mark john junor

mark john junor Sep 2013

it was an august sun
slow and sure pushin itself up the sky
singing down at us
the air full and rich with summer
the bells on her ankle chimed
as she danced for me
a sweet smile on her lips
one just for me
and the smoke in her eyes
smouldering wants in her very soul
and i took her hand
and her wants
take them all night
take em as far as we could go

there in the dark
she rose to meet me
she let her hair flow
she let her gifts show
there in the dark
she gave herself to me
body and soul
and we danced all night
and we dreamed away our worlds
all in one fantastic night
she called out wild
and let it loose with a harsh cry
let herself go

wake in the night and laugh into each others eyes
weak at the knees but oh so strong in the heart
don't 'cha know shes my song
and i'm her instrument
made for this night in each others arms
don't 'cha know we have lived all our lives
to get ready for this moment right here
me to you
you for me
and the bells on her ankle chime
like wedding bells
the beads woven into her dreadlocks shine
like stars and planets in her universal mind

i carried her cross the threshold
and her love escaped her soft lips in a single gasp
as she peaked
there in my arms
and me in hers

tonight is forever
and has seemed to last just that long
i am so happy here with you
we are golden together my lover
and its always been that way
will be forever more

LOL...jez says "pump that sunshine honey, gimmie sunshine diarrhea LOL"....know what i say...."drivel, pure unadulterated drivel"

mark john junor Sep 2013

drool

he rubs his fingers slowly
over the smooth surface
chewing his lip
her vacant eyes consume him from across the small room
her naked sweat glistening and pulsating in the harsh
industrial light
there is only the low mechanical sound
of the machine as it slowly digests her mind
piece by inglorious piece
absent chewing sound he thought might have made this bearable
her lips are slack
and a single string of drool flows down onto her chest
her face is a livid smile caught in
the midst of unspeakable *******
and her fingers trace out the words
more...i want more, ***** gimmie more
but her plea is unseen by him
he just wants this to end
leaning over he wipes away the drool
and kisses her
she spits in his face
and digs her nails into his hand
placing it on the textbook
that teaches about pavlov's dog
she mutters 'woof woof baby'
she wants to have her mind
that has troubled her for far too long
to be castrated
she wants to be without the
thoughts
the terrible thoughts
that something could change
if the right sequence could be hit upon
if the right person could walk through the door
he sighs
and pry's loose her weak grasp
the machine has finished
she awakens
'is it over?'
'no'
'woof woof baby'

mark john junor Sep 2013

suffer and his baby brother

it was a dark night
when suffer and his baby brother set out
to make a few bucks at some kinda quick
somthin or other
like a thousand times before
down easy on the farm
always been that way
just gotta figure the way to cut
the bean close to the fat
an squeeze the soil for the pound
and its always
owing someone
owing everybody
cause the ends never have met
an never will
but a shotgun brought it close a time or two
so suffer believes he will take it on with tonight
see if he can straighten out what never been right
it was a dark night
slow and easy in the town
like it always has been
everybody knows everybody's name
and everybody's game
so it wasn't much of a surprise
to find suffer and his big baby brother
walk on into the five and dime
pullin out guns and robbing the register
and old man jenkins pulled his six shooter
and put five of em baby brother
one in suffer's leg
he promptly fell to wailing
his baby brother was gone
now hes gonna face the 'lectric chair
all on his lonesome
all on his lonesome
cause he was named to suffer and that's what hes gonna do
gonna burn in that ole time hell
like they got there in the good book
yea gonna ride the lighting
cause suffer been a loose cannon too long
and they don't like that
in this slow down an easy do it town
so he's gotta pay
always been that way
the ends never meet and never will
but no matter you
go to the good lord
with apologies in hand
dressed in your sunday best
like a good boy
finally suffer your gonna be a good boy
pushin daisy's in a summer sun
pushin till the lord calls you on home

for humbolt and his kid brother...friends of mine from long ago and far away..."dont pass out here kid, they will steal your pants." so true that kiddo, so true :-) humbolt and his baby brother both pushin daisy's...come to a no good end like they always said he would. he was a friend of mine, and a good kid.

mark john junor Sep 2013

penmanship counter indicated

dark lung coughs
up all the reasons he should cease
going on with the charade of normality
its mental noodling fools few
and only confirms for everyone
that his nervous smile
contains more than just dark thoughts

he waits the morning out and with a
greasy eye watches clean woman smile
her full figure form fit lie
suits her fly by night nature
but to him she is the perfection
of absolute imperfections
she is practiced in thouse airs
shes follows Hollywood's nightmare's
and how they have become so accessible and acceptable
the movie starlet high on coke shoplifts
so the faithful flock in tears to the courthouse gate
and weep for their martyr princess

dark lung and his near perfect
knockoff Gucci bag girlfriend
are shopping tonight online
with backwards glances they will go on
survive this day
and look back on this summer with rose color glasses
giving casual nods to to
the ease in which they survived
the struggle
the are expecting a baby
dark lung and near perfect
are expecting a baby
gonna name him Elijah

mark john junor Sep 2013

her face has holes

the storm moves in slowly
building strength as it gathers
rain becomes steady
as he moves out into its wet features
its wind break upon him with its warm intent
his thoughts are clear with the seeing
its a scattering of cherished memories
on the hard surface
that catches the edge of her eye
and lets her pause in thought
and mid-stride
to let her mind wander over
bedraggled and rain-soaked figure

inside that scattering
of memory
is a kaleidoscope of images
patched together with the thin thread
of the craftsman
he labors in the night
a room lit only by the one small lamp
casting huge shadows into the background
the light shifts and the pattern changes
the night reveals the images are culled from
the small corners of a dutch master
its cracked and blackened surface eight hundred years old
the rubbing from a new england tombstone
a child who passed in the winter of 1709
her eyes feast on the loam colors
and rich sequence
giving into the intrigue of long lost faces
people whose lives were so different from the mundane like her own

her bone features an uncertain veil
like a paper thin skein wetly attached to the
dark surface of her mind
illustration painted in garish light
he runs all night
and he barks like a dog
interpret his mouth actions
with abacus
and slide rule
cause you cannot measure the madness
with anything less than absolute numbers
the dutch painting is as much of a tombstone
as my long goodbye
i drew in the sand at her feet

mark john junor Sep 2013

narrow bird

theres an unabridged sorrow to her voice
an open and silent feeling behind the
winter feilds of her eyes
their tilled rich soils
plowed under to a uniform dark dead brown
as her hand rushes through her wheat hair
like a skyth
she sends you to her fathers farm
on the north road on the grand island

her picture on the shelf in her
childhood room
smiles with a green toad
another picture of her lesbian lover
one of me

juxtapose the tread of the man
come to wrench the breath from
the bird at nightfall
his ***** hands are silent
and his thick red jacket a muffed rustling
as the gasping goes on and on
the terrible need for ceasing the desire to flee
his hands slowly stop their motion
and he steps away
you are left in the room
with this now silent dead creature
this signifigant kiosk in the chapter of your travel
this strange night
he brings you his wife
and the two of you drive back to town
i will never forget that
small creature in that room
its silent death a reproach
to us all

scythe...ah well....im paid to be pretty not spell it right LOL

mark john junor Sep 2013

hastings on hudson whisper wall

his leisure suit is neatly folded
benith his sweating palms
each exact line per-measured and tailored
to demonstrate to all who gaze on his corrupt face
that he is a man in need of a beach
a little drink with an umbrella and
a dusky girl named Lola

she walks the fenceline
she mends the gaps with patchs from
the pants of this girl from phish tour
and peices of the tye-dye tapestry she uses as a blanket
we mend our lives with the things we have at hand
we see our lives in the slow motion
of each days new reality
regardless of its bearing on what reality really is
its a painting of a man painting a smile on a sad womans face
sitting on hasting's whisper wall

the corporate man
with his far eastern flavors
tends to exaggerate his bent frame
over people sitting at the whisper wall
his face sings a sweet song
but his fingers set fires in the pockets of passerby's
stealing the coins of the relm
but only the ones with a stuttering king

gone down this road many a time
seen this same company of rabble-rousers
dressed in folds of scented linen
walking along the river road
disscussing in mid-evil painters and poets
but they never resolve the questions of the universe
they never even agree what topping to get on the pizza
so much for the rule of wisdom

been many years since i sat at
hastings-on-the-hudson's whisper wall
with that girl
but i still cherish the conversations we had
and time i spent there with her
i have a new whisper wall
on a beach facing the setting sun

dara steinberg is the girl mentioned....thank you for everything you did and said...friends like you are irreplaceable.