ones who ride the wave of the moment, uninterested in what happened or what will happen, engrossed in the now and here.

the ones whose inner beat inflicts those around them, setting the tone, the rhytym, their momentum is contagious.

the ones whose eyes do not hide but show the true color of their souls. the ones who light fires in the minds of the frozen masses, bringing mad thoughts and swirling visions to a sad gray world.

these are the folks that are for me.
these are the folks that understand me.
these are the folks that are kindred souls, these are the mad ones that color my world.

these are the ones i have in mind when my fantasy turns to reality and i have my stage to speak with my tongue on fire from a spirit ablaze with life. cut from the same mad cloth in the same mad pattern, brought to this world with the same mad purpose...to bring the truth to the forefront and to knock down societies walls and to free the flow of divinity from the dam of mediocrity.

the ones for me are the mad ones,
always have been and always will be.

- johnny olson


…i cannot

i wish i can speak to you true & clear, loud enough so you can hear but…i cannot.

i wish i could paint the perfect picture, strokes so fine and colors so bright, make your eyes see the light but…i cannot.

i wish i could sing all the ranges of the scales where my voice doesn't fail & fall apart but…i cannot.

i wish i could dance like a ballerina's prance & walk on clouds, the beat my feet would pound but…i cannot.

i wish i could rhyme & keep time in your mind with these words of mine but…i cannot.

i wish i could snap pictures, a camera in my brain that would try to explain these things that i see but…i cannot.

i wish i could open my soul to the world, a hole that would spread all these things i just said but…i cannot.

all i can do is give my point of view & reach out to you & you & you over there & you in the air & you & you & you.

i got a few gifts but my wrapping's not perfect, the bow may be frazzled & the paper is torn & my technique is worn out but it's all i gotß & i hope it's enough to say what i feel when my soul starts to reel off rapid heart thoughts & i hope that my ink will sink into paper & you'll drown in the ocean of pages.

i hope that my strokes…although not the truest & the colors not the bluest…may paint on the canvas my soul's wishes.

i hope that you'll see me dancing along to my cracked voice's song & that you'll dance along like no one but god is watching.

i hope that you'll see this, i wish i could make you but i'm not the creator, just the curator & i wish that you'll feel this love in your heart from sunrise start 'til the sky turns to dark but as i said…i cannot.

- johnny olson


features of creatures

streams of dreams
came to me…
late
last night

scattered off
flew away…
at day's
first light

i know it's there
locked up in me…
oh so
tight

dying streams of
remnant dreams…
from late
last night

subconscious me
had the key
has the eye
that always sees
bits and pieces
it sets free
waves of dreams
wash over me

tonight
i'm tossing
my mind is burning
midsummer night
has got me
burning
rising moon
the tide starts
turning
midnight's yearning
has got me
burning

echoes bouncing off the walls
screaming dreams
and childhood songs
i know the tune
and hum along
forgot the words
of yesterday's song

sunrise comes
and blinds my eyes
grasping fingers
grab and find
the features
of creatures
in my mind.
to always search
but never find.
scattered off
at day's
first light
the streams of dreams
from late…
last night

- johnny olson


Spectator

Staring blankly at the wall…it almost acts as an inner movie screen…I sit back and rewind time in my mind. So many flashes up there…days fly into weeks into years into memories that seem like a movie of someone else's life. I casually nod off into my daydream while staring blankly at the wall. I follow the path I've made…the one that winds loosely through my history…feeling such an array of things in the span of a few seconds. How do I stop and ponder on one when one naturally leads into another one and then repeats the pattern over and over again. I feel my ass slipping off the pseudo-plush seat while at the same time I become consciously aware of my slouching posture and a few curious side-glances from the other poor slobs stuck here in waiting room limbo. (There's nothing I hate more then waiting rooms. Set out some cots, let us recline…yeah, recline. Bring in some recliner's, let us snooze while we wait…maybe pump in some music, personal stereos mounted on the wall next to the recliner's with some kick ass headphones. They can call you over an intercom that pipes in over the headphones. Yeah. But I seem to have slipped off the subject) Why is it these journey's into yesterday don't come when I am sitting under a tree on a fine spring morn? Why can't my life be that picture perfect one that was promised to me so long ago in some childhood poem? Where's the White Rabbit to show me the way. I've poked so many holes trying to catch the dream but it always alludes me, confuses me then loses me when I need it the most.

- johnny olson


The 1:15 Blue Line

I found myself on the Blue Line today.
Sitting back, closed the eyes for the moment and I saw. Flashes on my mind, so much, I was following at a psyche-sprint for a time, tripping with its speed. So much before my arms. to grab, so much, so obvious, so open.
I saw myself on the Blue Line today. Sat back in the corner, looked up and there I was..6, chubby, happy, smiling, there I was..19, scared, confused, lost..25, a man in
transition..50, wise, bearded, evolved..75, back bent, eyes dim, soul tired..now, sitting, looking, seeing, understanding.
I killed myself on the Blue Line today. my Self, the Self of time, died. Had to disconnect connection. Said the rites, closed the lights, took to flight. It was hard and how I wept. The well that sat dry, parched, drought. Flood gates opened, flowing down my face as I said goodbye
to my Self.
End
of
the Line.

- johnny olson


Button Pusher

As I walk down the street
my eyes sometimes meet
with those who try to look at me
and see inside my mind.
The squint is tight
and try with might to fight
the battle and try to rattle
the world of the other.
Lines are drawn, walls are built,
it won’t be long, I won’t be wronged.
For this is it, this shit
hits me hard, leaves me scarred,
makes me sick with hate,
no time to negotiate.
Went too far, pushed beyond,
my turn to respond.
Feel the chains a-moving,
my bloods a-boiling,
my fists a-clenching,
my eyes a-crying,
red tears a-flying.
Feel like dying?
Should have thought,
now you’re caught.
Call me out for this bout
and want to talk,
want to walk.
Talk is done,
time has come,
my heart is numb.
My rage is fast,
the pain won’t last.
Just close your eyes,
my demons fly
in forms of fists,
in snapping kicks
that hit like bricks.
Couldn’t see
when you looked at me,
the anger begging to be,
pleading to be, set free.
Wrong time, wrong place,
to bad so sad,
ya got me mad.

- johnny olson


Fade In...

...lines I know from days gone past.
The casts the same from days of last.
The stage is set, this scene is old.
I watch it as it all unfolds.
I know my cues, the lines I’ve read.
I know exactly what lies ahead.
This is the story of yesterday.
It’s played my mind both night and day.
The curtain’s up, the eyes they look
to see the pages of my book.
My stance is tense, my throat its dry.
One last look before I cry.
This performance upon the stage,
the last words written on this page.
Will end tonight to no applause.
No more will be be the curtain calls.
For time moves on and people too.
To stages with a different view.
This stage is one that’s up and far,
the role I’ll take is of the star.
So look to me on darkened nights
and know that all is well and right.
For here is where I choose to be
until the next role beckons me...
Fade Out

- johnny olson


Porch People

I sit and look
and write this book
on my stoop.

My book of faces
of hearts and places
which memory traces
on my stoop.

Moving like breezes
they drift thru creases
on my stoop.

At once their mood eases
and their soul it pleases
to be on my stoop.

Nods of the head
soon lies ahead
with lazy days
and big fat j’s
all’s O.K.
on my stoop.

When I step inside
to move the tide
I see them slide
on my stoop.

This place changes,
its colors ranges
to all the different faces
on my stoop.

Some are new ones
others are old,
all the stories to be told
on my stoop.

Its seen them come
and seen them go
who comes next?
you’ll never know,
on my stoop.

The ups and downs,
grins and frowns,
a thorny crown up
on my stoop.

Time stands still,
Time gets killed,
Time gets filled
on my stoop.

- johnny olson

I Think Not

Strangest thing happened today, I lost me. Not ‘lost’ in the sense of gone but I was a shell for a while today. I was with me for a few hours and decided it was time to fuck with my head, why not try some of that, with a touch of this, a piece of dat and bump bump bumping on along. Oh gosh, what’s a touch of this gonna do for me. Try it, might like it...might not. Well ‘not’ it was, and ‘not’ is me. Me stepped out for awhile, may be back later, may not. Roll the dice baby, come on 7! Luck is not going to find me. Post signs at the local store. Missing, me, call ‘I’ if found. But I sense that me is around, looking into my eyes...oh yes, here me is, no there I go. Quick glimpses like sitting at a light and watching cars turn in front. Quick connections, quick...disconnect. Me does that, me connects, ZAP, gone. Where? Behind this wall of fucked up shit I just put up to fuck with my head. Is it bad to be straight? I think not. Stop? I think not. Compromise? I think not.
I think not.

- johnny olson