‘Trick Or Treatment?’ & Collected Poems
Johnny Tang (b. 1985) is a fine art photographer specializing in a surreal and cinematic brand of imagery. Johnny began his creative career as a break dancer, before going on to receive his BFA in photography from Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD). Johnny’s recent exhibitions include: Any Shape or Form at Upstream Gallery, Counter Weight at Brooklyn Bridge Park, and Skeleton Crawl Pop-Up Gallery in East Williamsburg. When he is not being published by the likes of: Neocha, Daily Mail, VSCO, or Slant’d. Johnny also works commercially, having worked with clients such as Red Bull and Sony Music.
Trick Or Treatment?
Eye of newt
Toe of frog
Wool of bat
Tongue of dog
Dragging feet, shoulders slumped
I trudge through the apothecary
Clutching a chicken-scratched paper
With white-knuckled desperation.
Navigating the maze of syrups, pills, and potions
A carousel of herbs, salves, and elixirs
Failed attempts of yore
Spin my splitting head dizzy.
Must history insist on repeating itself?
I’ve long grown tired of this song and dance.
But the luxury of surrender is not for the ill fated
So I persist in pursuit of my great white whale.
I weave between the uniform rows of remedies
empty promises and warnings I cannot afford to heed.
Rigid arms full of alchemy, I approach the swindler’s till.
Joints crackling with each arduous shuffle.
I draw a weary smile from my depleted fuel reserve
Only to find apathy where his human face should be.
I offer my pocket for the picking, as is custom.
Homeward bound again, I depart with my bag of tricks.
Eye of newt
Toe of frog
Wool of bat
Tongue of dog
Cloudy With A Chance Of Pain
I remember the percussion on my nursery window.
Nature’s cradlesong coaxing me to forfeit,
My stubborn embargo on sleep.
I remember the umbrella adorned with princesses.
How I longed to see the first drizzle of fall and,
The covetous faces of my cohorts.
I remember how storms disrupted classroom tedium.
“The kids are in rare form today,” teachers said,
barking futile protests at our revelry.
I remember asking him to kiss me in the downfall.
The foreshadowing was lost on me back then,
A lovesick Pollyanna I recall with lenity.
I remember me before I was a paper marionette.
Before the atmosphere controlled my strings,
and a puddle could dissolve me.
I remember the girl I was before the feeding frenzy.
Before nimbostratus clouds were Megaladons,
their jaws extended to mangle my body.
I remember Thunder’s power ballads from before.
Before he stopped composing serenades for me,
replacing songs in my head with screams.
That familiar aroma wraps me in a quilt of nostalgia.
A perfume of celestial waters and terrestrial soil,
Now a bitter-sweet memory of when I loved rain.
Maladaptive
As of late, much of my time is spent
Wanting
In a way that feels akin to
Waiting
But not for some unrequited love—pining,
Or for sunshine on a dreary day—longing,
Not even for a warm embrace—yearning.
Day in and out, I sit in my bedroom utterly
Wantful
But not upon a star—wishful,
Or the eye of God—watchful,
Not even from memory—wistful.
I want in the ways I did as a child:
My neighbor’s wind chimes,
My best friend’s kaleidoscope,
My music teacher’s bamboo rain stick.
No green envy,
No spoiled silver spoon,
No red hand to catch stealing.
My want resides in my innocence,
Worships at the Cathedral of Destiny,
Works overtime in my daydream factory.
I’m a student anticipating graduation,
The owner of an arriving merchant ship,
An expectant mother in her third trimester.
My kismet wanting waits at the ready,
But for what I’ve forgotten.
I fear no degree or riches, not even a baby
Will satiate this want of mine.
I fear ceaseless waiting.
So, perhaps I’ll retrace my steps back to
The bamboo rain stick,
The kaleidoscope,
And wind chimes,
To rediscover vibrations, colors, and sounds
Where my soul first saw its reflection.
Maybe what I want is a looking glass.
Whale Fall
There once was a lone
Blue Whale
separated from her pod,
roaming icy waters like a
satellite in space.
Sick and starving
she called out into the ether,
a swan song
for an audience of none.
Upon her final breath
her Titanic body fell silent
sinking slowly towards
the seafloor
where she would find
her final resting place.
But from her demise
came generations
of thriving creatures
who dwell in the barren
ocean depths.
Octopus, crabs, and eels
attended her grand feast.
Leftovers enriched the
surrounding sediment.
Colonies of invertebrates
settled in her bones.
Her fallen flesh
nourished an entire ecosystem;
a legacy transcendent,
a purpose resurrected.
Strong Meat
The most tender parts of me
lay upon a butcher’s block,
sprawled across the rings
of an old tree round.
We have this in common,
the tree and I—
chopped down from where
we once stood tall.
Shall I, too, be reborn
into something useful?
Maybe my good bits will be
Frankenstein-ed together,
reimagined and made anew.
But then, what is to become
of my discarded offal?
It’s probably for the best;
trim the fat and toss the scraps
so that I may be beautifully plated
and palatable.
But I’m starting to think
it would be far less painful
to be put out to pasture.
Alexandra Nimmo is an actress (GTA Online) and self-taught emerging poet from Nashville, TN. Her debut publication was recently featured in The Rising Phoenix Review and Alexandra is currently working on a full-length poetry collection about her chronic illness journey. https://linktr.ee/lexinimmo
