Original poetry written by Dave Johnstone

Click a following link to read poems by subject matter.


* Start It Here With Some Poetry About The World In General

"If these written words touch one wooden heart, or bring a tear to one dry eye, then I'll be happy."

I am a semi-retired software developer and web-site developer, so I find time to experiment with rhyming poetry as a change of pace. My poetry is based on observations of nature (which many people ignore), and the poems convey my humour and empathy with my surroundings, from the sea, to the earth, to the cosmos, and all life-forms therein (including those in other worlds).

I believe having a cynical attitude and a sense of irony, helps me navigate through today's World. I live in Ontario, Canada (Lat. 43.4500° N, Lon. 80.4833° W). The following are samples of my attempts at poetry, and I present these poems free of any great pretensions, especially in comparison to "my favorite poets".

These selections of rhyming poems are constantly being reviewed and reworked, but were originally written between 1996 and .

Copies of these poems may be used only use as long as a copyright notice remains attached and the authors permission has been granted.
All enquiries to: mailto:submit@poetize.ca

All images (except backgrounds) and all information contained within this web site (except the other favourite poems), is the copyright of
Dave Johnstone © 1996 - : All rights reserved.

* A Mixture of poems to start off.

Road-Works Signs
"Road works" the sign did cry,
the truth came clear on passing by,
slowing down and squeezing left,
'cos a ragged hole the road did cleft.

Who approved the sign on view,
if they traveled past the words they hew,
that "road works" means that roads do flow,
'cos ragged holes make the roads go slow.

If roads are meant to speed us by,
not quite so fast as when we fly,
then ragged holes fail travelers all,
'cos "road works" signs imply "no crawl".

Next time a "road works" sign you spy,
don't take it seriously it promotes a lie,
and no profanities from your mouth be spoken,
'cos the road you travel you know is broken.
The Shinny Hawk
Not many times will he hop upon the wood-pile,
not many moments before his short-time will end,
a shadow that bears down upon, scares, gives portend,
and moves, in deathly silence, with the reapers guile.

The Sun that shone and touched, withdrew its willing light,
those, with whom he played were quick borne, their gift, their eye,
saw the truth, and contrived a sly retreat, nearby,
voices of alarm passed from shade, did not incite.

Swift flows the wind, carrying the heedless message,
clasped in the fearful claws of the raptor, his death,
from the chilling axe is quick, under his last breath,
remembers: the sweet joys of fledge, remorseful rage.
Smile Light - Memories of Paul Smith
The sun shone in the empty room,
his smile I still do see,
thought not of the sadness,
nor life of mystery,
no more his shadow shall be cast,
no more the rain to feel,
never immune to that smile, that,
his humour did reveal.

He wandered lonely as a star,
a small pin-prick of light,
that outshone the beacons,
the bonfires of the night,
happily we will remember,
happily never forget,
where the light shines cheerful, with,
his smiles we are long blessed.

There will always be his England,
there will always be his game,
always those funny bits,
that accompanied his flame,
though the earth unites his clay,
though his glow casts no ghosts,
always when I hear laughs, I,
know he's with celestial hosts.
The Clothes I Wore - Mothers Day
Although the clothes I wore are somewhat creased,
I hope your soul won't heed from the earth that's leased,
That there is good reason I'm dressed this way,
I've been tending gardens deep in May.

I'm amused Mum I did not wash or shave,
As I made it with haste to your grave,
So eager to tend yours that I did flee,
To get here quickly as you can see.
Your weathered tombstone plot's a mess,
The winter's cold caused the plants to stress,
And with spade and flowers I'll now redo,
Your resting place to look like new.
But while bending down on hands and knee,
To plant bright flowers for the World to see,
The soil gets on my clothes and hand,
I think I know you will understand.

Although the clothes I wore are not quite clean,
I hope your soul did heed now I have been,
So there is good reason I've dressed this way,
To tender your garden deep in May.
Irrational Ex
Hollow life,
no control,
witch-craft,
lost soul,
Tarot cards,
Lotto hope,
faith is gone,
who's the Pope,
drifting wind,
soulless mate,
think not,
cry fate,
lucky charms,
numbers up,
logic out,
give me luck.
The Wallet-Men
An eager group at the pub met, 'twas
an eclectic bunch of ten,
waiting for the limousine,
were the bulging wallet-men.

The airport trip was ominous, for
the scotch began a flowing,
it was just thirty past eight,
when the wallet-men were glowing.

Uneventful the port and plane, but
a meeting place was plotted,
and so to "Hurleys" was the plan,
it's the place where we'd be squatted.

If there were homes away from "home", then
this was our great attraction,
if some wallet-men got lost,
we'd meet-up and plan some action.

The game was still two days away, but,
the rivalry had started,
bets were flying round our home,
we would not be out-smarted.

Our little home had an annex, which,
we staggeringly found quite late,
once past the giant bouncer,
we engaged what was our bait.

Now Montreal has the prettiest, there,
is absolutely no doubt,
but peeling banana skins,
revealed only by what wallets spout.

While the home, annex and beer, trimmed,
hopes and wallets 'till going away,
eating interrupted fun,
and hang-over's were the fray.

Stretches of time were quickly filled, with,
spending sprees until the game,
then a good meal fore the war,
team warriors were dressed the same.

Split in two were the wallet-men, and,
the Habs and Hogs unlike dressed,
then to the centre of hell,
where Habs crowed their triumphant jest.

Back to our home to settle scores, where,
winners and losers did meet,
where bets were paid then beer flowed,
but it's taste was not quite so sweet.

Four solid days of revelry, was,
now taking its toll on all,
not just our mortal beings,
but thin-wallets that made us ball.

"Too long" cried even the hardest, next,
time it shouldn't be as long,
were missing "home" we'd shouted,
most money and voices long gone.

Certainly some things must remain, not,
said to save the embarrassed,
poles are not for wallet-men,
for at "home" they will be harassed

The limo was late arriving, but,
it worked out OK in the end,
what dollars weren't spent tripping,
were spent bragging back "home" with a friend.
Adjectives
Adjectives in their simplest form,
Like "big", "bigger", "biggest",
Display the standard norm,
With a rule so easy to digest.

But, for my intent and purpose,
This rule is simple to explain,
But as I dig beneath the surface,
Many exceptions just remain.

To plainly state a difference,
I simply add "er",
And highest qualities pose no hindrance,
Merely add "est", I can concur.

Common sense will suggest,
That the superlative form of "bad",
Is without a doubt the "baddest",
Not "worst", so I've just been had.

Now with "good", "better", "best",
Irregular grammar rules apply,
I suggest "gooder" and "goodest",
Their reasoning feels so wry.

While "small", "smaller", "smallest" is fine,
But "little", "less", "least" is odd,
And "many", "more", "most" makes me whine,
Although "dark", "darker", "darkest" gets my nod.

As I wonder now who made these rules,
Which confuse me and astound,
I am not suggesting they were fools,
But English grammar rules confound.
The Days First Drink
Up in the morning, up from the bed,
its duty not yet done,
the pot steams vigorous on the stove,
promises not to be shun.

Out of the caddy, into the cup,
dark essence from the sun,
the flavours hailed of dried fragrant leaves,
an awe as old as Zion.

Hot is the water, the leaves are steeped,
tannins and caffeine freed,
aroma and taste are bittersweet,
brewed to satisfy a need.

Banish now the sleep, from waking hours,
and dissipate the drowse,
fueling the daylight labours love,
furrows removed from the brows.

The cup is deplete, the deed is done,
look to the eye of the day,
the pot steams vigorous on the stove,
one-more, or into the fray?
2015: Fad, Fashion, Science, Technology?
I heard a guy sing today,
Sounded just like Mariah Carey,
Everyone applauded,
Even though it had been much done before,
Many times, synthesized vocal sounds.

I saw a guy drink a beer today,
Just the boring bland local brew,
Everyone drinks the liquid chemicals,
More than half the bar drinks them,
All the time, shunning modern methods.

I talked to someone home from vacation today,
Mexico or the Caribbean,
Everyone goes there,
Even the enlightened go there,
Most of the time, hectic schedules and faraway places don't co-exist.

I saw a kid today,
Babysat by an I-pad.
Every-kid had one,
Never the conversation,
Most of the time, parents too busy to attend.

I talked to a mate who laminated his floor today,
Some oak or maple look-alike,
Many have done this,
Looks nice today,
All the time, luster that won't last but a few years.

I saw a girl in yoga pants today,
Skin tight on the bum, but wow,
Many now wear these,
Looks nice and guessing what's underneath,
Most of the time, elasticity and stretch that won't break.

I saw a person with shaved side head today,
Was it a girl or a boy,
Many are now buzzed,
Doesn't suit many this unattractive cut,
Most of the time, purchased inexpensive imported clippers.

I met someone allergic to peanut butter today,
Schools have banned it,
Labels must report it,
My kids and their mates ate lots with no reaction,
Most of the time, many additives that disturb.

I talked to a baker making gluten free bread today,
Do our bodies no longer tolerate gluten,
Have our bodies changed so quickly in 10,000 years,
Is it a fashion or a fad this reduced demand for it,
Most of the time, bleaching and refining basic ingredients.

I thought to myself about these things today,
Discussed what's changing,
Fashion may stay and trends come and go,
Our lives, environment, technology, food processing, are changing,
All of the time, attention diverted, is my guess.
Now that April is here
Now that April is here,
I hear the robin's happy cheer,
I see the daffodils in swelled bud,
While the worms turn leaves to mud.

I hear the drumming of the flicker,
Woodpeckers claiming their new quarter,
I see the sparrows gather straw,
Building nests past March's thaw.

I see the sun now sets past eight,
And cast shadows dark the gate,
Icebergs still float the rain-barrel,
Like ice-cubes atop a cider ale.

I see the juncos moved back north,
Forsook their feeders from henceforth,
I hear a chipmunk's alarming cheep,
Now arose from his slumbers deep.

I see the buds on the maple swelling,
Soon its heavy seeds propelling,
I see the geese-brood side the road,
Do not go near do not goad.

I see neighbors raking lawn,
Soon to hear the mowers shorn,
I see the rabbit's twitching ears,
Always alert to hear her fears.

I hear the peepers vocalizing,
Their readiness for socializing,
I see the bleeding-heart emerging,
Within days it will be surging.

I see the barbecue now groomed,
Grilled meat the air makes perfumed,
T-shirt and shorts ignore slight chill,
I feel the sun which creates a thrill.

Now that April is here,
I hear the crowd's happy cheer,
I see the Stanley Cup road is now begun,
In June the hockey trophy will be won.
The But, And, So, of Poems
Some poems of a certain kind,
are abstract feelings of the mind,
but,
while other poems you will find,
are real events now left behind,
and,
consider this in every way,
that poets write words that have to stay,
so,
the written verse lasts past a day,
and compels who'd read, feel the play.
The But, And, So, of Poems
Some poems of a certain kind,
are abstract feelings of the mind,
but,
while other poems you will find,
are real events now left behind,
and,
consider this in every way,
that poets write words that have to stay,
so,
the written verse lasts past a day,
and compels who'd read, feel the play.
The Shower Caress
The water hot
and hair now rinsed
with soapy bot
A caress was sensed.

Gentle and cool
how faint the touch
fate is cruel
it promised much.

But warm air lifts
the curtain drape
with flimsy shifts
around my nape.

The Feather light
PVC caress
A touch so slight
the shower jests.

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* Poems Concerning Nature

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Poems Concerning The Cosmos

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Some of My Favourite Poems

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Contact Me:

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Address:
Kitchener/Waterloo, Ontario, Canada.

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