Bio(auto)

I retired a year ago last July after working for over 28 years in the field of mental health administration. I was born in Wichita Kansas, but moved to Dallas, Texas when I was 9 years old. I presently reside in Weatherford, Oklahoma.I obtained my BA in Texas, my MA at Goddard, and a non traditional Ph.D. about ten years ago in order to please my mother. She always wanted to have a Dr. as a son.

My hobbies include meeting people, writing poetry and short stories for children, playing bridge (Life Master), and the oriental game of GO

In addition to my home page of poetry I have had many of my my poems published in:

* The American Bard
* The American Poet
* The Golden Quill Anthology
* Prairie Poet
* A.F.P.S. Anthology
* The Rambler
* The Blair Press
* Stars and Stripes
* The Doylestown Daily Intelligencer
* Orison

And a privately published collection titled The New Creation and Other Poems

I have also been featured as Poet of the Week at Poetic Express, The Poetry Exchange, and Poet of the Month at The Poetry Pond.

The following work is Copyright © 1997 and owned by Robert E. Kogan and may not be distributed or reprinted in any manner whatsover without written permission from the author.

The City

The city is a symbol--
Both good and evil.
It is blessed and damned by
its living,
And haunted by its dead.

It is the City of the Covenant.
It felt the footsteps of the Master,
and in loneliness, awaits its final
spiritualization.

It has given birth to creativity.
It is an island, waiting for return
of its own Almustafa.

Sidewalks offer a unique adventure--
Uncharted discovery of movement and fantasy.
Sidewalks speak of Summer madness
And forgotten poets menuized.
Night envelops both sun and sidewalk dreams.

The City has produce another play:
tragedy -- comedy:
It has survived another day.
Yellow cabs take actors on their way.
Some to rooms to recollect the drama,
Some to leave, while others mourn their stay.

The City has become the mirror of
our soul:
A reflection of our sophistication:
A reflection of our savagery:
A reflection of our mortality
And a promise of our hope.

Reflections

There I was, minding my own business,
When quite unexpectedly,
you entered my life.
Suddenly you were there,
and I remembered.
You were always there,
Taunting me, haunting me
Was it a dream or was it real--
Are you the missing that I feel?
Are you waiting, debating wanting me?

But when I tried to grasp or clutch
or see your face or feel your touch
you vanished from my thoughts,
to join my other distant memories.

And then you came to me.
I heard your laugh and felt your smile,
Your words returned to reconcile
A distant promise of the past--
For you are real and came at last.

Like gentle rain upon my screen
Your words arrived and could be seen--
Each word became a magic tear
That I had shed year after year.

No momentous announcement!
No grand opening sale.
I'll continue doing whatever I do,
Minding my own business--
Secure in the knowledge that
Love is not a dream but real--
Sometime lost, seldom found--
But close enough to always be
What might have been.

My Past/My Life

http://www.mypast/mylife

Somewhere out in cyberspace
on some obscure web page
lies the eternal fountain of youth,
just waiting, always waiting
to be discovered.
Waiting for the right URL to be entered
to relive the dreams that have been saved
of our forgotten past--
to explore the all the todays
that might have been,
and reveal the promises we prayed
awaited us in all of our tomorrows.

I wanted to find my past,
rediscover my life;
and edit all that might appear upon my screen.
Remove the wrinkles of my flesh,
Delete the illness and my pain
Restore the zest and vigor of my passion
And download the knowledge and wisdom
I have gathered through the years
to give to my youth who has need of it.

But I cannot find the proper address.
Each time I enter a message error appears
upon my screen.
Stating the pages of my life remain unknown,
and cannot be accessed by my server.

I must not have read the small print. The monthly
fee of $19.95 for unlimited access does not cover
access to the web page of my life, nor will I
always be around to pay my monthly bill.

Starry Night

You are my love, my art.
My torment straight from hell
Should you but ask,
I would not only live for you,
But die for you as well.

I gazed upon a Starry Night
And searched the sky for you my dear,
It hopes to find a gift just right,
But nothing would appear
To be the gift of love and light,
So I severed off my ear.

I wrapped it my canvas
Painted yellow, red and gold--
For you to cherish often--
To fondle and to hold.

For those were the words you whispered
When I asked how my love must appear,
And you answered with mirth and laughter--
That you wanted a gift of my ear--

The ear that heard your laughter--
The ear that your lips softly kissed--
And two on my face have been painted,
So one will never be missed

For you are my love, my art.
My torment straight from hell
Should you but ask,
I would not only live for you,
But die for you as well.

Merideth Johnston
merideth@sky.net
http://www.sky.net/~merideth/

Bio(auto)

Merideth Pennington was born July 6, 1950, in Minneapolis, MN. The daughter of a preacher, she has moved many times in her life, including the states of Minnesota, Nebraska, Iowa, California, and Missouri. She married Robert Johnston in 1982, and they currently live in Kansas City, MO.

She started painting around 1976, and has done many local art shows, including Westport, a Kansas City showcase. After a several-year loss of inspiration, she has returned to painting, this time on the computer instead of pastels.

With the advent of the computer in her life, she branched out to writing poetry, inspired by an artist-poet she met on the 'net. Encouraged, she subscribed to the Writer's and Poet's discussion list, where she has grown as a poet and a person.

Merideth has been published in _Poetry In Motion_, the quarterly publication of the National Poet's Association, a small but beautiful magazine, and in _Intimate Thoughts_, a monthly publication out of Chicago.

The following work is Copyright © 1997 and owned by Merideth Johnston and may not be distributed or reprinted in any manner whatsover without written permission from the author.

The following three poems originally appeared in "Poetry In Motion", a quarterly journal.

Footprints

Following the footprints of your mind
movement, rhythm, cadence, and rhyme
teaching me to dance one step at a time.

How do you do it without force or coercion
so elegant and gentle, strong yet kind
the beauty, the grace, the power of your mind.

You've uncurled my legs from the fetal position
first to stand, then to walk, then to dance
forever the freedom to think my own mind.

My Usual Face

I'm walking down the street
and find myself smiling.
A stranger looks at me in surprise,
"You're smiling, I love you!" he says.
Why do you suppose that is?

Has he seen me before?
Does he know I never smile?
The smile was there because
I was thinking of you,
and I forgot my usual face.

The Long Walk

I walk my tongue
across the continents
of your skin

Rest in the valley
of your belly
smooth and hard

Climb the mountain
of your ribs
tall and rugged

Swim the river
of your lips
warm and wet

Search the cavern
of your mouth
and mate
with your tongue.