Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 9 · 127
delicious she
Her elegant day
welcomes her
subtle and sweet evening
dances in amongst the fallen leaves
barely touching ground
She floats along
a melody only she can feel
Delicate she moves
Delicious her carefree smile
as she lingers the moment
As she lay the foundations of
lace and flowers
on the mantle of the moon
making it forever
romantic in its fiery glow
As she dances softly silently
dances among the fallen leaves
Jun 1 · 159
Lincoln Memorial
There at the heart of the nation a great edifice
a temple if you will
erected to reflect the very best and greatest hopes of a nation.
While the cities burn
is it swift breaking dawn of a new age for the Republic,
or is it a last whispering death rattle of Democracy that we witness from the steps of these hallowed grounds
I tell myself not to fear
our nation has struggled through many great trials
to have found its way back from many dark days...
yet, still, the cities burn...
yet still, our nation divided...
We can only stand on these steps of Lincoln's epitaph
bear silent witness and hope
hope
May 11 · 97
space between
there are symphonies in the silence
there are forests of thoughts
to be had in the space between
when she storms out the door
and when the loneliness sneaks in
Feb 2019 · 324
moments enshrined forever
mark john junor Feb 2019
she called out as she passed on by
in that transient light faded and glorious
that her caring enriched every single glance
simple and endearing
forever lingering in her most loving eyes
that held me in my moving gracefully away
into the warm nights unspoken mystery
into the tale once so carefully crafted...

she called out as she passed on by
it wasn't the words that captured me
it was all the loves my life has known
laid out before me like playing cards
forever hoping for that lavish reward
just a chance to turn it all in one simple motion
back to the enduring light i once found
so quick yet so fleeting that i only
had time to embrace
before the song ended...

she called out as she passed on by
it wasn't the words that stirred me
it was her hand holding mine
that connection that i have always cherished
simple and beautiful and oh so true...
making my heart younger in its true warmth...
making my days all run together into
a sweet symphony of images of time shared
a sweet melody of moments enshrined forever
in my loving eyes

she called out as she passed on by
but it wasn't her words that were music to me
it was all the loves my heart has known
framed in the reflection of her eyes
Nov 2018 · 351
we were paris
mark john junor Nov 2018
we danced like we were in paris
danced like lovers under a summer moon
everyone saw us
everyone loved us
the beautiful songs played
while we breathed the romantic night air
wrapped in each others arms
entwined in each others hearts
we were the center of the beautiful world
we were swept away on a sea of love
forever in each heartbeat
forever in each others eyes
we danced like we were in paris
we danced like lovers do
we were the center of the beautiful world
the light shined all around us
everyone saw us
everyone loved us
they all whispered how lovely we were
marveled at how we danced so beautifully
we were beautiful
we danced like we were in paris
till the song faded away
we were the center of the beautiful world
we were paris
till the song faded away
mark john junor Nov 2018
she gathers them up
holding them gently in her arms
there are more every day
like harvesting flowers
pick them when they are in full bloom
she walks barefoot in the fields
in a powder blue dress
big floppy hat to keep off the sun
she gathers them up
and brings them to the boatman at the river
he gives her one of the four coins he collects
for each one he ferries across
to the gates...
the gates....
one bright with golden promise of joy
the other dark and cold...
she hates the sight of the gates....
she wants her flowers to stay the way they are forever
tranquil as life in the country
serene as a sleeping smile...
she walks the battlefield that night
gathering up the fallen soldiers
she is death
come to harvest the late bloom
come to gather the souls for the ferryman
across to the gates of forevermore...
Aug 2018 · 623
sea song (reprise)
mark john junor Aug 2018
a storm rode up slow on the sea's horizon
filling our senses with its wild winds
we spent that night passing a bottle of crisp wine
by candlelight while the sea rocked us
like children in the cradle
but our laughter and words were
so alive with long roads
so rich with our full years

morning found us taking on water
so we turned to make haste
for some near uncharted island haven
and we beached her on untainted sands
with its stretch of palms and gentle *****
while sailing master worked mend sail, patch hull
we walked far up the shore and found a secluded spot
and there i lay with you
drinking in your taste and body
feasting with you on the sweetbreads of our love
till we were full and were left with only soft smiles

we sailed once again as dawn overtook the sky
sound once more and making good time
with a beautiful salt breeze in our sail
beating to windward
with a loving song to our hearts
these the days that my heart will cherish
these are the living dreams that
my worlds foundations are built upon
i knew i would marry you
you knew i would always be yours
from this day till time cease
Jul 2018 · 363
dark weddings (part two)
mark john junor Jul 2018
looked into you
a stranger who comes up slowly
I color 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

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 the 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
look into you
just for you
not that someone
in a dark wedding day
mark john junor Jun 2018
all of our kisses with giggles
for her it's like the first steps of a lovers dance
how wonderfully dizzy it makes you feel
how you long to be lost in those moments
for her it's like a taste of forever
for her it is us
all the moments of us
all the passion and light
all the lefts with the rights

all of our kisses with giggles
treasures them like jewels sparkling
like reflections of the sky in a summer rains puddle
heavens are found in the simplest lovers embrace
and renders them in deep flowing waking dreams
with all the colors of a hearts rainbow
all the moments of us
passion and light

all of our kisses with giggles
naked in the night while we lay entwined
adorned in latest fashion among the beautiful people
wherever our lovely hearts wander
are the moments of us
a lovers dance that captivates us
lost in her while she's in lost in me
a new heaven found each day in her embrace
a sweeter song in her every loving word
all the moments of us
all the passion and light
all the lefts with the rights
May 2018 · 613
roses upon the vine
mark john junor May 2018
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 center to every man and womans 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
with another human being
just an exceptional love within an uncomplicated heart
softly written 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 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 exceptional 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

© 2018 mark john junor all rights reserved
May 2018 · 576
fails to seduce
mark john junor May 2018
flowers grow in the holes
of her ever more romantic dreamin's
she fills in the picture with pastel hero's
their colors fade then fire as her passions run
vivid at a moment's of his heartfelt embrace
faded as his wicked smile fails to ******
she is drawn to the artistic brief time in hand
fascinated by the workings of the mysterious mind
how create rainbows from the dusty nuance expressed
create love from an abundance of words delicately devoted
cede to the child hand within us
the joy and discovery
making gentle rain from the hard snow
of making yesterdays into an epiphany of beauty lost
how to be the source and author of true loves song

while she is taming the mare
he trims the overgrowth
while she entertains with tea and crumpets
he is chopping the wood
while she dances within loves light
he chips away at the stone hearth
these are no lovers
just strangers embraced

her inner field of flowers
a swath of rose red bordered by summer greens
ever an insurrection against winters hand
saving every sprout and budding leaf
single-handedly stemmed the tide
as Autumn steals away with all of the summers life
he is her part-time hero
obsessed with his grand gesture
dismissive of the intangible cold touch
she paints him in pastel
but his is a life of watercolor running in the rain
a minister of hammers
the only spark within is that
of the violence of the iron wrought anvil
no heartstring to gather up
to weave a life from

she will mourn his leaving
caught up in the divinity
always found in yesterday's sorrows
bound in the confines of her heart
he will always be the part-time hero
he will never leave
in the loss of yesterday's sorrows
May 2018 · 532
8"x10" glossy
mark john junor May 2018
her entrance was full of
beautiful blue-hued stars
filled with the nuance of a touch of romance
inspired by her i make clear announcements to my heart
that this daughter of moonlight
treads the path to my dreams
alone scatters pages of rose scented poems
along my veins to the point of creations fire
even her tears spent for me are gracious and kindness

after her entrance
blue stars settle on the bare floor
in exquisite patterns that flavor the minds meal
that lends its rich texture and sensations to the bodies temple
she lay in repose like a field of summer wheat swaying
in the cool breeze
she lay in the folds of my blankets
like the queen of hearts
a luscious liquid in her every move
softly she speaks every embracing word
that cools your heated brow
comforts your beating heart
she knows just what to say to ease you
she knows just how to weave you

beneath her entrance
her barefoot leavings are a track
that have led many to their unwitting tale of woe
where from a great distance can they
with longing and tender expressions put to page
placed ever so delicately into envelopes
headed for the mythical west coast
the land of palms and glitz
forever summer
in the land of golden statues

after her entrance
i have within my grasp
a poem of her
a poem of her moment
a rich tapestry that is woven into
the fabric of her Paris fashion catalogue
where she is a French princess in prints 8"x10" glossy

poems © 2018 mark john junor all rights reserved
May 2018 · 449
the 8th muse
mark john junor May 2018
the muse of her daytime mind
cast in paper and plaster
burns in effigy of her wandering heart
directionless tones seep from beneath her lip
as her hot eyes scatter place to place
in the neatness of arranged stuffed animals
who neither claim or deny
just gather dust like a memorial to the passing ages

the 8th muse sits entwined
in the onslaught of the forest's burning desire
to grow unchecked by man's hand
to grow despite the sea of grey gripping the sky

her bland flesh
in pastel colors
just clings to the rain
running like makeup under tears
and the handcrafted sketches
of paper-thin smiles
are but a foretaste of masterpieces to come
she will find her own Sistine Chapel
for her soul to wrestle
she will find the word redemption
and know its meaning to the core of her soul
© 2018 mark john junor all rights reserved
May 2018 · 958
cascading sunlight
mark john junor May 2018
the cascading sunlight folds
itself over the tables and chairs
making the bland beautiful
as she sits with smiles
ever-present spoken exquisiteness of words
she is the guardian at the gate
she is the handcrafted perfection
spun out from the threads of heartstring
sewn into her fiery love of rock n roll
into her gentle quiet lover's restful adoration

the cascading sunlight flows
over the chipped tile floor
like a slow flood of cool waters
inked into the deluge are the images
of days shared here
of the worlds within the music that plays
of the moments where her happy eye captured me

the cascading sunlight rushing
up the far wall as sunset inhales all the day's joy
and then exhales all our gathered loves
like purity
like beauty
like her sweet heart

the cascading sunlight renews us all
this is the birth of my new world
this is the journey that i never knew
till after i had taken its first steps

© 2018 mark john junor all rights reserved
May 2018 · 491
cool treasures
mark john junor May 2018
Standing at the edge of the lake
morning fog fading into the light wind
the forest alive with every small creature
giving voice to the rise of the sun
with each one putting its own beautiful song
into a symphony of summer...
this moment in my heart
a cool treasure from nature
a journey from sleepy places
to a joyous celebration
of the natural world
Apr 2018 · 490
a deadeye wrangler
mark john junor Apr 2018
Egalitarians of a smaller world
with forks for fingers
chew loudly on the gravy train
of poor boys paper thin paychecks
spit me out cause I got no cash
better to be on the street with
a shoeless shuffle
than trying to capture a seat
at the silver spoon table....

Pasty-faced bankers counting out loud
the graves of American dreams they spoiled
the song of their voices in unison
is a terrible dirge and a
strange romancer that keeps
one and all clinging to that sweetest of dreams
hope....

Dudley Do Right is a little man
in his little office
acting like the bureaucrat he was born to be
just pennies on the pound for his cold soul
a deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
his heart a cardboard cutout of his childhood idol
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang

all these flavorless fools
pay to play on the great machine
where the crowds call for ever more
salacious parody of what should be
where the almighty buck stops here
twice a day
all day Sunday
preacher man
baker, solider, liar, thief
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang

© 2018 mark john junor all of my poems are my
exclusive property and all rights are reserved
Oct 2017 · 547
implication of essence
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
Oct 2017 · 620
swift horse in slow dawn
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
Oct 2017 · 841
undeniable lust for love
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
Sep 2017 · 771
put on hold
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
Sep 2017 · 735
dark weddings
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
Sep 2017 · 690
paper newspaper
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
mark john junor Aug 2017
nothing so crude
as these words on the page
nothing so uncrafted
as the clarity of me in her eye
nothing more natural than
her comforts she fashions at the end of my day
she is still golden at the height of
the arch of her young song
still able write her path
but she remains here
for our summer day

my mind
lying like a black and white photograph
lost to the ages within her words of the day
nothing more beautiful
than the truth of her embrace
thin fabric of her dress
expresses the warmth of her skin
without losing the demure of her innocence

I wait here in the shade as
she plays in the sunlight
a song only her heart can know plays
idle my fingers spin romance
carefully wrought in silver and jade
cold metal reflecting brightly
smooth stone hard to warm
but as it lay in the sun
it becomes

nothing so uncrafted
as the clarity of me in her eye
nothing so bold as her rushing to my arms

© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
Jul 2017 · 1.9k
paris in the rain
mark john junor Jul 2017
she said the rain reminded her of Paris
can almost hear the cafe's and distant lovers laugh
can almost feel Paris 'neath my feet
she is Paris in my mind
Paris in the rain...

melancholy on her face with that distant heartfelt...

the rain slips away
she said she wanted to walk in the garden
in summer bloom
linger there by shady tree...

rest herself on the wooden bench framed in sunshine
her perfume lingers on the trail
of her soft footsteps
a seductive path to her secret heart
she says she is compelled to ask
but the silence follows her words...

her long white dress
reflecting beautifully in the summer air
her long white dress
once reflecting enticing moment at a time
she hums the tune to that song
the one she so loved in Paris
the one that played on that night of joys
the one that she held him so much
not me    not me    not me
she is Paris in my mind
Paris in the rain...

I am withdrawing from the beautiful image of her
without moving she is getting farther and farther away
no more Paris in the rain for me
no more song for me
she will always be that Paris in the rain
Paris in the rain

© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
Jul 2017 · 579
"words of treason"
mark john junor Jul 2017
the words of treason he shouted is what
put the stock of a rifle to my shoulder
take aim now that the patriots are traitors
never thought it would ever come to this in my lifetime
there's a man on the road with a rebel flag
yelling that his treason is patriotic
he is gonna take my life for some russian profit in his pocket
he is gonna take my America for somebody else's taxes

Remember growing up the thought that my generation trusted
this land be free
"this land is your land, this land is my land"*
never said nothing bout had to be black or white
never said had to be praying to another man's God
they have come knocking upon my door
tell me my words are not the lies they are selling
and I better get in line or they gonna take me away
get right in my head evil men are the gods Americka dreams of
that our children will live in darkness and hunger
for some russians profit in your pocket

just an hour from Reno stopped by the roadside
watched the sun set on the edge of the desert
and hoped my America would still be here when i awoke
this never should have happened
never saw it comin
never thought America could fall
let alone to have a president be the
one who fires the first shot
I see a rebel on the road
words of treason spilling from his bible
a used car salesman spinning a tall tale
and the fools who cheered him on
wipe that stupid grin off his face if I could
I see a rebel on the road
yelling his treason is patriotic
come to take away my America
come to take my life for some rich thief's taxes

Remember growing up the thought that my generation trusted
remember what my country was built on honor integrity truth
now that's all been sold for pennies on the dollar
so some rich slob can feed off what used to be
a place that the world envied
a place people dreamed of
now the patriots are traitors
now Amerika burns
now Americans die
for some russians profit in your pocket
*reference: Quote from Woody Guthrie "This land is your land" Circa 1940
Jul 2017 · 551
there is only her
mark john junor Jul 2017
without reservation,
such beauty radiates within the eye,
such dreams of softly spoken passions fire,
that once ignited burns within & gives
desires so lustful and hot that
they stream into the minds of men,
washing away all but the sole wanton
pleasures found within, and this lust like
a beast carries her away enfolded in his strength and power,
thrusting to find that one moment over and over when all but the pleasure deep and wide is known, that moment when worlds fade away, there is only her, there is only him....
May 2017 · 2.0k
in another life
mark john junor May 2017
we are all searching for ourselves
in the desperate scribblings of our own pages
seeking the heights of beautiful light
in the darkest corners of night
terribly remembering
beautifully forgetting
we are all apologists begging for
scraps from a happy hearts table
our lives are lived from roadside signs
that proclaim our redemption is just around the bend
and some thief savior or ***** saint gonna
clasp us by the hand lead us to a promised land
seeking the heights of beautiful light
in the darkest corners of night
terribly remembering
beautifully forgetting
on our pages, we escape angrily  
on our pages, we are imprisoned willingly
taste that chain holding you down
french kiss the locks that hold you in place
write with a fever of words
that make your world dizzy with desire
write with the sweat of her ******* as your ink
write with the depth of his eyes as your page
the poem you carve out of your struggles
the poem you breathe into the winter night cold hard rain
is the poem you will be remembered for
is the one that you put your soul into
while you were seeking
while your heart was searching
in another life I was golden
in another life, you were made of sunshine
in another life, we were together
Apr 2017 · 784
narrow path
mark john junor Apr 2017
sweet songs fill the
still and quiet summer night
leads my thoughts along the
narrow paths of lush green life
as moonlight filtered by the leaves above
sends shafts of beautiful silvery magic
like a visual kiss
onto the narrow ways ground
where it leaves rippling pools
that passing lighthearted
souls drink from with graceful hearts
there is no disquiet here
only the mysteries of loving kindness
in which we swim forever blissful
at the end of the narrow way
a castle made of dreams
where stout men stand silent guard
protecting innocence
and providing comfort to the
broken hearted
such are the dreams that fill
my soul while I sleep blissfully in
my sweet lover's arms
my heart in her tender hands
Apr 2017 · 2.3k
barter for fish 'n' chips
mark john junor Apr 2017
traffic in dreams
the deeper the love
the longer it will be to pay it off
deeper the diamond to carve from your heart
the darker the desire
the more cold cash
the harsher the wind in the lonely night

take sandpaper to your luxurious soul
but you keep its stain from your pretty eyes
pretty face barter for fish n chips
pretty words barter your bed and breakfast
dress it all in fashion from magazines
the strange combination of gloss and paper thin disguise
the strange combination of truth and lies

the greasy haired stranger
peers with all his might into the mirror
trying to find the man hidden within
he traffics in dreams
will sell you a plot of land
and the rainbow that comes with
ten by ten souls wide
ten by ten deep
sell em to you for a taste of the pretty
sell em to you for a touch of the tender
so rancidly reflected in his greasy smile

you thought the weight was easy to bear
thought that the lie you tell yourself suffices
but dreams are brittle thin walls you hide behind
watch the cracks spread across the pretty picture
it is painted with
watch the colors fade like sweet summer sunshine
the sweet wine turned bitter like tears
he sells you a dream that must be forever replaced
with an ever darker version
he sells you a lie that you will come to see vividly
it won't taste so sweet for so long
it will taste like dust
it will taste like loss

you seek him out once again in the dark city passage
his greasy hair fallen long ago
skin gone gray
he found the man in the mirror
he found his answer in all the chaos
tastes like dust
tastes like bitterness
seek him out to find he is gone
only a shell remains
a brittle shell

no-one gets cheap seats
without paying the price
Feb 2017 · 1.0k
what is Quixotes
mark john junor Feb 2017
Quixotes is a dream,
It's a fireplace and songs
Its strong friendship and
beautiful moments shared
It's a thought that guides souls
to a peaceful way
It's wood and brick paint and posters
built with gentle care and loving soul
Quixotes is a world away from the world
where dance is freedom
Laughter and joy are the air we breath
Song a rich tapestry that tells the tale
of how we came to be
Song a river that has flowed thru our lives
in this palace, in this beautiful dream
Quixotes is a sweet jem
sparkling in the sun
forever home for our hearts
Quixotes is a music venue i used to work at, i was the nightwatchmen
mark john junor Feb 2017
he was a tin man
ever shy in the shadow of snow
and the asphalt encrusted with salt.
i am a deaf mute in its cold sunshine thru the bare trees
i am the writers reader caught up in the manyfold words
bright and crisp on my stuttering tongue
caught up in the beauty of the phrase
wishing only for its tender workings on my pale lips
caught in the web of light falling thru the bare trees
by the christmas tree so forlorn in febuary wind...
he was a soft spoken tin man
ever shy in the shadow of snow
and the asphalt encrusted with salt
the turbulent sea of my dreams
lashes line and sail with its icebound hand
as i stray between the vision you wept in ink on page
and the words you spoke
soft as a kittens fur
into my sleeping ear
a spun tale
thrashing against me
i am shy with my eyes flirting with yours
look away and recapture your gaze
the asphalt at my feet stained with winters salt
i leave my footprint behind
and wander away into the field of rye
swaying under a cold sun
never to hear the tin man sing again
after he was caught by the catcher in the rye
(i didnt hear of John Lennon's death till the morning after his death)
Jan 2017 · 1.7k
swaying hips fade away
mark john junor Jan 2017
the polished hand of admirers heralding a new poem
they have come so often to rub their eyes on your ink-stained page
leaving behind papercuts of emotion with which they grieve
for the words you spread on their sweaty palms
the polished hand of admirers...
wet with anticipation of the latest beachside laughing clown
he is a walking breathing cataclysm written for her comforts
written in adoration's delight and true loves of her tender hand
she lay in amongst your pages on the bedspread
like a spilled wine **** to the tongue of sensibility
like a spilled wine that intoxicates and leaves
watch her swaying hips fade away into darkness
she will bounce and glide on another man's stripper pole
if you fail to call her back...
the polished hand of admirers heralding your waking thought
muted cheers as your pen makes wicked strokes on empty page
like a dancing blade carving your wooden words
till they sing like beauties breath on cold still air
till she is your warmth wrapped so delicately in your twisted bedsheets
she mutters a cough as she puts flame to cigarette
and smiles at your attentions
she is a living poem
that you write ink and page
the polished hand of admirers will never see
how pure simple ***** girl is so intoxicating
how lush and enticing her gyrating beneath you really is
the polished hand of admirers like you go to bed and sleep
while your dreams are of her dancing swift and sweet
theirs are the dreams of pens cutting on page
like a dancing blade carving wooden words

© 2016 mark john junor all rights reserved
Jan 2017 · 520
silly nothings
mark john junor Jan 2017
each unfolding hour
it's your warmth that sustains my heart
its that light in your eyes that rushes through me
fills all my dreamings with the colors of summers day
reach out brush back a wild loose hair from your face you smile
run my lips over the edge of your tender ear
whispering sweet somethings and silly nothings
just to hear your soft giggles....
we build a home in the field
run barefoot in the tall grass
feel the wind on our faces
tread on the moss covered stones
our world is the essence of our love living brave and free
undying flame of desires heart and soul
passion enfolded in your gentle hands
tender words felt from deep within
spoken while we are exploring each other
wrapped in each others arms
******* and play long into sweet night...
find you with waking eyes
morning light upon your soft skin
each unfolding hour to come with the warm day
we will walk hand in hand the dusty trail
to the mountain top
you'll read your french romance novel
and I will drift and dream head in your lap
you sustain me each and every day
run barefooted in the rain
hold you in the pure sunshine
softly run my hands on you
release my soul into your arms
forever loving forever loved

© 2016 mark john junor all rights reserved
Dec 2016 · 828
battlefield romances
mark john junor Dec 2016
her empty heart keeps beating...
her empty gaze still sees
her voice a shell filled with the cold sand
sluggish monotone wet
of a violent empty sea....
she romances the dark masterpiece
of your voiceless screaming....
she sits with you in the gray room
her fists balled up in limp rage...
she is the daughter of her cherished heartbreak
the end result of her old lover dark and bittersweet...
a tasty gem all bright and beautiful
wrapped up in the bandages
of her battlefield romances...
her empty heart keeps beating...
her empty gaze still sees...
her warm hand still gives comfort
she is still the life behind your unmoveable force
she is a woman of these modern days
strong in ways not even she can see
beautiful beyond what any mirror can see
her heart will find its way
the love will return to eyes
her voice will grow strong once again
await her heart's spring
await her and she will see
you are the man
that was meant to be
Dec 2016 · 584
demonized in the mirror
mark john junor Dec 2016
a poetic darkness clings to
the edges of the room
ageless in its mental aberration
all the years of its incessant whispering softly the sounds
of a life forsaken to a hunt for
all the things that can never be prized possession
all the things that forever slip through seeking fingers....

my face demonized in the mirror  
unchanged except by the years
still holds the taint and taste of her words
like a thick oily poison slowly seeping
from the soil of my eye
where such lovely dreams once grew
now only a parody of silhouette dark upon a shadow
the void form of a man against the cloudless gray sky

an emperor's tongue speaks regal
but the words spoken fall like black leaves from a black tree
dead and devoid of all aspects of a beautiful fall day
an emperor's tongue lavishly paints visions of such beauty to come
but like the footprints in newly fallen snow they are
doomed to fade in the sun
little lies constructed to tell the willing girl
that her satisfactions lay not in the mirror
but in the pit of some man's soul
in the vile places of lust and longing
her love to become a void form against the grandeur of starlight
her plans for the wedding now only faded ink written by a child

my face demonized in the mirror
I seek to choke out the words that would spell an end
to this mournful song
seek to extinguish the doubts and rages that haunt that image  
I am the one who has made this face in the mirror
carved it out of the stone in my heart
I am the one who sees its ***** lines its twisted fable
my hand slips to the light switch and
turns off the forever eating at my soul
Dec 2016 · 2.6k
this mortal dirt soul
mark john junor Dec 2016
a desolate bargain
all my dead days with a
crown of thorns
for a single gesture of warmth

all my days
as her silent saint of persecuted tears
my fireside midnight in the comforting
company of what appeared to be angel
their dead languages ring true to
my long deceased heart

feel light as a feather
like the wind itself come to tear
my very soul from the mortal soil of
this unforgiving life

from my burying ground
seen a burning light cresting the east
burned with a silent majesty
an unspoken glory come to lift
my eyes from these dark workings
heard an old man with a child's voice
telling wasn't my crown of thorns to wear
wasn't angles but shadows
come to keep the midnight watch with me

still a saint of her persecuted tears
now that the full weight of
this mortal dirt soul
hangs upon me like a corpse
all the living done wasted away
Nov 2016 · 473
the american flag
mark john junor Nov 2016
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
Oct 2016 · 1.3k
turbulent clouds of daybreak
mark john junor Oct 2016
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
mark john junor Sep 2016
i just want to tell you
because your all i ever wanted...
all our night on the dancefloor
under the lights so magical....
all our beaches in moonlight romantic
embrace so enticing.....
i just want you to know
how much every moment with you
has meant to me....
every walking hand in hand
in sweet summer sunshine so warm....
every moment we whispered **** things
to each other and how it makes you blush and giggle
so wonderful....
just want you to hear
how special you are to me
how deep our love truly is.....
every day i find new love for you
find the beauty between us
so forever sunshine in my heart.....
every kiss shared softly
lips caress with a loving soul song
so much of what my heart has longed for
all my life.....
just needed you to hear
i love you
forever magical love together
Sep 2016 · 799
giggles and joy
mark john junor Sep 2016
a child's delight in
her grown woman's eyes
lightened the room
brought back the sunshine to our
friday night leasure......
love my sweetheart
so dearly and clearly......
she giggles with finesse
and reassure with gentle good words
faster than magic
she is the bright star
that warms all our souls......
love my sweetheart so dearly and clearly......
an old rock 'n' roll song begins to play
with a beautiful voice she sings along
while holding me close......
we all tell stories of our long ago far away's
terrible ex's and grande old times
happiness and laughter.....
love my lover so dearly and clearly all the time....
she whispers in my ear about naughty
things she wants to do with me
when its just the two of us
after friends have disappeared one by one
we will collapse on the bed all giggles and joy
giggles and joy
Sep 2016 · 1.6k
Clinton's army
mark john junor Sep 2016
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
Sep 2016 · 692
frostbitten
mark john junor Sep 2016
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
Sep 2016 · 1.1k
backwater saints
mark john junor Sep 2016
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
Aug 2016 · 547
dying flames
mark john junor Aug 2016
when all your stories have been told
when you can no longer invent a twisting tale
that will captivate
that will romanticize
that will fill the heart with images of beauty and
lost love returned at long last
when the ink has dried on your last tale
and all the shadows of characters that
live on in your memories imagination
have been lost in the dusts of time
will you write me a song
to keep my lonely heart amused
while i wait here by the dying fire
waiting to hear your footsteps coming home to me
waiting to hold you close to me
while you whisper tales of your travels
while you whisper tales meant to distract me
from the stain on your hand
i see it so clearly but i try to blind myself
i curse my weak heart for doubting
i can clearly hear the lie in your eyes
but i can only think of your sweet lips upon mine
your cold words have frozen my heart
and i lay awake till past dawn
hoping beyond hope
i know one day you will fail to return
but i cling to our brief moments
i cling to the wish
long after wishing had failed
sit and stare into the dying flames
numb to truth
numb to lies
not my usual timid attempts at crafting beauty from the life i live but rather a tale told to me in a dream
Aug 2016 · 776
towheaded boy
mark john junor Aug 2016
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
Aug 2016 · 708
nineteen seventy six
mark john junor Aug 2016
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
Aug 2016 · 1.3k
dreamy eyes
mark john junor Aug 2016
the summer sun hangs overhead
held there by her dreamy heart...
softly painting heavens with the fluffy clouds
softly illustrating passions devoted kiss from
the delicate dance lovebirds do in the
beautiful summer air...
she writes me romantic stories as
the first stars to pierce the
tide of evening skies
washes away the last of summer afternoon...
with the gentle blessing of
her dreamy heart she entices me to her bed
and into her arms...
with wondrous stories she has found in
the summer eve's graceful song
she tells our profound love story
set against summers beautiful day...
everyday we find each other's sweetest desires
in each others dreamy eyes
Aug 2016 · 760
glass flowers
mark john junor Aug 2016
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
Jul 2016 · 1.2k
moonrise
mark john junor Jul 2016
she was a fiery soul
emotions spilled out of her cup
like a bittersweet wine
an aftertaste of tears
salty as the sea rushing beneath me
heartfelt as the lonely moonrise
burning like the hearth of home remembered vivid but far
inviting you back from your cold journeys
the faceless sea's of humanity's wanderlust
from the dark romances of uncaring hearts
feel your heartbeat thunder in the stillness
hearing your tear ravaged breathing
as you struggle to find solace in sleep
her words carried on the thick air remembered vivid but far
like swans floating on the still waters of childhood
like images my heart paints when
her electric touch torches my soul
she leaves a wake of silence and
appreciative eyes behind her drifting the worlds ways
she comes to my bed now
slips into my cold sheets
and with lips forsworn to her fiery tongue's wicked ways
and crafts a bird from blood and bone
a flightless swan that will forever be companion to
to my seasong
moonrise comes with a silence
that my heart can never greet with joy
Next page