Life, or something like it.....

Feb 2016

mark john junor

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

Feb 2016

mark john junor

american girl

my smile so unlike a vagrant
only wanders the backstreets off her heart
leaning on the lampposts of tenderness
while her storybook temptress casual apparel
lures my pervert tendencies ever onward to
the gates of her pearly pink sweetbox
she leans heavy into that come hither look
she desires dark things that she will never admit to
shes an american girl down to her hello kitty socks
adorable an sweet
***** girl so nasty nice
i take up drawing again
trying to capture my soldiers retreating
after a long night on the battlefield of between the sheets
she nestles in close
as i taste her with my lips
we fall to dreamin
sleep rushes in
i dream of a withering sun
i dream of long ago autumn nights

Feb 2016

mark john junor

poem song

her heaven interrupted
she waits there by the wooden door
burned into its crispy surface is a poem aimed at her heart
a poem in the form of a image
a graceful piece illustrated to the minds eye
a flowing of words and thought that only
a great painter could put to canvas
it was of a love she knew many years ago
it was a autumn affair
dry leaves had scattered under her soft shoe walk
and the boy had taken her hand and then
had taken her
only to fade into memory by the first frost
the wind chimes in the semi-darkness remind her of that day
sounding clearly like a soft summer song
to her young and vibrant heart
sounding like trumpets hailing the coming
of some grand and great prince
head held high
with the purest of intents
yes those chimes sound so alive to her
brings back so many memories
of her young and willing heart
these many years later
she has only the barest scrap of paper
with his name still legible
faded but bold
bold like he was
like he was
now the years have told their tale
and her eyes loose focus
as her dreams once more turn to those heady days
of her young heart
as she slips into a final slumber
she dreams of him
and the poem song of her love for him

Feb 2016

mark john junor

a kiss away

this long hour that she's
refusing to speak to me
we sit in the bedroom
opposite sides
the tv goes unheard in the corner
softly whispering nonsense to itself
like a madman
she is sitting with her perfumes and paints
looking distantly into the mirror
i study her face from across the room
grasping for words i dare not speak
trying for a thought that could resolve
remembering that sometimes its better to let anger alone
but from here she doesn't look angry
she plays with her hair
applies lip gloss
fiddles with things
waiting
i let loose with a softly spoken 'sorry'
she tells me she loves me
what did it all mean
why had there been such angry words
i look for the meanings but left puzzled
sometimes its better to let anger walk its own path
out of its dark woods
her sunshine returns in the coming hours
and we are once again
hand in hand
a glance away from a smile
a kiss away from each other
we make love in the afternoon sunlight
and drift into sleep entangled in each-others arms
lover sweet lover

Feb 2016

mark john junor

fanboy

starlet of the silver screen
crafted herself to display the power of her beauty
and practiced in the art of visual seductions
she desires to be intoxicating
to move men to noble heights without saying a word
to ****** the hearts of men with just a smile
to be center stage in the brilliant light of adulation
her craft allows her to be anyone she wants
princess or pauper
a master of her craft she is every man's dream
she is true beauty
at the height of her career
a hollywood starlet
an american goddess
the love affair daydream of every fanboy
i look into those velvet eyes
and see all that ever could have been
all things ever desired
she's a starlet of the silver screen
woman boldly striking a seductive pose
assured and strong
true beauty
american goddess

#hollywood #celebrity #fanboy

Feb 2016

mark john junor

this dark heaven

this dark heaven
this treasured place
a promise of pleasure
the stain of human gesture brought and sold
bleak for its beauties of the eye to behold
strained against the leash which holds it to the street
it too has dreams
wishes held close to the heart
spoken aloud only in whispers of the night
faces carved with the eloquence of once loved and lost
caress becomes sinister in this piecemeal love affair
smiles become shells for the lies told
only the twenty pieces of silver accepted
only the once innocent soul sold
all too soon i must flee this dark romance
all too soon the morning sun will reveal
this dark heaven
on her way home

Jan 2016

mark john junor

the ever faster rabbit

my blue sky dream forsaken
i now chase the ever faster rabbit
of promised fairy tale
his pronounced face forever plastered on billboards
and barroom halls wanted posters
after all don't we all wish at some point or another
to chew the gristle of god's little plan for each of us
to get down to the furry bones of 'who am i really'

get to recognize your soul's signature
they say its your subconscious self speaking through your actions
they say that there is a devil inside every mans heart
but iv seen the better half of lesser men
iv beheld the man who holds the other above water till
he can swim on his own
get to recognize your soul's better nature
live for that
for in the end of your days
you will weigh out the pro's and con's of your life
and its the love given that outweighs your darkest days

so this early sunday morning i chase that faster rabbit
with a handful of questions that have always troubled my soul
should i have gone left instead of right
should i have put a ring on her finger instead of letting her go
all the questions that that have always troubled my soul
looking for the same rabbit as you
the one that breeds discontent that keeps you awake at night

Jan 2016

mark john junor

fading into echoes

some punk rock band on the radio
plays transparently hopeful echoes of some quick romance
while she lounges on the couch in a see-thru dress
smoking expensive french cigarettes
her dreadlocks spread round in the morning sunlight
but her sunglasses out of context in the small room
she is the definitive architecture of **** cool
tapping a painted finger nail on the wood in time with the tune
her lips mirror the the lyrics perfectly
its a weeping time tale to hear her past out from
the start of her humble jungle of a childhood
to her trips along the nile river photographed so well
she's an open book translated from street etiquette
to manicured lawns of the greasy richy riches
and back again
the room holds many scents
roses from her bedspread
stale leaves burning from those parisian cigarettes
and her delicate and elusive perfume that my mind
wraps itself up in with such intense images of
my lips grazing the nape of her neck
i walk across the uneven floor of the small room
and land myself slowly up against her warm body
we talk softly
the hour drifts by like dust falling in the still air
disappears like the punk song
fading into echoes

#girl #punk

Jan 2016

mark john junor

paris's boothill

out to sea
countless miles hand to the tiller
to find that brief moment
on the crest of a twenty foot breaking wave
as a nor'easter wilds the sea
when you glimpse it
in the stillness between heaven and earth

she hid in her bedroom
looking at a late fall paris passing rainstorm
and on the run down east side facing the setting sun
she could just make out another lover fleeing town with
his creditors in hot pursuit
he owed so much for the words he had abused
up on paris's boothill
the gunslingers and thieves wouldn't have ya
it was in that darkest hour she glimpsed it in the mirror

under the bewitching stars
in the anvil of desolation's wasteland of high desert
on the cusp of the suns imminent rise
you can see it in the broiling fire
as the edge of the world itself appears to burn
you can see clearly that this end
of your little world
is but a door which you stand at the threshold
many times in your life
step into the fire or frying pan
step into the next world you will live in
or try vainly to escape into the past

Jan 2016

K Balachandran

A love story originated beyond time

1.
On a nameless planet, in ferment we first met,
eons ago, tiny microbes, evolving we were still,
yet love a flickering light, bound us together.
As two galaxies were merging fiercely then,
to turn us and our nameless pang,to worthless dust
there wasn't any time left for a future together.
In a microbial kiss pathos ruled,we melted as one,
promised to remember this tryst, imprinted so deep
wherever in cosmos we would meet in future
in whatever form we may be at that juncture.
2.
This morning at the Metro that pang did revisit,
seeing you gazing at me in goosebumps I stood,
two galaxies within, I sensed were closing to to merge,
coming to my senses again I find you've vanished
a microbe, you are in the air that every minute I breathe.

We will conquer time, go beyond, love has power infinite,
the encounters in flashes would intimate our impending union.

#love #story #eternity #cosmicconsciousness

Jan 2016

Aztec Warrior

Not A Poem

Not A Poem: A Personal Message to Hello Poetry and A Pledge**

None of what has been going on here at Hello Poetry makes any sense but it is hurting many poets here and driving many poets/friends away (8 and counting)... my only thinking is that it is a deliberate attack not only on poets but poetry, and these web sites where poets gather and is part of a growing american culture of barbarity.. it's like those U.S. drone attacks done from behind closed doors that no one sees coming and then everything and everybody gets destroyed... it must stop and we must stop it!

For all those who are interested, I will do the same as Quinn has done and post ANY and ALL private messages that are character attacks or personal attack on me or my friends (if they allow); or ugly comments left on my poetry... Walt Livingston’s  comment on Quinn’s poem should not be tolerated here at HP, and called out for its inhumanity. It has nothing to do with poetry or the poem he left it on. Not one thing he said can be verified and this kind of thing has to stop. It’s like watching Fox or CNN news- ******* opinions posing as news and training us on what to think.

Also, for the record, if anyone receives a message claiming to be me do 2 things, first ask me if I actually wrote it sent it and 2 send it to me... I do not really know (that is I do not yet have the proof needed) who or how many are behind this, BUT I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS TO CONTINUE AS LONG AS I AM AT HP. And this goes for any other site I may visit. So please block me now all who think I will not stand up against plagiarism, attacks, harrassments, trolling, stalking, and any other form of oppression.

I also know that I may lose a few friends in doing this. To them, I can only say, that this is not a reflection on or directed to you in any way and I am sorry if this has hurt you, deeply sorry...

Aztec

PS  Oh, and by the way, the friends I am referring to know who they are, so if there are any questions about this,  message me and ask me.. no one has the right to declare friendship without my say so...

Wish I didn't have to say this, but since part of the sneak attacks have been done by people using other people's names to pick fights and attacks... yes it has gotten that bad.. That insidious...

So poets of HP, Let’s write poetry, support each other with mutual respect (even if and while we debate the content/ideas of a poem); build a community of poets that is a MODEL for the way human beings should and can treat each other, with mutual respect and listening to and seeing our diversity of ideas and nationalities as a great advantage to art and society and to ourselves... this is not a call for love and peace, since this will have to be fought for, nor is it a call to live and let live... there can be no place among human beings for these attacks... as well as no “free speech” for wreckers and attackers..
Let our language be poetry
Let our words be open and honest debate over poetry and art
Let our hearts be filled with fresh new ideas about life
Lets create wonderment and awe with our pen!!!!
Come on HP poets, Lets Go!!

Aztec Warrior 1.25.16

Well, this post has sure caused an uproar. I am tempted to say, ya'll deserve each other, so *******, but that would be foolish and wrong of me and get us no further, and the attacks on each other would continue and the real poets, those who want to actually write poetry and have it read and appreciated are leaving. So the first think I want to add to this post is: Quinn, and the rest of you (Rick who is "r'and also "woody", a few others; along with Gary L, Nagi,and I think Jack and Vicki were named in Woody's comment that is not gone) STAND DOWN!! No more poems, comments or messaging spreading rumors or attacking people for who they like or block or what happened  months ago or at another poetry site. STOP.

Look everyone who actually cares, someone (and all admit they do not know who he is or was) by the name of Walt Livingston posted and ugly attack. It 's one of the reasons why I posted the above post. This WAS NOT a defense of Quinn, as it is a method being used in several poetry site to create dissention and havoc.  No one knows who this is and yet everyone thinks they know and they spread this rumor far and wide to anyone who will listen. It has to be Quinn he just wants attention. It has to be 'r" he's been attacking me forever and on it goes round and round until it is almost impossible to find the truth. The truth is someone created that account and look at the results Instead of pointing fingers and coming up with all kinds of conspiracy theories, lets put or know how together and find out.

I do not know who this is nor will I speculate. But I will say this, all of us at this point are being played!!! And attacking each other is not helping to get at this problem.

No matter what Quinn did or didn't do at WC that got him kicked off, there was continued trouble at WC that Quinn had nothing to do with. Does this mean Quinn is innocent, no, it just means this mess we are dealing with is bigger than one individual. Look I know you all don't agree with me on this, Which leads me to the main point.

I put the center or heart of the above post last for a reason. To make it stand out from the part where I was saying what I would do to prevent attacks on me and friends (if allowed). Maybe I was wrong in doing this because you all have ignore it. Or at best gave it some general nod and then went right into attacking each other trying to prove who was the real hero/heroine and blah blah. Why?? Why couldn't these points be the glue that can help sort out this "sad state of affairs at HP"  as someone put it. They certainly do not detract from the "Rules of Conduct" Eliot has posted. and everyone "agrees" they will abide by. They could actually act as a banner of sorts that people could come around and express why they like or dislike them and as a means of determining disputes. But I am also convinced that if these points do take hold it will be much easier to root out and identify anyone or someone who is provoking bs on the site.  Are they perfect? hell no. And that is why it will take many many of us to do this including CRITIQUING THE POINTS. But there will be no tolerance of knocking at people for any reason.   It's easy: critiquing points, yes; critiquing people, NO..
I hope I am not talking to the wind here...