Strong woman,
Head held high;
Chin up,
Beautiful smile.

Strong woman,
The epitome of beauty;
You carry the pain,
as if it were your very own child.

All I can see is love etched across your face
Though I see your beauty,  
I know you hurt.
Strong woman, beautiful smile
You pretend as if you don’t hurt
But I know you better than anyone
& that is because me and you are one.

burning a flag is also a symbol, a symbol of freedom in the face of tyranny, a symbol of protest against a nation whos people have come to believe no longer represents their interests, or openly try to curtail their freedoms (like burning the flag)...it is a symbol to our military personnel that they have gone out to fight for freedom, so that we here in america can have the right to express ourselves without fear of reprisal. the flag is the personal symbol of every american's right to speak and be heard, and if burning the flag is the only thing that tyrants and their willing followers will hear, then i am a proud american who will burn an american flag to protest this tyranny

the brave look to the dawn to
see the fruit of their endeavors....
the frightened look to wash clean the awful marks
of their fear from their faces before the
dawn exposes their true nature......
she looks to the dawn with her hopeful heart
still wrapped in her lovers scent......
he looks to the dawn as the embers of
the camp fire still glows with the
memory of the nightwatch
lonesome with his horse as silent companion.....
the wise man can read the days true face in the
turbulent clouds of daybreak.....
while the fool sleeps soundly in the
shallow waters of delusions warm and
comforting dream.....
the drunkard stumbling homeward
in the mist of his mind
looks to the dawn's glare with a tired yet
often muttered prayer that this be the last day of his suffering....
the wholesome man already taken his place in the factory line
see's a splinter of the dawn in the poisoned air in this dark room
quickly returning to his labor lest he loose all he has gained
and wishes for better days to come....
each of us must look to the
breaking dawn
with what truth or lie our hearts yearn
what strength or weakness is in our soul
each must find a path in the breaking dawn
hand in hand with another
or strongly by our own
and see in dawns turbulent clouds
a bright future to kiss us upon the cheek

Usually my thoughts get the best of me
But what they don't tell you is
You are not your mind
You are your emotions
Your thoughts and words manifest the way you think
not what you feel

Ancient civilizations considered words and writing a lower form of communication
because they talked to each other non-verbally
And I agree, however hypocritical that might seem

I agree because no matter how many times I write
I can never quite capture the way my heart feels
About the beauty of a sunset on a busy day
or the way the stars shine brighter on a calm and silent night
About the stray dog who loves you with all his heart because you pet him that one time
or the old man on the street who fights through his days with a smile

I can only talk and write about these things so many times
before they lose meaning in my mind
But my heart remains the same

So maybe all the 'I love you's have become redundant to my brain
but you must believe me when I say
you still have
all of my heart.

Elephants and donkeys
fighting it out in the trenches
My blue coat stained with the entrails
of orange trolls iv slain
in fierce hand to hand combat
fighting to keep us safe from the
filthy madman with no soul

Here in our trench
we bluecoats share a meal
and laugh among ourselves
strong hearts of brave
men and women
good people with a righteous cause
we tell tales of our exploits
slaying the never ending
lies that spew from the
despicable orange horde

A flash of light and explosion shatters
the night as the enemy releases some
photo-op or soundbite meant to destroy us
we all laugh
and shoot it full of holes
such weak lies are easily destroyed

We are Hillary Clinton's army
sent to do battle with the weak minded
and insane orange trolls
they fight in the name of evil
they fight in the name of the orange beast

We will win
there is no doubt in my heart
i look around me
proud comradeship
bluecoats defending the world
from the small minds of evil orange men
fight on brothers and sisters fight on
with Hillary leading us we will prevail

© 2016 mark john junor all rights reserved

frostbitten by our heated words
in the parking lot
walked home together in our separate way
along the narrow path with
a universe of silence between
you with arms folded tightly in
your ballroom gown
me carrying our plunder
in t-shirt and jeans
we steal glances at each other
where we used to steal kisses
we miss each other already......
so my words reach out to you
you take my hand
in that small gesture we once again
find the warmth we love
our souls embrace
we drift the summer night as
one starstruck heart
we tangle into each other romantically
one tender kiss as we open
the door to our home sweet home
we are one joyful laughter
we are one smile
we are lovers in our ****** bed
once again

adrift on a sea swept
with the restless discontent and
heartfelt sweet dreams
drifting among images and arguments
backwater saints and apostles of
criminals on election trails
floating donkeys and elephants........
out here in the simple beauty of
the ever present tides of
humanities daily ritual conversations........
out here in the warm sea cold sand
i followed her pretty picture to her page
found the words she painted
the image of her desirable hearts landscape
full of sunlight dancing among the summer leaves
this lovely heart in this
strange and fascinating sea
where all is not what it appears to be...
the sailors sing while they labor building better ships
and faster dreams.......
tell me some nice tale
you backwater saints with kind hearts
give me a dream for tonight full
of summer leaves in sunlight
of smiles shared

a breath of light
touched her towheaded son
as she reached out to find sunshine
in a moonlight song....
you can find beauty and hope
in the darkest places men's hearts can dream
you can be saved by the smile on your face
if you just believe
nothing can keep you from
being loved again...
she held her towheaded son close to her
as daybreak was outshined
by her joyful smile...
she had learned that lifes road
was hills to struggle up
with the sweat pouring from your labored brow
and the lighthearted dash
along a river of joys
she was alive with hope
and her darling baby boy
she will walk with him till he's a man
in this woman's heart
its her towheaded son that's her sunshine

in the shop window
the mannequin contorted
into a parody of summer beach living
even with the martini glass dusty and cracked
the hawaiian shirt, the flip-flops
the mannequin's long deep gaze forever painted blue
behind cheap sunglasses
sealed away behind faded curtains
straw beach hat tilted against
the harsh glare of a lightbulb for a sun
now this lifesized gaudy imitation of summer
is only the conversation starter for the old couple
who owns the store
with brighton beach memories
photographs of nineteen fifty eight
the heavy scent of cheap perfume
the shuffling of the old man bringing a cup of tea
this is where memories are bought and sold
where a piece of nineteen seventy six
could be had for two dimes and a nickle
its old men who hold the worlds histories
in their wrinkled hands
careworn baubles of a different age
its old men who have in their eyes loves lost and found
who have endless summer days in her arms
forever there back in sixty seven
this old man in his dusty store has more riches
than all the banks in the world
in his heart

sitting in the reflected sunshine
glass flowers breaks into a shattered prism
casting shards of color around the afternoon filled room
while motes of dust foreshadow
the yet distant snowfall falling silently
glass flowers, painted edges like razors
cutting sharp shadows on the tabletop
they interrupt the smooth page where my words have fallen
breaking them into nonsensical whimsy
casting them like a ship on the rocks
obscured to their meanings
shredded of their worth
glass flowers grow in my mind
clawing their way upward from the false soil
trying to find within themselves lifespark and breath
they took my words in hopes of
finding passion to inscribe on their hopes
passion is proof of life
passion is proof of a heart beating madly with desires
glass flowers silently seek life
to grow, live, breath
to be loved and to love
glass flowers sit silently in reflected sunlight
wishing for life beyond this quiet room