• Author: Johnson, Harry W.
• Editor: Heinemann, Robert D.
• Newspaper: The Eastern Echo volume 1
• Page Number:
• Date: 12 Winter 1956
• Tags:
• poetry

The Thoughts of Harry W. Johnson

COPYRIGHTED 1956 by HARRY JOHNSON

OH, WHY?

For you, my love, my arms so yearn, But alas! for you there’s no return! My heart is sad and in grief I ery, Why did you go, my love, oh, why?

Never again will I see your smile That made life a joy and so worth while. My heart is sad and in grief I ery, Why did you go, my love, oh, why?

My lips are cold, no more will I kiss, ‘Tis yours, my darling, that I so miss; I miss them-.so, that in grief I ery, Why did you go, my love, oh, why?

Your lovely eyes that charmed me so, Their lustrous beauty and pensive glow, Are closed forever and in grief I ery, Why did you go, my love, oh, why?

JEALOUS WOMAN

Lurking in the depths of her hazel eyes are scintillating pools of adoration, and her ruby lips are deep reservoirs of ecstasy, and the hollow of her breasts the valley of sweet forgetfulness ; but in a moment her lips become frigid and unyielding to the swift caress of my lips; her eyes become seething, tempestuous pools of fury, and she, a fiery goddess wielding the sword of jealousy, bent on splitting my heart with one cruel stroke of the blade.

YOUTH’S LOST YESTERDAY

When I look upon an aged man, his wrinkled face and low bowed head of grey,

I never think of ridicule, for I myself walk the beaten path he traveled every day.

And if I mimic his slow and arduous walk, his bent and weary frame,

I heap only contempt on my own dull head and drive my soul to shame;

And to laugh at his broken, faltering speech when he tries to have his say,

Is to laugh at myself in the broken glass of youth’s lost yesterday.

So I say to the young. . .and I plead they list: have respect for the aged man, his wrinkled face and low bowed head of grey,

For someday. . .you too will have to look . in the broken glass

of youth’s lost yesterday.

RAMPARTS OF THE UNIVERSE

The luminous form of day, a gray mist clouding its azure eyes, stepped wearily across the earth’s heaving breast to the purple rim of the horizon; and with a last despondent look upon the earth’s fading erest, sighed wistfully, fluttered briefly its translucent gown, now tinged with the tantalizing colors of the setting sun, and slipped quietly through the portal of time and into the mystic cavern of infinity, there to retire, (so I believe) in the tender arms of sweet serenity ...

Night hovering beneath the celestial arch on the friendly wings of a deep silence, slowly descended and enfolded the earth with velvety arms; gray shadows absorbed the illusions of the day, and the vibrations of humanity subsided to soft murmurs on the transitory stage of life...

Stars glittered and danced across the sky with the luminosity and zeal of souls gathered round the palatial throne of love; and the moon, rotating in the sacred realm of purity, smiled benevolently, permeated the atmosphere with silvery arms, and delicately caressed the earth with warmth and compassion and filtered through the trees to weave gay pat- terns in the fluttering shadows of leaves against the starlit gown of night; strange night-birds sang their songs of love no voice could emulate, and silver-winged seraphs, gay conspirators of the night, scattered star dust over lucid streams, and sprinkled the earth with tiny pearls of dew.

Wild flowers on nearby slopes filled the air with a fragrant, invigorating scent, and honeysuckles spread their charm with a fragrance near divine. The leaves on the trees softly caressed each other and whispered strange mesmeric words of love, and the surrounding hills, silhouetted against night’s noble brow, were as sentinels standing guard on the ramparts of the Universe.