Other Poems by:

David Hoyt Johnson

From shadowpoetry.com

Do you hear the drums beating

still not the drums
from distant hedge
they call to us
of prose and pen

and gather we
as twilight sighs
no longer but words
but face meeting eyes

and strip from your flesh
your veils of cloth
and naked stand
your passions sought

feel the sweet heat
from cedar ablaze
as sweat pours forth
in this smoky haze

and the drums grow bolder
as the flute joins in
and the dance grows frenzied
in what fools would call sin

we drink from the sweat
of the flesh born of heat
ah a poets nectar
it does taste so sweet

the women of words
who have long graced this corner
now touching their passions
with nothing to fear

and the men who seek them
with bodies now seared
are joined in their passions
as their sweat bear no tears

and the poets do dance
this dance born of years
for a poets pen weeps
of their longing and fears

and as the winds sing
of seasons in change
we have but one dance
in this hedge far away

so still not the drums
from distant hedge
for they call to us all
of prose and the pen

From the mist

She came to me from the mist.
Ah crystalline shroud that hovers ever so delicately,
caressing the most soil
while vaporous waifs are drawn,
tentacle like, towards nights
brilliant orb.

Silent orb that draws the waters
to soil's refuge,
she was as one with the moons mysteries,
timeless fascination upon mans
ignorant eyes.

Cobalt eyes that drew me towards her
hesitant not I gaze unto the radiance
drawn as if from some deep well
where clear, cool, spring water awaited
the touch of my lips.

Her lips met mine for a brief eternity.
forces of tender passion too strong
to relay with the phonetic utterance of tongue,
whirlwinds of colored emotion
sheath us.

To us the stars become as whitened stones upon the stream
and our hearts dance to the flute,
sweet, lilting, notes brush lightly through
her golden hair like a
whispered voice.

Her voice heard in a silent souls embrace,
"My timeless love you will know passion
as other men know sight. And you will
give yourself to love without doubt,
foolishly brave."

"And brave love your companion will also be despair.
For only those who know despairs bitter taste
can savor the succulent fruit of the vine.
And time will shed the pain like some
reptilian scales."

"As scales of the balance you shall be given
equal measure, but none in moderation.
For a poet cannot moderate life's ebbs and flows,
do the waves cease their rush to the shore
in fear of the crash upon
the stones?"

Polished stones she offered to me as she drifted back.
Quartz, Sapphire, Jade, Onyx I then held,
warmly glowing upon my calloused hand.
Runic symbols scared the brilliance of each
Celtic knot.

"Forget not this gentle embrace for I leave you never.
Live not in the joys of things no longer, instead,
shine light upon the darkness of things to be.
And taste each sweet breath that is given
in your souls dance."

She dances upon the cresting waves, this muse of mine,
who kissed my soul so very long ago.
And some tranquil nights when darkness rest
I hear again her voice
in our souls embrace...

Past hauntings now ash

Soft winds are stilled in this hallowed place
hidden from our sight.
The hedge grove deep, dark and still,
a stranger to days light.

Yet come they will, this blessed Clan,
traditions to be held,
and sound the horn, strike the drum,
and raise the tarnished bell.

For torches flare with bitter scent,
the fires to be lit.
While one by two the grove is filled,
all carry a simple gift;

the Camomiles bloom, a Lavender stem,
a swig of Pine and Hemlock,
are offered now with ancient chant,
and laid in fresh pine box.

When all have passed with gift of choice
and silence fills the grove,
the gray one takes this box of pine,
now filled with memories chosen.

And blessed be the words he chants
yet heard by none now graced,
this box of memories now is tossed
into the fires embrace.

Ah fragrance sweet upon our lips
does rise as flames consume.
And memories wished no longer for
are banished in woodland tomb.

Children with hair of fire's tint
now dance in robes of tatters,
while laughter fills this silent grove
from all now present gathered.

For memories can in times of joy
be comfort to one's soul,
yet some can haunt the brightest day
and take a cursed toll.

And in this place not far away
dark memories can be laid,
and once again can laughter ring
while children in joy can play...

Scattered tribe

In ancient days
of future known
our tribe was gathered
with magic bold.

The day grew long
with dance and mead
and evenings breath
carried wisdoms seed.

And the storied man
from days before
now draws us closer
as the flames do soar.

Through the soot and smoke
and fires dark
his eyes draw light
his words are stark.

He speaks to us
of silence born
the inner gifts
will be no more.

Our eyes will be blinded
to the light between leaves
our senses grow dim
our spirits will leave.

As a gossamer veil
that covers the face
instincts now mute
knowledge takes its place.

And the earth will grow cold
the trees loose their song
our mysteries will fade
the journey be long.

And the seer, the sooth,
the shaman and witch
will fade to the crowd
unknowingly rich.

While the earth spins its turn
and days into years
rebirth and rebirth
our time drawing near.

And we walk among men
with eyes seeing all
for the seeds are reborn
the veil does now fall.

Though our tribe has dispersed
and the hedge is long gone
to a place we now gather
our souls will be drawn.

And the earth will remember
the mysteries once shared
our gifts now restored
for those who will dare.

Prepare the rosemary,
and evergreen boughs
place the knife in the soil
for the spirits aroused.

And look to the other
as you walk down the street
for in the eyes of the stranger
our tribe you will meet.

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