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Array ( [sid] => 125134 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Old Man Johnson [time] => 2006-08-31 02:40:06 [hometext] => Some chase fervently the vanities of the world, while others are like old man Johnson... [bodytext] => He sits there quietly
beneath an aged white oak;
with his eyes gently closed,
and arms resting firmly
between tree bark,
and the nape of his wrinkled neck.

The most subtle of sounds
he rests upon;
from the song bird nesting
amidst the canopy of leaves above,
to the trickle of an icy brook
running eastward
from a majestic mountain spring.


He simply sits, and listens...


And an omnifarious bouquet surrounds him;
created by wild flowers in bloom;
with a slight tingling of the nostrils
and fragrance above french perfume,
the scent fills his every breath,
then lingers pleasantly within his nose.

Old man Johnson just sits there,
like he always does (Right about noon)
quietly, under that old white oak,
with his eyes gently closed,
and his arms resting firmly
between tree bark,
and the nape of his aging neck.


He simply sits, and breathe’s, listening to the voices of God... [comments] => 4 [counter] => 232 [topic] => 43 [informant] => TwistedCage [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
Old Man Johnson

Contributed by TwistedCage on Thursday, 31st August 2006 @ 02:40:06 AM in AEST
Topic: oops



He sits there quietly
beneath an aged white oak;
with his eyes gently closed,
and arms resting firmly
between tree bark,
and the nape of his wrinkled neck.

The most subtle of sounds
he rests upon;
from the song bird nesting
amidst the canopy of leaves above,
to the trickle of an icy brook
running eastward
from a majestic mountain spring.


He simply sits, and listens...


And an omnifarious bouquet surrounds him;
created by wild flowers in bloom;
with a slight tingling of the nostrils
and fragrance above french perfume,
the scent fills his every breath,
then lingers pleasantly within his nose.

Old man Johnson just sits there,
like he always does (Right about noon)
quietly, under that old white oak,
with his eyes gently closed,
and his arms resting firmly
between tree bark,
and the nape of his aging neck.


He simply sits, and breathe’s, listening to the voices of God...




Copyright © TwistedCage ... [ 2006-08-31 02:40:06]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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Re: Old Man Johnson (User Rating: 1 )
by StormyNites on Thursday, 31st August 2006 @ 02:47:11 AM AEST
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what an incredible poem..in my minds eye i was watching him..seeing what he saw..very very nice


Re: Old Man Johnson (User Rating: 1 )
by sadaddy on Thursday, 31st August 2006 @ 05:02:41 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
Wow, that is an amazing write; you allowed the reader to picture exactly what was going on. Outstanding piece of work you have put together. Take care.

sadaddy


Re: Old Man Johnson (User Rating: 1 )
by secretwind on Thursday, 31st August 2006 @ 11:05:49 AM AEST
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very well done


Re: Old Man Johnson (User Rating: 1 )
by deadheadpoet on Thursday, 31st August 2006 @ 11:21:20 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
This was simply lovely. I could see the scene, perfectly. Majestic man, tree and earth. We are all one. (nothing like sitting under a tree contemplating life and such)
Thanks for sharing.
Peace, Laura




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