Andy Johnson Energy Healer in Longfield, Kent

writing . love

Testament To Love.

One day for each of us,
The gift of breath
We all take for granted,
Will cease to nourish us.
The moon will not rise for our sight,
Or the sun set.
The call of the birds will fade from our ears.
All we collected and cherished,
Will be out of reach and passed to others.
Our status in the eyes of the world
Will be less than that of a leaf,
Falling from a tree.
All that we dreamed of will be gone with us
On our journey back to the source.
Like a drop of water falling from a cloud;
Returning to the infinite ocean from which we came.
What will remain is not what we stored for ourselves,
Or what we learned,
But whatever we gave away while we were here;
every act of compassion, courage, and selflessness,
That we made with an open heart,
To any who were in need.
The time we gave to those with less,
The example we set to those who were watching.
The love we showed to the loveless.
Our memories will mean nothing,
But the memories of those we left behind
Will be our testament to love.

© Andy Johnson May 2009.
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Namaste...

LOVE IS…

…Not state of mind, you fall into or out of,
But an expression of what you are…Or may become…If you allow
yourself!

…What everybody seeks, but so few find, as they live blind,
In a world of fear, Where the more they look… The less they see.

…All that matters, but only thrives when fear leaves, as one negates the
other.

…For some, the hardest thing to speak of, for others the hardest thing to
hear.

…Missing in so many people.

…Priceless, and seeks no pay-off, as giving of itself, is its own reward.

…The force that drives the Universe, yet can’t be seen, just felt,
And given away for free, never bought.

…Like the sun in your face on a crisp winter’s morning, you can feel when
it’s there, wherever it comes from.

…Like the wind, you can’t catch it; you can only turn towards it or face
away.

…The ripples from a stone dropped in a pond, who knows where they
wash to.

…Formless, when it’s within you, Kindred Spirits appear from
nowhere, distance no object, yet know each another in an instant.

…Hearts beating together, in time with one drum.

…To be found in the strangest of places, when and where, you’ll be least
expecting.

…Compassion in action, giving of yourself, in whatever form you can,
Not because you have to, but because you can and choose to do so freely.

…Like waves lapping a beach, which must be sent out, in order to return.

…Water for your flowers.

And so you grow.
(For Heidi).

© Andy Johnson Nov 2012

writing . heidi

This was inspired by the conversation I had over a cup of tea in my travels, when I met an enchanting young woman, and talented musician, Heidi Joubert, who invited me into her kitchen after a couple of words. She asked about my musical tastes, so as a starter I said ‘Pat Metheny’ at which she presented me with a beautiful CD of her own Flamenco fusion band, ‘Fernando’s Kitchen’ called ‘Calle Compass’. I played it non-stop on the way home, and am still exploring its layers five years on. What a lovely morning that was. I wish her well wherever she goes, and whatever she does. https://www.facebook.com/heidi.joubert
https://www.facebook.com/Fernandos-Kitchen-7930406169/




writing . road

The road to you

Low in the sky,
The luke warm sun,
Spills muddy yellow,
Through the trees,
Long shadows cast by rough coated ponies,
Licking frozen dew from stiffened grass,
As I pass by,
On the road to You.

© Andy Johnson NOV 2010.

The title is from the Pat Metheny Group’s 1993 album,
‘The road to you’.
The words were what I saw from my car my window at the start of a road trip.
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writing . boy

Boy

‘This is my boy,’ (He is my world), words unsaid but felt.
You are the nest from which he must fly,
You are not his journey, but the place he starts from,
Fill his cup, but be careful not to pour too much,
Be his best teacher, share what you learn, for the world is a sham,
But let him make his own mistakes,
Listen when he talks, yet be mindful of your answers,
Be careful not to crush his dreams with your own.
Share his laughter, it is a precious gift many forget how to give.
You may catch him when he trips, but must not carry him for long,
For his legs will grow weak.
Remember his way is not yours,
You may walk together while you are here,
But your roads must always part.

© Andy Johnson Dec 2010

This was the result of a conversation with a single mother, in a bar I owned at the time, and a request by another customer, who knew I was, among many other things a writer, for a poem she could have as a private tattoo.
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writing . KID

My Daughters

You are the spring,
From which life flows.
The portal each soul takes,
On its journey here to earth,
You carry each within you
As it cloaks itself in form.
Then a Newborn’s Cry
Rips the air we share.
In your mother’s arms
Your sight is strange,
The smells and sounds of a world unknown
Each waking minute a new adventure
You learn to walk,
Then talk,
Your Moon will rise,
So many seasons only,
Make the most of what you yet may spend,
A second angered, is a whole year lost.
Waste not your efforts,
Where they do no good,
A kindness shown
Undoes much sorrow,
Make a difference,
No matter that you think it small,
Remember why you’re here,
Be sure to be above all else,
…a woman.

© Andy Johnson 2010

This was commissioned by a woman I met in Hampshire,
Who had read my previous poem ‘BOY,’
Written for her friend, and ambushed me with it,
Asking if I would write a new piece specifically for her,
In honour of her daughters.
After a night’s sleep this was the result next morning.
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writing . hands 2

The measure of a man…

Are his actions toward a stranger,
Who has nothing to give in exchange.

© Andy Johnson Feb 2010.
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writing . beach

WYWH

Sitting silent.
Alone on the beach,
Quiet yet awakened.
The days now ochre sun,
Slips below the distant rim of land.
Wild water crunches,
Slopping across the sand.
As I breathe the chilly mist,
The sea’s gentle gift.
With a soft edged smile,
My heart looks back,
Wishing You Were Here.

© Andy Johnson. Feb 2011
.
For Michelle.

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