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    Days in the Life
    Days in the Life
    Days in the Life
    Ebook167 pages44 minutes

    Days in the Life

    By L.R. Johnson

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A collection of poetical works written between 2002 and 2018 enhanced beautifully by the fantastic art works of, sublime artists, Elisabeth Johnson, and Francis Charlton Esq.  

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherL.R. Johnson
    Release dateJul 12, 2018
    ISBN9781386693109
    Days in the Life
    Author

    L.R. Johnson

    I wrote this most interesting, adventurous, exciting, biography in memory of the loss of my only brother, Dave.  I have other titles published, but this biography was written solely from the heart.

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      Book preview

      Days in the Life - L.R. Johnson

      Days in the life

      Collection of poetic works

      Written by

      L.R.Johnson

      Artwork

      By

      Elisabeth Johnson

      And

      Francis Charlton Esq

      Foreword

      A street car called Desire

      The penniless entertainer entered middle stage to echoing, rapturous applause from the three paying spectators, his mum, his granny, and his flea-bitten, mangy dog, who dared to enter the empty theatre and, even pay for the premiere of this unknown celebrity.

      Shaking, and crapping in his pants, the unknown actor begun his one-man show, attempting to convince his spectators of the hidden genius bottled up in his warped, black humoured mind. He had been waiting for this moment to arrive for all of his life.

      The crowd applauded (and barked) at every quip, joke, outrageous statement, spastic gesture, moonwalks, and facial disfigurements, a hell of a show they thought, in deep sympathy.

      The empty seats did not deter the actor completing his 45-minute, one-man show. The lights dimmed as an echoing, enthusiastic crescendo of applause, barking, and tail wagging, circulated, and bounced off the velvet-clad walls resembling a free-flowing boomerang. It smacked the lonesome actor between his balls whilst taking a final bow, ouch, he cried!

      The ‘crowd‘ withdrew, lights faded, a mask covering the actor gradually disappeared and, loneliness reappeared as the actor exited his

      desolate, damp, mould ridden, changing room only to be greeted in the empty foyer, by an alcoholic, fag smoking, unshaven, unscrupulous theatre owner, and his three devoted fans. Hugs, and wet doggy kisses were issued, as a single tear drifted slowly down the make-up less cheek of a new born star, so proud, to have trodden the boards and, succeeded in the eyes of his devoted fans; Mum, Grandma, and his mangy, ageing dog called,

      A Streetcar named Desire.

      Still, dead or alive?

      by

      Elisabeth Johnson

      Off the wall

      Losing REM on the TV, coffee table plus toast

      All day telephones ringing, bells and drums

      In one, out the other, cyber cabled contacts with

      Southern Aztec eagles flying on runways built for

      Aliens seen before the carrot behind the donkey.

      Across Abbey Road painted images of

      Hits and runs over pedantic types

      Who have never been satisfied with the proof.

      Micro-cosmic lights being darkened

      By flashing red and white endless seas

      of rippling waves never ceasing to crash.

      Erasing lighthouse messages going nowhere

      In circles, Schopenhauer reads Kant reads

      Denial of the nothing, is all that exists

      Are born again images of handicapped

      Persons not winning, but losing confronted with

      Climbing the greasy pole, and always slipping back,

      never progressing beyond the oblivious search

      for paths lost, past X-filed Ink injected

      Eyeballs crawling inwards, outwards pulsating

      Movement is ice cold ready to burn left over

      East winds blowing west causing Californian

      Eruptions of subtle proportions, enticing

      Thought controlled alcoholics on immoral

      Park benches at 8 o clock, timeless, endless

      Cans thrown in over filled trash bins, an overspill

      Of mindless thoughts from unshaven

      Blades of fresh mown grass in shapes and

      Angles casting shadows, black and white

      Subterranean Homesick Blues.

      Dylan’s verses cause a catalyst

      Idea of Stalin, Hitler leftovers banging their

      Heads on Jerusalem walls beyond the supernatural

      Rebounding off barbed wire fences, over and

      Out of misunderstanding the Creation, Exodus.

      Or reactions to answers without questions.

      Closed door exits into black holes that cause

      Teardrops to drop on a sandy oasis of Gulf like

      Waves create repetitive, borderless frontiers

      Adopted by, Warhol called it Art for Art’s sake, 

      Finding limitations of intellect within books

      Preaching lager lout behaviour of the

      Right to right, left radical beliefs rotating

      Between the Spectrum crossed

      Only be decisions, dictated by emotions.

      On the Street Car called Destiny twixt

      A church and Pie and Mash shop.

      Reliance on the mobile phone to order sanity

      Or a Kentucky Fried

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