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 Mar 2015 M M M
mark john junor
surrounded by sunlight's softest kiss
in pantomime of surrender she gives up her smile
she gives romance of the eyes to me
and with few words softly spoken
ushers me into her world
perfections kitten she growls then laugh's
as i marvel at her nearness
her eyes have become pools of green warmth
as we sit to talk and talk to sit
she asks why have i come
i illustrate on the breeze with words so profuse
i illuminate the room with light of reason
but fail to sway her
she ponders me and all my attachments
with gentle grace
gives me a door
sunlight plays in her reddish brown hair
plays upon her earring of diamonds
she gives me romance of the heart
as she holds me there by the door
long enough to convince me of her goodness
long enough for me to see her divinity
a spring snow clings to the breeze
on the beach which she walked
forever more young and fierce as a lioness
young and bold
Out of the ***** of the Air
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
  Silent, and soft, and slow
  Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession
  The troubled sky reveals
  The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy ***** hoarded,
  Now whispered and revealed
  To wood and field.
 Jan 2015 M M M
mark john junor
she has tail-lights for eyes
see her leaving all the time
but you cant wait to try her on
just for a good time
till you see
there is more to that reality
no home
no warm place to go back to
she has tail-lights for eyes
see her fading away all the the time
into the darkness that is your pasts
 Jan 2015 M M M
Reece AJ Chambers
bodies under a light
  nothing on our feet
green tea past midnight

lips spell catastrophe
  I reek of calamity
speech drops out slow

fogged-up glasses
  crackle of a packet
of chocolate biscuits

soft fingertips
  seconds swallowed
stuck in traffic

pathetic
  catch her eyes
self-induced electric shock

burnt tongue
  there sing the clocks
she lets me in
Written: January 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, and the first new poem to be posted onto my Facebook writing 'update' page (link is on my home page).
I have said to many people I do not know how to flirt, and thinking about it, I ended up with this piece.
 Oct 2014 M M M
mark john junor
she reads her morning book
in the autumn sunlight
and within our conversation she smiles radiantly
gives glimpse of hearts truth
natural beauty rendered of the soul
is a masterpiece that no artist of word or image
in subtle colors fine lines can duplicate
her burnished hair spread by morning breeze
her delicate gaze softly suffuse
natural beauty so sweet to the eye
but it also the natural kindness she shows
to the odd souls around her
that illustrates clearly the best of humanity
she brings out the best in all of us
she makes me want to be a better man
she reads her morning book
resplendent in the autumn sunlight
a radiant woman of delicate beauty
she wants to learn, change and grow
she makes me want to be a better man
(edited)
 Jul 2014 M M M
Dylan Thomas
A Letter To My Aunt Discussing The Correct Approach To Modern Poetry

To you, my aunt, who would explore
The literary Chankley Bore,
The paths are hard, for you are not
A literary Hottentot
But just a kind and cultured dame
Who knows not Eliot (to her shame).
Fie on you, aunt, that you should see
No genius in David G.,
No elemental form and sound
In T.S.E. and Ezra Pound.
Fie on you, aunt! I'll show you how
To elevate your middle brow,
And how to scale and see the sights
From modernist Parnassian heights.

First buy a hat, no Paris model
But one the Swiss wear when they yodel,
A bowler thing with one or two
Feathers to conceal the view;
And then in sandals walk the street
(All modern painters use their feet
For painting, on their canvas strips,
Their wives or mothers, minus hips).

Perhaps it would be best if you
Created something very new,
A ***** novel done in Erse
Or written backwards in Welsh verse,
Or paintings on the backs of vests,
Or Sanskrit psalms on lepers' chests.
But if this proved imposs-i-ble
Perhaps it would be just as well,
For you could then write what you please,
And modern verse is done with ease.

Do not forget that 'limpet' rhymes
With 'strumpet' in these troubled times,
And commas are the worst of crimes;
Few understand the works of Cummings,
And few James Joyce's mental slummings,
And few young Auden's coded chatter;
But then it is the few that matter.
Never be lucid, never state,
If you would be regarded great,
The simplest thought or sentiment,
(For thought, we know, is decadent);
Never omit such vital words
As belly, genitals and -----,
For these are things that play a part
(And what a part) in all good art.
Remember this: each rose is wormy,
And every lovely woman's germy;
Remember this: that love depends
On how the Gallic letter bends;
Remember, too, that life is hell
And even heaven has a smell
Of putrefying angels who
Make deadly whoopee in the blue.
These things remembered, what can stop
A poet going to the top?

A final word: before you start
The convulsions of your art,
Remove your brains, take out your heart;
Minus these curses, you can be
A genius like David G.

Take courage, aunt, and send your stuff
To Geoffrey Grigson with my luff,
And may I yet live to admire
How well your poems light the fire.
 Jun 2014 M M M
A C Leuavacant
It's a long journey all in all
Especially when you have to crawl
Under knots of trees
past the honey bees
Or just the job
of staying on that wooden road
When it's so fast to erode

And when we go into the marsh
We can't move our feet
Stuck in the mud
But still it makes us complete
Because
we still have the memories
And more friends than enemies
Especially as we run
And when it's begun
A good feeling
When we run through the forest
No, I am not a conformist
Just a soul living in the moment
Not a criminal
Not a sceptic or a poet
So let's relax

I will waste no more time
Worrying about that crime
It's really quite a silly thing
To do  
And I know what I mean
Believe me
I know it may seem
Like a hopeless cause
Full of holes and flaws
But just remember  
In the sea of happiness
The only drop of tear
Is the one that you yourself
Did Make appear.
Kind of attempt at a new style
The first night you stayed in my bed until the sun rose the next morning,
I was afraid to fall asleep out of fear that you wouldn’t be by my side
When I awoke the next day.
I lay on my side, you on your back, and my cheek on your bare chest.
I listened to your heartbeat like a loud lullaby trying to pull me to sleep.
I watched your eyelids, waiting for them to crack to see if I had fallen to slumber
But they never did.
Your chest elevated up and parachuted down in a perfect sync
With the heartbeat drumming in my ear.
Occasionally, I walked my fingertips softly up your chest as if your body were a mountain
And my fingers were hikers exploring your beauty and landscape.
I like certain lines in this poem and others, I hate. Trying to decide if I should add more to it. Let me know what you guys think.
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