Deb Johnston

like a down sleeping bag

it unfolds in a gentle roll

the water whispers

wait

there it is again

in the hush

birds call

a tree rustles back

it can’t be spoken

go to the shore–

listen

–Deb Johnston

–Deb Johnston

despise riches, give alms to everyone

that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy,

devote your income and labor to others,

hate tyrants, argue not concerning God . . .

dismiss whatever insults your own soul;

and your very flesh shall be a great poem. . .

–Walt Whitman

Happiness. . .

not in another place,

but this place,

not for another hour,

but this hour

-Walt Whitman

• 

Under the maple branches

the three o’clock sun will glitter

pelicans tailgate a fishing party

while a buckeye butterfly rests

upon a tangle of grapevines

then moves to a skeletal lounge chair

dock planks of warped wood gape

as summer slips between the spaces

                                    -Deb Johnston

Remember.

The day you plant the seeds

is not the day you eat the fruit.

Be patient. Be humble.

Keep moving forward and

know that all this hard work

you’re putting in day in and

day out WILL produce the

results you’re been looking for.

Your time is coming.

Do not give up.

–Author Unknown

My role as the Wood Lily in stretching my blazing petals is to herald summer’s arrival.

But for now the only sounds are bird calls and the whir of insects. Yet my beauty needs no voice.

My vibrancy is my survival. I lure in flying guests and await the pollen.

In my silent bloom language, I proclaim. . .

Late July, given heavy rain and sun,

I’ll follow the path to view Gull’s Rock.

With sun directly overhead I venture on,

thimbleberries tempt me off the trail.

The flavor of summer—

tart, yet sweet they are fireworks,

popsicles, picnics, parades

and remind me that

this season ends too quickly.

I savor each tiny fullness.