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About the Poet
Poems.
A Black Table and Chairs.
A Cross These Times.
A Dolphin on her neck.
A Mind For The Pecking.
A New Year. Again.
All I want to do is go home.
An old dog’s life.
Beauty Lies In Wait.
conveyance
Here…
I Am Melting Away.
I cut my gold card up.
I Dreamed I Died.
I See Her Everywhere.
Labour On.
Life is but a lingering death.
Little Plastic Duck
Priapus Limping Down.
Sisyphus Rolls on By.
Sleeping Spiders Dream.
So now I guess we have a cat.
Splashing To The Sun
The Golden Spilling Drop.
The imperfect moving forward.
The Old Slap and Tickle.
The Opera Singer.
The Organ Grinder.
The Painter’s Life.
The Placement.
The Poem Expanding
The Sun is Here.
They Slept as Pearls.
Walk on Pilgrim. Walk on.
When the Poem Comes.
Where’s the hand that would raise me?
Dean Johnson
Poet
Life is but a lingering death.
They wobble when they walk
not knowing
they are the dead
and tremble at the cawing of the crows.
But not me.
I walk steady laughing across this tilting land
calling out:
“Here come rest upon my arm.
Life is but a lingering death
and leaving it no harm.”
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