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 Jun 2019 b for short
 Jun 2019 b for short
I’d like to wait a moment
I think I’m in deep.
my eyes. ever so gentle.
my lips, light as a butterfly,
lovely I sighed.

rumbling inside
starting to pull away.
wrap around me.
all that my heart felt.

pull back,
I had done something wrong.
I had done something weird.
wearing like a cape,
watching me run

memorial magic disappears
& I am left grasping
at nothing, again.
Join ur navy  then escape
 Jun 2019 b for short

My skin does not reflect the light,

colors lost in the grayish setting of this day

as I walk among forgotten flowers.

Was there an answer to those dreams?

The water soiled with copper coins it seems

to keep and give us change in wishes gone,

and there are no answers, we bind ourselves

to things that were, the ones that stayed

for we don’t know from hereon

how to walk straight, spreading wings

that never known how far to fly.

Then look again, for I’m still here

among those long-forgotten flowers

with vibrant colors that fade away,

and If I once my presence known

I’m bound to slowly disappear-

June 2019
“We are nothing but shadows
Fading away
Trying to hold on to
This bittersweet life
That we call our own...”
― Ricky Mears
 Sep 2018 b for short
I can see you, woman
in wading
boots, where the moon
comes up right
over there,
while I dream a sleep
with you, like a slow
swim, two vessels afloat
in water that broke
the levees but never
your spell, I swear,
I could stare
at the river that rose
singing songs about flowers
that spilled from your lips
until I wanted to cut out
my heart to sail your way
like an origami waterspout.
Egalitarians of a smaller world
with forks for fingers
chew loudly on the gravy train
of poor boys paper thin paychecks
spit me out cause I got no cash
better to be on the street with
a shoeless shuffle
than trying to capture a seat
at the silver spoon table....

Pasty-faced bankers counting out loud
the graves of American dreams they spoiled
the song of their voices in unison
is a terrible dirge and a
strange romancer that keeps
one and all clinging to that sweetest of dreams

Dudley Do Right is a little man
in his little office
acting like the bureaucrat he was born to be
just pennies on the pound for his cold soul
a deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
his heart a cardboard cutout of his childhood idol
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang

all these flavorless fools
pay to play on the great machine
where the crowds call for ever more
salacious parody of what should be
where the almighty buck stops here
twice a day
all day Sunday
preacher man
baker, solider, liar, thief
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang

© 2018 mark john junor all of my poems are my
exclusive property and all rights are reserved
 Apr 2018 b for short
Maybe it's the space between the future and past
A multiple choice question with options between right and wrong
Or a pendulum swinging between joy and sorrow
I think it's the book we write our lyrics on
Maybe our circumstances decide if it must be a happy or a tragic song

Maybe it's the dimension existing with the duality of reality and imagination
A beautiful muffler woven with intricate threads of truths and lies
Or the transition of night from dusk to dawn colouring the canvas of skies between sunset and sunrise
I think it is the journey of a cloud from vapours to rain
Maybe our fate decides if it must be a shade of black or purely white
 Mar 2018 b for short
Ciel Noir
 Mar 2018 b for short
Ciel Noir
We are such            clever creatures to divide
Most everything             into its different sides
With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
 Mar 2018 b for short
I had been dreaming
about eating bruised peaches
that grew from a tree
by the river, its water
thick and sweet as sap.

I thought I saw an old woman
shaking her dustmop,
but it was only the moon
and stardust in the dark
that never stops.

In the fields
there was something barren
like a journey
and echoes of salt
sprinkling on a table
with food laid out for a wake.

The fog from the dream
by the river was smothering;
I was suffocating lying there
where it is said a young mother
once walked into the water
with the pockets of her dress
stuffed full of smooth rocks.

I woke when I heard
shouting that tore out the light
as night came flying by
like a bird dressed for a feast
wearing his finest black feathers.
 Jan 2018 b for short
Anne Molony
you can kiss
my rose petal eyelids
my stained cheeks
my humming neck
my willing waist
my burning skin
anywhere on
my restless body
but kiss my lips,
and I'll spend the
rest of my life
searching for
your stinging tongue

  fate assured me
   we'd burn violently
    but ultimately suns die
     every flame grows tired
      every bulb will break
      every wick will drown  
     charred and regretful
    weary and worn out
   drained of energy
  choking for air
i'm not ready
to ignite
just yet
it is inevitable
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