Jonathan Johnson

J. Johnson came to Spokane’s urban
Environs tracking mud across
The academic carpet, carbon
Dating mastodons of loss
Put up for sale in Fairbanks’ paper,
Domestic, edgeless, Great Lakes clipper
Delivering Jonathan to our town,
A mountain man in poet’s gown,
Intense, awake, a patient teacher,
A husband, father, one who knows
The shape of silence and what grows
From silence into human nature.
Dear J, it’s nice to see you here–
When will we drink that promised beer?


  1. Good poetry.

  2. In terms of texture, this one has the ribs of a battleship. Likey likey.


  3. Quin Finnegan says

    Yeah, this is very fine. Sounds like an occasional poem if there ever was one. Namely, an introduction. Did he respond with something like, “Yeah, sounds great! I’ll be needing / one too, right after the reading.”

  4. What about Parkade?

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