Life, or something like it.....

Mar 2016

mark john junor

crows feeding loudly in maiden hay field
in the noon sun
such a dark sound these creatures
such a ancient place they call to in the heart
'no good has ever come from this'
he recites to his unhearing heart
as he moves into the field
seeking the towering oak tree in the far corner
along the broken teeth of the field-stone wall
seeking the solace of the cool shade
and this feast of crows he must scatter
he must reap now that the devil has sown
must gather unto god
what man cast down in this dark place
this noon day sun of perils
this godless place with its ****** of crows
he shouts a prayer as he treads near the tree
to scatter these spawn of darkness
they take to wing
there in the shadows he finds the mans corpse
the plague had claimed him
madness of its fever had lead him here
so here he will be buried
by the village priest
taking up the shovel he digs a rough narrow hole
and covers the corpse
carrying the shovel and the plague back to his village
so it came to this quiet european town
so the black death spreads
so the plague destroyed europe

Mar 2016

mark john junor

plagiarized smiles

cling to my misspoken thoughts
as my emotional titanic sinks
leaving me gasping for breath
put up a brave face while walking through
a snake pit of unfriendly eyes
she walks beside me with her dark motives in a jar
she plagiarized his sardonic smile
and nourished the same beast that's within all of us
that thrives on angry tears
no mystery this happenstance face i wear
i got it from the dogeared newspaper salesman
who lingers on the street corner in the rain
his headlines always predict the worst of human nature
but if you read the fine print
there are always better people trying to speak above the fray
and if you had heard the soft siren song
it would have spoken beautiful things to your heart
it would have given you gifts of knowin'
brought you home with her voice
made you at ease with the tale told
as she plagiarizes your sweetest smiles

i have only these hands to write poems and a heart full of love to give

Mar 2016

mark john junor

run like the wind

let me slip away into sleep now
let me open my dreamers eyes in restless slumber
slip away to a dream of summer long ago
to walk the paths that only boyhood knew
to be once more the manchild beholding
all the world within my grasp
all the mysteries to be conquered
to be the hero for all the world to see
this sleeping world gives glimpses of itself as i awaken
the steps of roosevelt school
footsteps echoing on the ornate marble
laughing clear and clean
without worry or taint
let me slip away into sleep once more
let me fly among the stars
in wonderful adventure
let me run like the wind
free once more
free

Feb 2016

mark john junor

sea's wild desert

the silence of the room feels forgiving
so i wrap myself up in its comforting warmth
hold out with trembling fingers a bittersweet morsel
a few cautious words of beautiful lament
an emotional plea of constructed images to find
my grace in the arms of a long lost love
to find the forgiveness all men need from the
past no matter distance or time
for all men without
exception must find meaning in their lives
mine has been what loves i sought in the darkness and light
what palaces of strange beauty
discovered in the wild heat of human jungle
discovered in the barren expanse of the sea's wild desert
that love i have found at the very edge of humanity's dark world
a small flame of tenderness cupped in my hearts hand
nourished it
give it hope and future
but still i seek
half blind with age
i still ferry across the expanse
at the edge of humanity's plight
seeking the forgiveness of my first love
seeking the hope of tomorrows lover

#hellopoetry107

Feb 2016

mark john junor

laxative for the mind

a thick clown living in his square meal life
painted his smile on his face quite early in life
sheds the years like skin but the smile remains
watches the grass grow
thinks how its like dreams grow into plastic flowers
if he only knew which priest of pestilence to follow
they all begin to sound like cheap warehouse salesmen after awhile
if he could just decipher the writing on the cave wall
spray painted faces and names like pictographs of
some mysterious civilization hiding out behind the 7-11
a robust man of leisure he fries his skittles on the front lawn
candy for the man with no other pleasures
but a sweet girly girl comes by and gives him hugs
in exchange for bedbugs
if we all could live a life of such luxury
the world would be a better place
the thick clown is getting thinner as he leaves behind
all his broken record memories
time for some brand new fresh from the factory hopes
time for a laxative for his mind
that'll flush all the bull away

Feb 2016

mark john junor

black raven

madness had taken her in the night
she danced naked in the moonlight
screaming of revenges and mysteries wet
when she finally fell to exhaustion's sleep
i tended her fevers but could not ease her mind
which flew like a black raven in the rain
here and there without sense of reason
crying out its displeasure's and it discomforts
a bead with a hole for an eye
her mind was down there in that hole somewhere

she fled in the daylight
and i tried to follow her on down to the swamps edge
but i could not follow the trail further cause it was
into madness she raced with careless abandon
and in the swamps breeding breathing bleeding
that her footfall lead

long days passed without a sign
as i camped there by the dark edge of sanity
waiting for her return
waiting for my loves sweet arms to find me once again
but my only companion was a black raven
he came to talk to me
all those long days under the sweltering sun
and after a time his words became clear to me
after a time his thoughts became mine
told me to dance to the song of the rain
told me to run and seek the sun
in the swamps dark halls

now we are here
living in our own world
and its alright
cause we have our friend
a black raven with a eye like a hole
with a mind like gravel
a mad dream to be sure
but it is ours alone

Feb 2016

mark john junor

little engine

her velvet mind
swallowed me whole
in one bite
noble i tried to encompass her fairest face
in words sweetly written
but knowledge awaits the little engine that could
chug chug chug up the hill pushing his boulder of wheat
till just as he reaches the top he tumbles back down again
so he must repeat till dooms day
so he must repeat till he learns the golden rule
there are no rules just fancy ways to cheat
just better circus clowns with speedy little lies
just bitter old men soaked in old wine
cursing with one fist feebly upraised at the ignorant sky
her velvet mind so smoothly takes away
more than was intended to give
but its an ignorant little engine that could
that tries to shortcut his break-even chances
that tries to cheat the cheaters

Feb 2016

mark john junor

only the dreamers can see

a thousand regretful wasted words
and i'm no closer to painting my masterpiece
of the soulful songbird gently sweeping aside
the weary cares of the hearts soul
no closer to giving tangible truths to
the heartfelt dream
no closer to giving life to the dreamers struggle
as she sings the song of redemption
i paint in a rush
the flurry of words that let fly
like the ****** white snow late september night
which gives the unexpected beauty
to the lush green that still clings to the landscape
now the words echo inner truths
illustrating what i want your heart to see
bound up in the promise of newborn late fall daybreak
bound up in the beauty only the dreamers can see
but still i linger here in the false start of a masterpiece
still with only the bare bones of what i wish i could say to you
i will stay here with my craft's labors
until i can give to you
such a sweet song
that would touch your soul
that would free the joy within you
that would show you how much you are loved

Feb 2016

mark john junor

thumbnail image

she was an icon
the first time i saw her
looking back over one bare shoulder
the small photograph illustrating her in muted colors
thumbnail image of perfect harmonies
her name emblazoned in small type
but great things come from such small beginnings
roads the heart start out as a trail in the forest of humanity
hard to see where the path leads
winding its way thru mystery's
soulful words written there guide
but false trails can leave a man weary of the chase
mistaken paths can lead to dead-ends
i followed the light that she gives
i heard the song she was saying
now she sleeps beside me
wrapped gently in my arms
such true paths of the heart
make this life worth living
such beautiful days we have spent
our road plain before us
in laughing joys simplicity

Feb 2016

mark john junor

estuary

i sat on the sandy shelf looking out to sea
intensity in the sunshine
set my head spinning
i could smell the sweet scent of the sea
could hear the breaking waves upon the dusty sands
and could feel in my bones the grains of time as they passed
a thousand years sailing ships plying the
beautiful breeze of the golden shore
a thousand lifetimes of men knowing the depth of love for the sea
and in my heart i too heard her calling me
to wrest a life from the living sea
like the ages old conquest of wind and tide
so with a madman i set off in a twenty footer
and as the gulls wheeled overhead we set our lines
with a sea of stars above
a sea of brackish water below
we harvested a bounty overflowing in my grasp
to make market we had to put every inch of sail to the wind
but by the time we reached shore
the madman had cast all our fish back into the sea
saying that they had begged to be set free
a thousand years of sailing ships plying the golden sea
had worn his mind
worry rubbing the bone of his skull
the wild sea had grasped his soul
the wild sea had stolen his soul
now i chase him cross the flemish cap
every sail straining
no life lived so well
as the life of sea and sand

Feb 2016

mark john junor

grey eyes

here where i sleep
in the quiet part of deep night
an infinity of thoughts chase me
grasp at them with a childlike wondering
if i could only hold one long enough to understand
if i could peel back the layers of time
and know the madness without surrendering to it
to see without confusion what lay at its root
what truth lay in its foul mouth
what noble beast lay sleeping underneath its stars
i only remember fragments
shaft of moonlight
a steady rain
grey eyes

Feb 2016

mark john junor

fairytale heart

moody girl
resting her head on me
while i purge my thoughts to the page
spilling like a dark red wine
its all sticky but the words lay down
in complacent indifference
i **** them with a wooden stick
wishing they would run and fly
wishing they would speak with their own voice
but they only give a sluggish lip service to the effort
she is breathing a sleepy word of her own from my lap
lover
i type with one hand while the other is wrapped up in her dreadlocks
this is my gem moment of the day
we are alone
and all the day is behind us
twilight gathers us in its gentle arms
and i can just live in the moment
i can explore her
always some new way to see this complex girl
always some new way to be with her beautiful loves
she makes my heart seaworthy
the depth her articulate eyes say things to me
that i would never had dreamt
the storybook of her open face speaks to me
romances me with her fairytale heart
i am her prince
she is my bride

Feb 2016

mark john junor

twentieth century man

requiem for the immaterial man
his pauper pockets clean but empty
he stitches his threadbare life with a careful hand
this is the latter half of the twentieth century man
and his well spoken mind sees the writing on the wall
knows the disease of market minded wall street dreamers
and the throw away class of the poor stranded in jails

he watches with dismay the evening news
the tale told of hard times to come
he embraces his family unit with
courage and trepidation
this wife and child are his universe
love for them wells up from the center of his soul

requiem for the immaterial man
he is spread thin and feeling the pressure
but its for his loved ones so he will hang on
but its for the long haul so he will make due

will you please spare him some thought
when you go to the hallowed halls
when the republic calls you to cast your vote
for the fool who will sit in the oval office
for the king billionaire who holds our fate in his lunatic hands

the latter half of the twentieth century man
carrying his lunch in a pale
walks slowly home from his busy workaholic day
the burden on his shoulders plain
but he is a strong man after all
a better man
spare him a thought
for his loved ones