Legislation to put guns in schools has been discussed, but I say, a gun is only as safe as the person who holds it. There's something about a gun that certain types of people can't understand: It kills. But crime of all crimes is, killing for sport--whether it's aimed at people or animals.

The head of an active male
                              -prose poem by EmH Johnson

A predator knows the feeling of love–loaded gun, sharp hunting knife, the head of an active male. Love is ripping the face from a lion, watching the blood spill and clot into a shiny mask of screaming red and burgundy undertones, yellow eyes grown vengeful and cold, the slit openings now round as black marbles, a muffled roar more like a grumble, drooping head as though disgraced in being so exposed.

But not every ounce of the animal is defiled. A subtle defiance remains and you can feel the hot breath of its existence. The breathing in and out, slow and melodic, is soothing to the ear; a pair of gigantic paws and outstretched claws served their master well. The head and coat must be carefully preserved. I savor thought of frenzied bidding at the open marketplace and ponder the final price to be paid for a trophy brought down in such an explosive escapade.

Taking the life of something beautiful comes easy when you keep your wits about you, keep your emotions in check so that you rise above the fray. They want to shut it down, the killing, but it serves a purpose. It’s giving humanitarian aid to those starving in places you never want to see, not really, especially not the children. You simply want to pay for the thrill of it, nothing more. The fat cats up on The Hill want to take our guns, but it’s not the firearms. It’s the absence of fire in my soul. I kill so I can live peacefully. I will die fighting for my constitutional right, unlike the lion. It fights because that’s what a lion does, nothing more or less.

Robyn Crawford wrote a book about Whitney Houston; I wrote a poem.

I watched as Robyn Crawford, friend and confidante to the late Whitney Houston, talked about her newly released book, A Song for You: My Life with Whitney Houston. I was reminded of a poem I wrote after hearing the sad news of Whitney's death.

During the interview, I felt the angst of riding an "emotional roller-coaster" with a loved one whose life was being transformed by drugs. Whitney Houston clearly experienced joy and pain. She died at a time in life when women transition into a new phase of maturity. Some adapt very well while others do not. At this stage of her life, Whitney appeared to be struggling.

Most fans hoped Whitney Houston might overcome obstacles, given enough support. As she spiraled out of control, her fans wondered why loved ones abandoned her. But if information in Robyn Crawford's book is accurate, Whitney abandoned loved ones, not the other way around. 

The day it was reported Whitney Houston had died, I expressed my grief in the following poem:

“Tribute to Whitney Houston” © 2012 by M. H. Johnson

So many people watching, some hoped to see you fall

Side-stepping this, performing that, you tried to do it all.

You found your voice in a Newark church at a very early age

But then you found your purpose and the joy of a global stage.

You sang to us with a golden voice gifted straight from Heaven.

Your beauty, grace and resonance will warm our hearts forever.

You ventured on a journey that led to a fall from grace

While accolades and honors hid the demons that you faced.

You found love and married, a soul mate, so it seemed

Despite the joy of wedded bliss, you were struggling.

You found your strength and self-esteem, regained dignity

While cameras and performances disgraced you on TV.

Rare as lilacs in December, a diva in distress,

You stood and fell and rose again in haunting loveliness!

But perfection has its price and there comes a reckoning day

In summer’s wane or winter’s frost, the Maker has His say.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, an angel’s quiet confession

You walked a journey of your own seeking love and perfection

But you never seemed to realize the gifts at your command

Your value to a desperate world you didn’t quite understand.

But we are only burdened with as much as we can take.

He walked a path alongside you then ushered you away.

Whitney Elizabeth Houston, the world wishes you well.

You will be missed by a universe, but now you can exhale.