2014 
A Few Pics & Poems Added in 2014
July 26 2014: With fall coming time to dust off the snowplow.
Read more: https://www.yukonpoetlaureate.com/photos-2014/
I took this picture on July 26th at Fox Lake Yukon.
June 19th when I attended an exhibition of my good friend Yukon artist Jim Robb's life works at the Yukon Art Centre.
Read more: https://www.yukonpoetlaureate.com/photos-2014/
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"as i walk into the green garden"
Taken at the Yukon Art Centre on June 19th where I attended an exhibition
of my good friend Yukon artist Jim Robb's life works. I will be posting a
few pics of the exhibit as well. Stay tuned!
Read more: https://www.yukonpoetlaureate.com/photos-2014/
and as i walk into the green garden
that is always dying
the faces
of the Lost Ones
still blossoming before me
like so many
brightly-colored flowers
that never fade
forever
my mother –
her old bones
asleep on the hill
overlooking the ranch
above a crumbling cabin
that echoes yet
with story
keep watch
keep track
as butter-fat wolf-pups
wrestle with the frosted ends
of snow-covered moose bones
and ravenous ravens
laughing like magpies
swoop down from stunted jackpines
to scour the boreal vista
vying forever for whatever leftovers
are left
my heart has memorized
the saddle-straddled coffin
and a line of sad-faced mourners
moving slowly forward
behind a rider-less Red Fox pony
escorting The Yukon Horse Woman
home
carrying her up that mountain
one last time
where goes the green of summer
when Northwinds come
to howl away the sun
what’s left of the fatted calf
that once was life
that hovers now ghost-like
upon some foreign horizon
where do the living
really go
a sudden burst of wolf wind
thrashes through the buckbrush
quieting the neigh of gentle horses
caressing my friendless ear
as if in answer
and the sun rises higher
than God
as the sparkling midnight waters
begin to dance across the lake
©pj johnson 2012
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"welcome to my fantis-phere"
the story of my life today
is written on the wind
it howls down the mountainside
it echoes like a sin
it dances with your memory
it hides inside your smile
it quivers like a heartbeat
come dance with me awhile
welcome to my fantis-phere
shake hands with all my grief
we’ll speak the foreign languages
that have no real belief
it’s all just words that never end
and dreams that never age
like schools of fish that flash and fade
and swim upon a page
you can’t deny your destiny
your edge is melting down
your bones are bent on ecstasy
but all you have is now
the flames of hell reach out to you
the snakes are on their way
the wind calls foul and strikes you out
there’s nothing left to say
you hunger for that mother-beat
that spoke to you in tongues
and wrapped you in its sanctity
and nearly struck you dumb
the hounds of hell are closing in
they’re nipping at your heel
to run. to hide. you can’t decide
there’s nothing left to feel
welcome to my fantis-phere
shake hands with all my grief
we’ll speak the foreign languages
that have no real belief
it’s all just words that never end
and dreams that never age
like schools of fish that flash and fade
and swim upon a page
©pj johnson 2013
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In the 1970’s I was a young single parent living in a cabin in the Yukon wilderness. In those days there were many colourful Yukon characters about, one such being my old friend ‘O. D.’ Don Brown. With his shaggy grey beard and tattered old Stetson he was the quintessential image of a Yukon Sourdough. O.D was laid to rest in 1985. Sometimes I still drop by to visit him.
"hey o.d. "
hey o.d.
just last week i saw you
hangin’ out on main street
in your tattered old stetson
with the word YUKON
blazed across the hatband
so busy tellin’ lies to the
salesgirl in Mac’s
you didn’t even see me
wasn’t it just yesterday
we were neighbors
livin’ on bannock and moose meat
out there in the bush
-you mindin’ the babies
so i could hitch a ride
down to the laundrymat?
well those babies they’re pretty much
all grown up now
but i still remember you
out there in your
old red mackinaw
standin’ by the woodpile
thrashin’ away like a
windmill in a snowstorm
you swung a mean axe, man
chopping wood for you
was an art form
then on cheque days
you’d barge in the door
a bottle-a hootch in one hand
a barrel-a chicken in the other
hollerin’
“where’s the party?”
“where’s the party?”
i’d find you in the morning
on the floor beside the woodstove
but then a cigarette
an’ a cup of coffee later
you were playin’ your harmonica
dancing with the dog
and laughing about the night
you broke the door down
with a frozen hind of moose
because you couldn’t find
your key
last friday at the T&M
i said “how ya doin’ o.d.?”
you just grinned
winked at me
and said
“i’m on my way out, y’know.”
“dyin’ eh?”
“i’m sorry,” i said
and meant it
sandy-
she’s mad as hell
said you’d wanted your ashes
spread over Grey Mountain
i said “well at least he’ll be
on the mountain”
she just walked away
never did have a
sense of humour
well i gotta go
it’s gettin’ late
you know you can
almost see the river from here?
it’s really not so bad
for a cemetery
hey o.d. you never know
place might kinda
grow on ya
time to hit the road
i’ll come by and see you again
sometime
maybe bring the dog
i’ll say hi to the kids for ya
and hey you old
streak a’ misery
try an’ stay outta trouble
willya?
©pj johnson 1985
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"faith is"
faith is a journey
to a place you’ve never been
without a name
faith is knowing
that the sun is always there
even when you can’t see it
faith is believing
god gave us the rainbow
because there is always hope
faith is hearing
the voice of an angel
in the prayer of a child
faith is pausing
to admire the beauty of a butterfly
knowing god made it
faith is waiting
for the salmon to return
because you know they will
faith is perseverance
pursuing your dream
when the world says you can’t
faith is sometimes accepting
that you must walk through the fire
before you can walk into the light
faith is an embrace
that comforts you
in the howl of a storm
faith is a quiet voice
that tells you
you are worth loving
faith is discovering
that there really are
no coincidences
faith is an unlocked door
you choose to walk through
or not