Frances Johnson as a poet is interested in people, places, and things as well as their relationships one to another.
About her poetrry she writes, "Words fascinate me because they have such power. With them we can express emotions, ideas, hopes, dreams, ideals, and much more. We can question, answer, build up, tear down, explore the known and the unknown, etc. Ultimately, I think language will either lead us to our nobler selves or to annihilation. Thus, I see a tremendous but exciting responsibility attached to writing whether it is poetry or a learned treatise.I'm very pragmatic and realistic in my daily life. However, I do believe that each of us has embedded somewhere inside, a mystical side that defies logic as it is usually defined. That side of me wishes to cultivate awareness of life/existence at all possible levels even when it can only be partially accomplished." She has been writing poetry since she began to read.
The poems in this selection are about Rogers Dry Lake Bed. Rogers Dry Lake Bed is the runway for space shuttle and aircraft landings at Edwards Air Force Base, Edwards, CA, south of hwy 58 between Mojave and Boron in the eastern edge of Kern County. Once every few years, when heavy rains occur, brine shrimp eggs hatch and live and brine shrimp live in the there for a brief time. Then they wait for the next time there is enough water to reappear.
Secret seeds*
lie hidden deep
in within
the barren dry
lake bed as
dust swirls and
shimmering heat
waves dance
a wedding march
across the surface
unaware uncaring
of about by the
patient seeds*
sleeping seeds*
marking all time
no time
waiting for fertile
raindrops
to activate the
dormant
master code
for changing
becoming
creating
convergent
infinities.
Desert death celebrates life
Sand and stinging winds
manzanita-like twisted
gnarled arching dry
blanched on drifting
a r i d d u n e s
framing poetic sky
reminder of
wetter life days.
conjoin with a scurrying
lizard
promising
promising...
From the womb
of phantom mountains
October dawn
emerges
pregnant with
promises of
impenetrable
solidity
which un-
announced
recedes
into azure
noth
ing
ness.
When the rains
come too much
and too long
the mud slides
and
the twisted
splintered
remnants of
this morning's
dreams
slither
aimlessly
down
down
down
the canyon wall.
She sat in the late afternoon slanted sun rays
She swallowed and swallowed again as if to clear
She surveyed three generations of memories
She knew that the large black trunk with the brass hinges
She remembered that the handwritten family tree
She was not certain where her grandmother had kept
Yet, she understood the power of the linked past
while all around her dust motes danced a slow dance.
Quietly, she began to rock back and forth clutching
a faded photograph to her black-clad breast.
some stuck, strange, and foreign object from her throat.
Quietly, she studied the features frozen in time
reflecting back her own almost mirror image.
as her gaze wandered about the cluttered attic
and paused to admire a finely crafted cradle
made of walnut which had belonged to her grandmother.
and lock held two wedding gowns as well as tissue
wrapped christening gowns and many photo albums.
The wedding gowns had belonged to her mother and grandmother.
so carefully updated by her grandmother
had been lovingly rolled and tied with a ribbon
and laid to rest on top of "Grandma's memories."
the records of Sue's own two failed marriages or
her disappointment that time had run out on the
possibilities of being a great-grandmother.
that marched with such valiant grace into the future.
Just as surely, she knew that when this day ended
she would take with her the view from Grandma's attic.
All text and images in The Central California Poetry Journal are copyrighted. Copyright by © by Scott Galloway 1999. All rights are reserved. See main Journal page for
copyright information.
Authors and poets submitting original materials to this journal retain all rights to their
original work, except those rights specifically assigned in writing to Solo Publications including the right to publish the submitted work in The Central California Poetry Journal. The poems on this page are copyrighted by the author. Copyright © Frances Johnson 1999.
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