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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
An ocean tumbles through dreams of you. In depths unknown,
I float above. Oh, how I long to dive beneath your surface,
yet I am timid in matters of love. If brave, I’d have shown
you the whole of my gushing heart, no less than tides of bliss.
Seeking depths unknown, I long to dive beneath your surface.
Searching your eyes, I want for treasures lost on the ocean’s floor.
The sun, like a gold coin, drops, splashing this face of regret. I blush
in secret thoughts of you and turn away from the endless shore.
A swoop from seagulls catches the light of your smile and breaks the hush
of late sky. Turning away from the endless shore of regret, I blush.
My lonely shore may flood, a wish to bathe in the caress of you
granted. I shall break from fear, to brave a rolling river between us.
Down current, I’ll swim until I reach your ocean of sparkling blues.
I would drown in the waves of your uncharted waters. Glorious
would be death in the caress of you, your uncharted waters…glorious.
Written, 1/18/2015,
for Craig Cornish's Manassian Quintain Contest,
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
One leaf fell from a tall, tall tree
and subtly kissed gnarled roots beneath;
a lover’s kiss below sunned-sheath
of greenest leaves, a jubilee.
One spiraling leaf brought playful mirth
to sullen earth of trodden dirt.
A flight of hopeful shades of spring,
for hard, hard ground, an offering
One leaf dressed in a sparkling jade
glided with grace to green grass blades
and rested near a bubbling brook,
then waited for warm breeze that shook
its flirty skirt on green, green glade.
An arc of bright green canopy
warmed my heart in bluest mood,
and one leaf blew a kiss from you.
It twirled and pranced and floated by,
then with a touch it came to lie
green in my hand, a dear surprise.
Like emerald hills of Irish tales,
I marveled at how one leaf sailed
green In my hand that blue, blue day,
a kiss from you on Patty’s Day -
The gray clouds parted shining green,
a beauty like I’d never seen.
for Francine's Show Me the Green Contest, 3/18/15
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
A path strewn thick with ruddy-faced leaves
led to nowhere and everywhere in fantasies,
our near-death rescue from boredom
come afternoon chores and homework pages
wrinkled in time.
I try to recall all I tried to forget.
Back home, under the willow trees, I weep
for childhood, friendship,
for innocence surrendered,
all I thought I could keep, fuzzy lines
between love and loss,
practical days that come with age.
I close my eyes to see through tears -
you, a dance in rain showers, oval-spheres
of costume jewelry, tea parties and dragons slain
rays of sunlight climbed,
imagination uncaged,
carefree hours,
diamonds in darkness,
restless dreams fell like leaves
on youth's horizon of trees and flowers.
Two kids set free in skies shaded gray -
we said forever, a pinky swear I remember,
naïve in make-believe worlds. How many years
passed by, miles kept between you and I?
A phone call once-in-a-while reminded
of our bitter, listless eyes,
our disappointment in distant words.
I hope you always knew the truth,
I loved you, dear friend.
It was myself, I hated.
Time cradled our laughter,
held it on the breeze,
childhood secrets
shared with ease on our path,
thick with summer's dead leaves.
We, too young to notice,
fell into brittle leaves
trodden bare
before first snow.
Our laughter now echoes in dreams,
chaffing our willow trees
still sulking low,
moss brushes away tears in timeless beauty,
and waits for you to come home.
An old poem, revised 3/15/17
249 words total
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
Kyoko walks alone in the morning tide,
comforted for a fleeting moment by salty air.
She feels the same sand between her toes
as when she was a barefoot little girl, in a time
she felt safe, when the eyes of her mother protected her
like a suit of armor - before the mighty wall of water,
the “harbor wave”, towered over her village
near Fukushima, washing her happy childhood away.
Her dear mother, her security, her everything
never came home that day.
Many months later, her father, a local fisherman,
has lost his ability to cry, laugh or tell her why.
His silent eyes, cold as frost, are dead
like the poisoned fish he nets every morning.
In many ways, Kyoko lost both of her parents
on that haunting day - forced to grow up long before
the water receded, before the nuclear leak,
before this new, austere existence.
Night deepens the despair. She is loneliest
when darkness invades. She prays for the crickets
return. They no longer sing her to sleep, and the stars
have faded, no longer shining through her open window.
Even the grasshoppers have died…
from restless sleep, night calls her to the mirror
to find her mother’s dark eyes staring back at her –
a curse she hopes will one day become a blessing,
a hope that one day her father will look at her again...
With tomorrow, her greatest burden will return.
She will wake along side the broken-winged butterfly
with her duties in mind. Then, she’ll wear her stoic face
to the marketplace. Father says he will soon lose
his fishing boat. She has heard visitors from the city say
only a fool would eat the fish from nearby waters,
the same fish she fries most every day. No one knows
the global impact, they say. She hears foreign words
like radiation, disease and mutation while she sells
the shiso and wasabi root from their garden stand,
feeling fear she does not fully understand but one day will.
She only knows how to survive today…
For Debbie Guzzi's Global Poetry Contest, 11/19/14
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2014
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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
I watch this world pass by,
miracle after miracle,
overcome with thoughts
of life and death -
heated in a buttery sky;
the air melts into far corners,
farther than my eyes can see.
Faster, this world spins into
eternity, faith, and possibilities.
An open window becomes a gate
to step through, a starting place -
as a bluebird dips in the birdbath,
squirrels scurry across green grass,
a blue horizon darkens like a memory.
Those who hurriedly pass by feign contentment
with plastic smiles, earbuds, cell phones,
a false sense of purpose.
I feel content, at peace, and yet, I ache for more -
a yearning from deep within.
I feel it wash over my skin.
Cars drive by, everyone’s going somewhere,
but not I. I sit here…I watch.
I whisper a short prayer for a friend,
I remain silent with His answer –
patience…all will work out in time;
head bowed, I pray for His healing hands
to touch me. In my father’s arms,
I am comforted and whole.
I am who He sees…
sunlight traces storm clouds
painting rainbows over shadowed trees,
a beautiful canopy.
His love flows through me,
pouring out at Calvary.
In the afternoon rain,
I see each drop of blood.
A choir of clouds congregate.
I hear their worship song.
I see a crown of thorns around them.
I feel the weight of the cross
He struggles to carry.
Mangos fall with the rain
from a shaken tree,
then lay bruised on limp, wet leaves;
flies begin to swarm around them;
following the clouds trajectory,
I envision more than I can bear -
His slashed skin and mangled bones
flash before my eyes.
With hands nailed, He's hung
on the cross in shame and suffering;
every labored breath taken
until death for an ungrateful world…
my soul seems to understand
what I cannot grasp…all of this,
He did for me….and you.
Love becomes more than a word,
a blessing becomes more than a concept.
I sit at my window unnoticed;
I watch the world pass by -
every leaf, pebble, bird, raindrop
and new life, I see,
like a child with a loving father,
a miracle…
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
Blue words cry,
smearing bare
paper walls.
I am only this poem
to share.
Crimson lines
ironed, too perfect,
scratch romantic notions.
Sorrows brew.
Shush,
listen to
each whimper’s escape,
ink hurled at pages
not long ago blank. Bittersweet
sobs thunder -
cathartic storms impart
a verse to bridge hearts
over this deluge.
Words enchant, coax
from nostalgic dreams,
over and between
dusk and dawn’s enlightening.
I awaken weightless
adrift in lyrical seas.
When night returns
bruised, I lie
with incarnate spirits,
my midnight blue disguise.
A smile from cobalt eyes
speaks. Blues reach
like friends to beseech
my soul.
While my pen glistens through tears,
these starry hazels gaze
as livid-blues turn
cerulean. A poem breathes -
loose layers, discernible beauty, strength,
prayers answered. Wise,
I purge my pain
in letter’s curvaceous rise.
I rest in hollow
of spaces,
stolen tranquility.
For now, prisoners are released,
but oh, how I know
morning
tightens fear's hold.
When blues speak,
I'll seek
love, acceptance
and find my pen.
I’ll unlock my heart again.
May my poem birthed
remind in lonely hours
of my power,
my worth.
May light
fall
upon God’s poema.
Ink-stained, I am
one woman heard,
only blue words.
(200 words)
5/31/15
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
I spin, faster and faster…
losing control, I am a propeller rising.
Once, you were my mystery to solve,
my gift to unwrap -
my challenge, my highest vista to climb.
You lifted me to your private skies.
Spread out before me on red-winged flights,
eradicated stars came back to life,
painted iridescent by your own two hands.
What could only be crayoned by inferior men.
All aglow, the universe circled my head -
round and round till the dizziness came,
infatuation only to blame.
I spin…slower, rhythmic, scraping.
I am a pinwheel on softest breeze,
memories fleeting.
With a crystal crown of constellations,
you adorned my flowing hair –
locks spun golden, locks I loosened for you.
I became a glowing body for you to orbit,
a fiery flood of sunlight traveling,
Venus gifted in violet dusk,
auroras of ribbon braided…
I spin…slanting, lower, on tip-toes.
I am a ballerina with an audience of one.
I watched you watch me in light of all things.
I wanted to be center of your universe…
rings of Saturn encircled you and I.
Mercury’s fire blazed through what was us.
Blue-silver splattered moons orbited our sleep.
I kissed the moon rock I named after you.
I kissed you and only you until dawn slipped
between the warmth of our linen sheets.
I caught you in my arms time after time,
clouds dappled with your eyes floated by…
doting, they released scintillating showers
upon a wilting flower.
When it was time for you to catch me,
you were gone…taking with you part of me.
I fell hard…back to earth, stained crimson, star-struck.
Forever is a long time to chase
shooting stars through echoing space.
I trusted you, trusted only you, trusted you with me.
I rusted, no protection from your harsh elements.
We all come back to reality of a spinning earth…
we rise or fall, move or hide, heed the call or lie.
We come to the self-sharpened point of swim or die.
Time rushes by…
I sat next to you, held your hand,
feeling like my own miraculous sky,
regaining my identity…
while you read your own vanity.
I spoke of the poem I wrote for you another day.
“Yeah, yeah…Aha”, you whispered, my words
dismissed, a foreign language never understood.
Space and time altered our skies;
below, your lies became our demise.
Our footprints disappeared before my eyes.
In my own miraculous sky, I have slowed my pace,
aware of my mistakes, my fear, my grace.
I embrace beauty, peace, tears I've cried, the ride…
Dawn came early this new day, I drove away,
weaved around a pothole, almost crashed.
The gravel road rattled my faith.
I started to spin again…disoriented, I faltered,
but I never turned back.
I wonder if I avoided my own catastrophe,
saved face, or a little of both…
I remember how I asked you
about the meaning of love.
You turned away,
admiring your reflection that day,
your own genius you’d say.
I planted my feet, met your eyes, then marched away.
Head held high, you dimmed under a starlit sky.
I searched myself and found the brightest star…
it led me home.
The best gift I could give to myself.
Now, I brush my fingers lightly across
a constellation on high…
Pegasus, I think.
Only to realize, it’s reflection
mottles in a rippling puddle below...
beauty awakened by my grounded feet.
4/11/15
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
I am here but only briefly,
a believer in today, tomorrow
and ever after. I am a blustery wind
shaking the foundation and a gentle
breeze rustling the leaves.
I am an observer of the beautiful,
graceful, awkward and absurd,
feeling like a spy amongst
voices and visions, kinetic energy,
filling the spaces between footsteps
and the void between us.
I am an over thinker, one woman,
always wondering, waiting
for the rain on a sunny day.
I often remind myself:
I am not the center of this world or any other.
Still, I must find my place even when
circumstances change. I do not like change.
Like a sturdy oak, I am rooted and earthy,
but sometimes…I want to spread my wings
and land on a rugged mountaintop.
I am a rock star yearning to ramble
from city to city, finding solace
in a sea of faces. Oh, to just get lost in the
music and crowds would be sublime!
I am passionate on the inside,
reserved on the outside –
complex in all my contradictions -
a broken child with shattered dreams
yet I still find hope in each sunrise and
peace with each sunset.
I am always searching for more time,
just one stolen moment to take a deep breath.
I am forgiving and want to be forgiven.
I am a nurturing mother.
My sons are my reason to get out of bed
when I’d rather hideaway.
My sons are my joy (both scream
for me right now).
I am a juggler, trying to keep
all my balls in the air, and also
absentminded for obvious reasons.
I am a woman who loves to be loved –
complex in all my contradictions.
I am not that different than you.
We all just want to feel connected.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders for Frank Herrera’s I Am Contest, 11/5/14
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2014
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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
Haunted by the death of dreams
and slaughtering of innocence
but too afraid to dig up the bones
and examine our own mistakes,
we bury our heads instead,
blindly following greedy leaders
who give nothing but hollow words
and meaningless moments of silence.
I know I’m not the only one asking -
what more can we do?
As summer nears, sunlight stirs
in streams, surprising delicate gardens
with dreams of daffodils.
Their bright eyes, wide with secrets,
suddenly close, and their dainty petals
wither until they are no more.
Knowing these last days
of spring rain will remain,
summer retreats.
Soon, their daffodil dreams will be
just a memory.
After darkness falls, all is numb.
New roots breeding evergreen
suddenly turn dry and dull.
Promises forgotten,
potential lost to pain -
tomorrow’s tree weakening.
The shimmering green of innocence
is gone, but fiery guns are drawn.
How can we forget while whipping winds
constantly howl? How can we only cry
as hatred’s bullets continue to fly?
Smoky skies once boisterous and blue
now choke our most cherished blooms.
The silence of complacency
is evil’s sickening laughter,
Do you hear its rifle reloading faster?
My blue tears turn blood red,
anger gushes, flooding me
from sea to dimming sea
in this vast land of violence versus vulnerability.
We are no longer free to dream,
no longer free to tend to our gardens,
to breathe in and measure
each miraculous moment,
to watch our fragile flowers strengthen
and grow to beautiful heights.
With head bowed, I listen
to the silence of my tears falling
where the flowers once grew.
I can no longer hear the cries
of the fallen with petals blowing.
I only hear the howling winds
of this never-ending nightmare,
and again I ask,
what more can we do?
5/25/22
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2022
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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Poem
Jesus Savior...Pilot Me from walkinginsunlight.com
Across the blackest waters
ripples of pain,
swell into an anguish splashing
against the blackest shore,
and in the rustling of brittle leaves
from the shadows of tallest trees,
the darkness beckons me
to climb aboard, climb aboard,
an empty boat waiting
upon the blackest shore.
Through depths of night, I ride atop
the black of cavernous waves.
They seem to be a hollow echo
calling out my name
from the splashing of the oars
to the splashing of my pain
against the rocking boat
in the blackening of waves.
Across the water, I stir the black
and do not feel afraid,
but wonder if the water knows it holds
my every pain
my every shame
and every tear
cried out on my darkest days.
Then, from the other side, I hear the splash
of steady rain.
The purging from above seems to calm
my darkest pain.
I dip the oars deeper still
to head for waiting shores,
and from the water's floor,
bubbling, rising
more and more,
I hear the splashing,
splashing
of my own resounding laughter.
Then, a calm lightens my struggle
as the sunrise pales
my dark disasters,
and in the glare of morning
from bright sunbeams above,
I remember with a prayer,
I am loved.
I am loved
I am loved.
Written 6/4/20 for Kai Michael Neumann's
Splash Poetry Contest
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2020
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