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mark john junor Oct 2017
a language ever unspoken
words that have no meanings until
they are printed on the pages of a perpetual knowing
a life lived in beginnings
a destiny of sunrises
a world ever in creation
a woman writing the birthsong of her dreams
she has collected like seashells on angelic shores
they were waiting to be discovered behind her green eyes

she pushes aside the layer of words
that capitulate to her wealth of lovely image
getting to the words spoken to her as the girl
getting to her written soul
where the implication of essence that becomes
the fragrance on which a heart may lay
sweet song to the listening soul
meaning of our lives...

I can see that smile in many ways
but I can only see you in your
expressions of your heartfelt wreathe
expressions of your art
true to who you are
in that creation you strive
who needs no other name than the song
that you cast onto the worlds waters
the very same song that upon which this poem thrives
that makes it live and breath in the summer breeze

I can see that smile many ways
but it is the listener who tells the tale
it is the lovers of images who purchase the wares
its the lovers of a world ever in the creation
who wear your words like a gift of sunshine

© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
mark john junor Oct 2017
the horse racing to greet dawn
coated in sweat cold winter night
chases his riders desperation into the pathless night
chases his kindred's dream
to fly across the trackless predawn light
to be swifter than the wind
to be as effortless as the burning sun
to be as fast as dreams

pushing himself
he knows his rider must flee
knows the men with knives give chase
know he will perish with this rider
if he does not reach the dawn before them
if he does not ****** destiny from them that chase
pushing harder and harder
mile and another mile, another mile

his thoughts are for the lazy pasture
that he calls home
for the dance of sun and hooves
the cool cool water on a hot day
the sweet taste of fresh oat and meal
his mare beside him
the colt they had borne
his warm home so many miles behind

now he races along the
breaking edge of dawn
each stride his weariness ties to master him
yet his riders desperation pushes him onward
now he races against his mortal endurance
now he races against his dying breath

the men with knives seem immortal
they draw ever closer
the danger of them grasps at his every stride
the horror of them breaths on his tail
now he races against his mortal endurance

beyond any thought but to flee
as the dawn breaks, he slips into darkness
stumbling he fights his way forward
fighting to take another stride
rider and fear forgotten now
as he falls to the cold earth
but his spirit runs faster than wind
but his spirt swifter than dreams
his spirit free now
to a forever pasture of peace and sun
a horse will run itself to death for the love of its rider
mark john junor Oct 2017
A single page of her
fills her lover's world
ardent appetite to be cradled like the  
adoration of a mortal unexceptional goddess
who sometimes has high-heeled shoes of clay
leaves her and her lover to waver among
joys shared blissfully diffused by tears shed quietly
A single page of her is written
with the fundamental spirit of a lust for love
an ambition to live loves dream
which is central to every man and woman's heart
A single page of her is provender for the soul
with a common language of immortal romantic notions

A single page of her
just a human being
a lover of another human being
just an exceptional love within an uncomplicated heart
a softly written cage open to lights of loving warmth

A single word of her
fills the canvas with brilliant colors
takes on the shapes of this feverish love affair
takes on the hue's of these hearts at ease
that wrestle each other's naked souls
then cleave to each other with a dire thirst
A single word of her statuesque illustration
histories and futures softly spoken in the animated night
expressions of this average celestial throne
this world of exceptionally average simple beauties
A single word of hers
that I have never actually heard
but knowing its there unspoken in her eyes
just a human being

A single picture of her
fills a poet's hands with rich verse
words laden with potent essence within their expression
as wild as the wind in the deepest part of the rain
as enriched as breathing exaltation and splendor
her photograph pasted to the mirror's edge
as if she were a reflection of dreams
as if perfection had a name
A single picture of her
embroidered by a light that shines
only from some souls
a warmth that greets every passing stranger
an intensity that verges on fire

A single moment of her time
leaves impressions upon you that will breathe within you
growing in the remembrance
like roses upon the vine
interwoven and lovely in the warm light
just a human being
but she will always be
just Kristen
© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
mark john junor Sep 2017
On hold, I'm on hold
if I may be so bold
I hate being on hold....
    feels like you are being so cold
    leaving me on hold....
On hold, I'm on hold
my beard has grown mold
while I'm on hold
    Sold my living soul
    to get off being on hold
Now I'm feeling bold
worth my weight in gold
poke you in the eye scold you for your lie
    Tale all told
    of me being on hold
    rhyme and reason rolled into your sneezing
    while I'm on hold
then my provider be dammed sixfold
cutting off my call in a stranglehold
On hold, I was on hold
goes beyond the threshold
lost my foothold
gotta callback to be
put on hold, on hold, on hold
mark john junor Sep 2017
Breaking open this closed hand
revealing true natures
and altered images
strangers and friends
all longing for a sure path
never seeing but always believing

purchased illusions
price of a cup of tea
or handcrafted delusions
purchased with a lost love
never to be regained

break open this closed hand
revealing the gift
of heartfelt promise
to always love always be there
can you not see
every tomorrow
will always be a reflection of today
until you actually change what you do
who you are
how you live

unclench that closed hand
quit clinging to all your yesterday's worlds
let all you carry fall behind you
never seeing but always believing
that the road ahead holds promises of futures bright
that now things will change
love renewed in your cleansed heart
build  warm day for the winter world
© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
mark john junor Sep 2017
you hold dark weddings in your slumber
where the groom is no more than a fixture
painted smile brittle and small
mothers hold cages they wish upon
daddies girl no longer blue-eyed saint
your bestie too drunk to carry your tune
where the cake is bitter
the gifts torn

i looked to you but could not be seen
so a lament came to my wicked lips
looked to you and all I could see was the gravity
that drew me into you
a stranger with her own maps and masks
showing the straight line between your dusk and dawn
a statement of what's not fair
strange you love me

looked into you
a stranger who comes up slowly
I colour with magic markers the darkness in your eye
make it as pretty as you wished
hide it all away
I sleep each night inches away
from your slow walking fear
as you toy with silk strewn lusts
sweet asylum that is never too close
always far too near

I looked to you but could not be seen
so a lament came to my wicked lips
mumbled a carpet of apologies
spread out 'neath your feet
as you dip one toe into the waters
you called me
but when I looked to you
you looked away

there is a ship that sails tonight
I can see us on it
we wave bye-bye in slow motion capture
I can see joy in your eye
dance cheek to cheek under the moonlight
shine cause I know you like to touch dreams
breathe for me girl
just keep dancing 'neath starry sky
ill crash your dark weddings
catch your tears before they can fall
be waiting on your morning doorstep
come home to find me
come home from those inches away
look into you
just for you
not that someone
in a dark wedding day
mark john junor Sep 2017
news paper pages
scatter along a ***** wind
some caught in fences separating
some free to climb into the forever of
deep blue sky pure sunshine
washed clean of the sins printed on its page
only photographs remain
a black & white image of the old man
feeding pigeons along the empty path
that lead him there

news paper pages
forever silently burning in a collapse of worlds
so old the smoke has died away
pages with masterful words written
never finding lips to uncage their meaning
a beauty of phrase that has never faded
a chain link barrier between what its
long dead author spoke eloquently
and the world disguised by years of dead dust
only photographs remain
a faded image of an old man
walking the sunset
a scattering of bread crumb's
stretching back along his trail
leading not into the living sky
forever shifting between dark and light
but into the dusty caverns of twilight
forever twilight

by candle light
he will pour over the things he never spoke
wishing only for a voice once more
a way to tell her
about all those yesterdays ago
the why's and whatnot's
that he fiddles with
like wooden toys ever more finely crafted
never to knowing play
never to escape the gathering dust

here he sits
in his comfy chair
tea and biscuits gone cold
and his lips ****** with gentle care
words written on discarded news paper pages
like bread crumbs scattered for
birds that never come
© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
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