Tim Johnson has led a rather unique life. The son of a minister, all the members of Tim’s family were talented musicians, and by time Tim was in High School he was playing the piano and trombone. During his school years he was deeply involved in school and community music and drama activities. After graduation, Tim attended Kansas State Teachers College, now known as Emporia State University, where he earned a Bachelor of Music Education, following that up some years later with a Master of Music in Education.
Following his graduation from college, Tim taught band, choir and drama in public school as well as in college for a total of about 24 years and counting. Although officially retired, Tim still works in his local school district part time teaching elementary band to fourth and fifth grade students.
At the same time, Tim was continuing to hone his performing skills, traveling the Midwest as a trombone soloist and releasing an album, Trombone Moods in 1968. The next forty years saw these two careers alternate and overlap, as Tim eventually spent more than two decades on the road as a performing musician, playing in bands, orchestras, brass groups, show and circus bands in thousands of concerts throughout the United States, Canada and Europe.
About 1970, Tim began to compose and arrange music, dabbling in country and gospel songwriting, and writing arrangements for school instrumental ensembles. Through the years there have been several modest but personally significant events, including writing songs which have been chosen as theme songs for groups and businesses. In the late 1990’s Tim decided to expand his efforts into poetry, which, now coming full circle, leads to his first book of poetry scheduled for release in September of 2009. Be watching for Chains of Life, coming to a bookstore near you, fall 2009.
A Coat With Character
Early one morning in the beginning of autumn,
The air had a nip, and the leaves were falling
I was out for a stroll.
My jacket was older, and more than worn,
I needed a newer one to help keep me warm.
Driving in my car, looking ’round the town,
Seems there’s not much to be found.
Oh, there’s a leather store,
Small, unpretentious, but in the window shone
Jackets, coats, vests in warm lights glow.
Open beam ceiling, worn wooden floor .
Wagon wheel lights, jingle bells on the door.
The aroma of rich leather.
The look of an old line cabin, with walls of log
Complete with braided rug and a sleeping dog.
A rack of cowhide coats catches my eye,
Stylish or plain, lined or not, plenty to try.
There are several my size.
Fancy double yoke, leather buttons, sheepskin lined,
Warm and soft, I always liked this kind.
I pick one off the rack and try it on.
Fits well, looks good, though a little long.
But something catches my eye.
Looking close I see a scar black and rough.
Surprised that though damaged there’s no price cut.
I pull another coat from the rack,
Soft, supple, beautiful light tan,
But on the back,
What looks to be a brand, a rocking R.
Was every coat here ruined thru some mar?
I look through the rack, each jacket one by one,
And to my great disappointment saw none
Without a scar,
Here on a pocket, there on a sleeve
I’ve seen enough I decide to leave.
I give the clerk a questioning look
“I’m disappointed,” I say, “with your stock of coats,
I’ll try the mall.
I’d gladly pay full price for quality goods
But not for damaged or inferior coats.”
Slowly he turns and comes out from the counter.
Smiling he asks, what seems to be the matter?”
I hold up a jacket.
“These coats seem well made, fit well, look nice,
But with these defects aren’t worth the price.”
The clerk nodded while stroking his chin,
“There’s a story here if you’d care to listen.
About these leather coats,
Things may not be as we first perceive.
We need to consider the facts behind the scene.”
“You see we take great pride in the coats we sell,
Its very personal and we know our business well.
But further than that,
There is an added dimension a fact not many know,
But here let me fill you in before you go.”
“You see those pictures of cattle there on the wall?
Those aren’t just any cattle we raised them all,
From calving to death.
And when their time had come we saved the hide,
And that leather has been given a second life.”
“But here, lets take a look at this jacket you rejected,
as you say in this you would be well protected.
But the scar on the sleeve.
Or this coat for instance with the brand on the back,
Well made, beautiful except for that.”
“There is picture of a bull just to the right of the door.
Look closely, see the brand on the shoulder?
A Rocking R, that’s ours.
That brand identifies that bull as one of the best,
For we raise only quality, better than the rest.”
“Breeders buy our cattle and see the Rocking R,
Know what to expect, reputations traveled far.
The best of the best,
That means best quality, tender and tasty steaks,
Strong calves healthy disposition, I think the point is made.”
“When you wear this coat and people see that brand
They see in you a person of perception,
You know the land.
A quality brand, a mark of distinction a reputation made,
And you wear the proof, it’s worth the price to be paid.”
Looking again at the picture, the clerk seems lost in thought,
Then after a moment he continues voice quiet as he talks,
“1 recall when he was young.
Even tempered easy to work with he seemed to know
That he need not fear us as we took him to and fro.”
” Another bull we had we could not trust, sneaky and mean
Was a constant concern from the time he was weaned.
These two did not get along.
Staying at opposite ends of the field they lived apart,
There appeared a real difference in the state of their hearts.”
“Once I was in the pasture checking condition of feed.
The bad bull charged head lowered to gore me.
I didn’t see him coming.
Suddenly pushed off my feet I landed on the ground,
This bull here had knocked me down and faced the charge.”
“He took the brunt of that charge, protecting me,
Until I could catch my breath and regain my feet.
He held the other at bay,
Until we could put him in another pen.
I have no doubt this bull protected me then.”
I looked at his side and saw a tear. He’d been gored
Was bleeding, not bad but painfully I’m sure.
I doctored the wound.
You see there on his side that’s the scar from that time,
At the very least a proof of courage to my mind.”
Then going to the rack he pulled out a jacket,
The one I had looked at with the scar on the placket.
“Here is the spot,
Not a defect but proof of his character,
That’s what people will see when they look there.”
” All of these jackets have stories to tell,
Some are hidden, others can be seen well.
So now you are aware,
These are not just common leather jackets,
Like some beat up old cowboy hat.”
I think about the story that I’ve just been told.
I take the jacket and to my chest I hold,
I smell the aroma.
The idea of an animal having love or concern
Is foreign but maybe there’s something to learn.
I look at the scar, I think of the reason, I picture the scene.
I feel the scar and the pain, his pain? I seem to feel
I think I understand.
I turn to the clerk, “I believe I will take this jacket.
And don’t bother to wrap it, I want to wear it.”
© Tim Johnson
Desire (The Tiger)
Desire burns deep
A fire ever smoldering,
And glows in the eyes
Of the tiger coldly glowering
I am drawn to the beauty,
The heat beneath the ice.
Burning yet cool,
My surrender to entice.
With teeth that glisten,
And eyes of pure agate,
Alert but motionless,
She patiently waits.
A rumbling low purr
That bids me to trust,
Desire bums deep,
Possess her I must.
Dizzy Blond
I was thumbing through the city,
Humming a little ditty,
Taking in the sights and sounds,
Of the big metropolis:
I’d spent all day a walking,
Thru sights I’d only thought of,
When I stopped to get a bite
Then continue on my hike.
So I found this little cafe
With a menu painted table.2
And I sat and drank my coffee
Then ordered a number three.
A blond was sitting and watching
I could see she had no caution
With a look of sheer relief
She rose and walked to me.
“I hope that you don’t mind
To me you do look kind
Tho far from home I have a gift
I need to talk, advice to give.”
The waitress brought my order
Then the blond took over
Taking a fry and a pickle spear
She sat and said, “look here.”
And so I sat and listened
Amused but fascinated
As this blond proceeded
To help me eat my supper
Didn’t seem to need a breath
Talking and waving and yet
She managed my plate to clean
And still I had not eaten.
“That was really a good dinner,”
Said the blond and waved her finger.
“I need to go, but just remember
The city is a dangerous place.
People will take advantage
Of a kind man of your age.”
She leaned down and kissed my cheek,
went out the door and down the street.
The Perfect Gift
I stopped to visit a favorite friend,
we talked and laughed, remembering.
A question he asked, I stopped to consider ,
truth or not, how should I answer .
I was known as a drinker, fighter and carouser.
many there were who’d call me a cheater.
Often confronted with the truth of my actions,
when wealth was mine, I’d change without question.
“I have a gift for you,” my friend smiled at me,
“Before I present it though I want you to see
some items I found today on special sale.”
Then he showed me a hammer and a sack of nails.
Then, sitting on the couch near a pretty coffee table,
he drove a nail into the top of shiny maple.
Another he took and hammered it home,
and then another, hammer ringing with harsh tone.
Nail after nail he continued to pound,
when the table was covered, he looked ’round.
Sitting back he gestured, then looked at me,
“Now,” he asked, “just what is it you see?”
I snickered at his rather demented humor.
“A perfectly fine table you’ve managed to ruin.
“If you were going to mar it, fill it with nails,
You should have put up a sign saying for sale.”
“I would gladly have hauled it away.
But now, I wonder, how much did you pay?
I can see this table was made of fine wood.
Fine or not, as it stands, it does no one good.”
My friend leaned forward, and taking the claw
Pulled the nails, one, another, and finally all.
Putting the nails and hammer aside,
He brushed off the table and then sighed.
He leaned back in the corner of the sofa,
“Help yourself to another soda.
I hear you’ve found a prospective bride
Someone who’s promised to stay by your side.”
“That’s true” said I, “She’s a gem, a perfect lady,
Smart, funny, a real classic beauty.
We’ll be married next month, and in preparation,
We’re building a house by the ranger station.”
“Wonderful”, said he, “but that brings up the question
I asked at the first of our conversation.
About your carousing and partying, where do you stand?
Are you prepared to be a married man?”
“Well,” I said, somewhat embarrassed to admit,
“She doesn’t mind if I run around a bit.
As it happens she doesn’t drink prefers to stay home,
But that’s ok, I’d rather she not roam.”
“Her job is to take care of the house, and possibly
Raise the children, should we have any.
I have to earn a living, and I have found
I need the relaxation that in clubs can be found.”
“Now you and I don’t agree, you’d prefer to see me quit.
But it’s ok, I’m not a drunk, I can control it.
So don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine
And we’ll be sure to have you over sometime.”
My friend looked unhappy, even a bit pensive.
Then he sat up, with a grin expansive,
“I hope you’ll let me do something for you.
A gift for the home to be used by you two.”
“I want you to have it now before your big day,
And if you want you can take it today,
I wanted to do something especially for you,
Something that fit you to at, with a view”
“To helping you become a good mate for your bride,
that would point up the importance of pride
in each other and help provide you the nerve
to be the husband that she deserves.”
“But first, please excuse, I still need to know,
you don’t want her to enjoy clubs dim glow.
Rather than drink you prefer her to stay home,
let her stay put while you roam.”
“Is this accurate, is this what you said?
I wish you would rethink this, use your head.
I’m not just being nosy, for I really do care,
And I feel that maybe you are being unfair.”
“Well”, I admit, “yes, that is what I said,
but of course, I have always looked ahead
to the day when I would settle down
with a prim young lady in a gingham gown.”
“But that is just what I mean”, he answered,
“you want her prim proper and manicured,
while she has to take you for what you are
which is a partier, you frequent the bar.”
“You get your wish, she’s a classy beauty.
But she gets you, a confirmed rowdy.
I hope you understand, I’m not trying to be mean
Just use your mind, you used to be keen.”
“Well, I understand where you’re coming from,
But look at the time I really need to run.
You said the gift you got us is ready to go,
And I really do appreciate the concern you know .”
“Your gift was chosen just for this occasion,
Though I had hoped that after a conversation
You’ d understand, and if so, I’d change the gift.
Here’s one last try maybe you’ll catch my drift.”
“You feel that you’ll eventually stop
The drinking, running around hassling that cop.
Everything’s ok, no harm done, everything’s cool,
But in behaving this way you’re acting the fool.”
“For the things we do in our lives good and bad
Tend to follow us, make us happy or sad.
And trying to break the drinks brutal hold
Will be hard, will make you feel old.”
“The memories of fights, being drunk, and in jail
Will haunt you at night, and without fail
You will come to the point in your existence
You wish for memories to keep their distance.”
“Just think if you will, how nice it would be
For your bride to say, He’s like an oak tree.
He is my rock, the anchor of my life,
My security, my protector from strife.”
“Don’t you think it is time for you to quit?
Don’t you think it is time to make yourself fit
To be a husband a father, a lover and friend?
The person upon whom she can always depend?”
As I listen and fidget, I feel I’m getting angry.
How dare he question my life, tell me I’m not ready?
No man, or woman either, can tell me how to live,
And she is to obey me, and the orders I give.
But I say nothing, I don’t want to fight,
He smiles at me, he knows that he’s right.
I walk towards the door, I need to leave.
He picks up the table and brings it to me.
“Here, for the two of you I made this table”
I look unbelieving, at the nail holes in the maple.
“Each time you look at or use this furniture,
I want you to look towards the future.”
“You would rather have a nice shiny perfect table
Made of new unmarred varnished maple.
Instead I give you this, cracked and full of holes,
This is the lesson I want to show .”
“By your own words she couldn’t be sweeter,
Yet by your own words you’re going to treat her
Unfairly, cheating her of your best
Just so you can party like all the rest.”
“You are like this table, damaged and scarred,
She deserves better than a man that’s marred.
She is giving you her best, the best she can be,
Deserves nothing less from her husband to be.”
Several weeks later I stopped to see my friend.
We hadn’t talked since the day I’d gotten mad.
I invited him to supper and he said he would come,
I had to show him something that we’d just done.
In the living room by the couch stood a table,
For coffee or magazines, made of maple.
Shiny with varnish, reflecting lights glow,
He saw it, and knew, he’s not slow.
The nail holes were gone, carefully filled and sanded,
The top was smooth cracks had been mended.
“We did this together”, I said, “my bride and I,
It’s good enough that others want to buy.”
“But more important is that I have found,
My wife is deep she’s on solid ground.
She mends my cracks and fills my needs
And last night she told me that I’m her oak tree.”
Reflections From The Two Of Us
Reflecting and remembering, relaxing at days end,
unaware of the message that her face sends,
A mother watches her daughter, who is lost in thought,
and dreaming, a memory comes unsought.
Looking across the room, seeing me in you,
A memory of myself comes slowly into view.
Just a little older than your present age,
We opened our life with a brand new page.
There was joy in my soul, and love in my heart,
A new life within me just getting a start.
And I was reminded each time that you moved,
How small was our world, when it was just us two.
When you were asleep, or when you awoke,
You were just as real as if you had spoke.
And though I’d never seen you, I loved you.
Yes, I knew that I loved you.
The mother watches as her daughter reclines,
eyes closed, face calm as in best of times.
Wishing she could read her mind, see her thoughts,
If so, what happiness would be brought.
Staring thru a mirror with eyes clouded by strife,
gazing deeply into the well of my past life.
A pervasive sense of something, memory, time I guess,
when you and I were alone, just the two of us.
I feel myself regress, floating back in time,
reality there I can’t see, though I’m trying.
Vaguely thru the mist it appears, tinged in blue,
a picture in time, when it was just us two
I am relaxed, peaceful, serene and secure,
wrapped in your warmth, held with love pure.
Listening to your heartbeat, feeling your voice,
tho you’d never seen me, you loved me by choice.
A sense of peace and deep felt emotion,
wash over the daughter like a sweet smelling potion.
Opening her eyes, she gazes ‘cross the room,
her mother’s thoughts echoing her own.
The years have flown by with changes and more,
first there were two, then three, then four .
There were good times, and there were bad,
we were mother and daughter , with brother and dad.
Then a storm, with lightning and thunder ,
our world with violence, torn asunder .
From four to three, nothing we could do,
all that was left, was just us two.
Questions now consume us, worry and concern,
what will the future hold, which way do we turn.
Everything is different now, nothing’s the same,
although it does no good, we assess the blame.
Gradually, in our spirits we begin to see,
we are back where we were, you and me.
With love, we offer our hands honest and true,
we then face life together, just us two.
