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May 2013 · 640
strong fingers
mark john junor May 2013
this desperate fleeing will come to naught
these poems the last mutterings of madness
the last paper to take flight in the cold black and white photograph of morning
her smile dripped with fetish
but the strong fingers of her words
worked at the lid of my mind
prying lose the harbored fears
and delving into the sweet meat

her own self portrait
is languid and driven with heat
curved back with intonations of lust
but benith its lurid covers
one percives the desperate clawing fingers
and ever hungered never sated eyes

my own photograph
lay out on the floor
stained with age
and torn along the edges
but benith its neat posed glib humor
one percives the
small room ages ago
where hope still endured
that room now vacant

i go
probably to my demise
a last black and white photograph
cast careless from the aperture
of a childhood's camera

everything we thought we'd be
never amounted to enough
everything i though she would be
was just as barren
as my lurid dreams
May 2013 · 528
do a load before you go
mark john junor May 2013
that ***** old scumbag
but thats the thing
he wasnt really

like the rest of us
caught in a web
he did what he had to do

one of the few who was kind to
me in my folly
he remembered that im a human being
when all others just saw meat
i hope when i go someone remembers me
better than they have him

a couple of young kids
left him od'd in a bathtub
in a eviction apartment
like some peice of old furnature

goodbye my friend
i hope you find peace on the other side
May 2013 · 818
Feet Of Clay
mark john junor May 2013
and how we have traveled this night
how we have lived a thousand lifetimes in these  hours
while they wispered in desperate quiet
we sang and danced and let our hair free
your coming home to me lover
my arms and my heart ache for you

never ever leave again
with you i sail over this world with such freedom
without you my love
i am mortal with feet of clay

pennys on the pound broker the deal
we shall pay the ferryman to take us
back across the river styx
and away from the dark forboding hills

with you my love
i can defeat the world.
May 2013 · 892
the grave diggers son
mark john junor May 2013
the grave diggers son
rises before the dawn
out into the cold morning
out into the vast fields of the dead
this is not the future he saw
for himself
a farmer of the macabre
he plants them
firmly underground
but nothing grows
nothing good comes of it

this vast architecture of finality
this field of mourning and tears
this cold place of death
a place that others would rather forget
yet they build miles of marble
and years of art
in this quiet foreboding place
afraid if we dont honor the power
that can ****** the
life from us at any time
then perhaps it will come seeking vengeance

the gravediggers son
his hands ache from all the death he must
touch
from all the loss he sees and feels

this is not the life for me
he swears to himself in a whisper
as he has every day for thirty years
i will escape this place
dont plant me in the fields of the dead
May 2013 · 3.7k
serenity
mark john junor May 2013
"the picture you called badass"

i keep coming back to this image
your gaze is shifted off
as if to say that you wished
not to speak with your eyes
wished not to show too much
of your beautiful soul
strands of your hair
scattered across your soft skin
every beautiful line
every sweetly scented soft taste
and the warmth i see in you
enraptures me
i feel dizzy
with thoughts that you bring out
that is what true beauty
dose to men
but you are so much more than
simply beautiful
i have seen your tenderness
i have seen that you have heart
i know you are just as beautiful
inside

i wish things could have been different
and i could have at least been your friend
i wish i were not a fool
but we all make choices that are
not the best

i am far away from you now
and i will miss you
i think that we wont see
eachother again
if i fail where i am going
there is a plan for another route
that takes me overseas

you are one of the most beautiful
and strong and wonderful women i have ever met
and i wish you nothing but love and happiness
'stay gold' serenity
'stay gold'
'stay gold' reference to 'the outsiders' by s. e. hinton
May 2013 · 984
sandpaper
mark john junor May 2013
i have sandpaper for eyes
you cant see
because im blind

no-one draws near
no-one escapes notice
empty shells of conversations
scattered like spent bullets on a battlefield
useless to stem the tide
so they retreat away from the dull grinding
my eyes are sandpaper
slowly grinding away the walls that contain me

she loads death with care
into the device
she is ***
she is warm redheaded lust
she is life and death loading a spike

beggers bones
and they shuffle off nineteen dollar bills
its twenty dude not a dime less
thoughts and plans are well heeled
till they hit the pavement
all ways said the road sorts the ******* from the true

i see them wince when they meet my gaze
nearsighted apologetic polite criminals
they gather in the lighted
end of the corridor feeling confident
that the darkness would consume them

then from the safety of this
fortress of light the release the details
that should confound you into silence

my eyes are sandpaper
slowly grinding away the borders
that contain me

madness is not their only symptom
a fever breaks loose and sweats in the complexity's
of the wheels within wheels
i cannot bear that this place should be the end
this dry barren place

you cant see because im blind
edit:
May 2013 · 606
Feathered Freak
mark john junor May 2013
I Write Poems
Feathered Freak

swaying in
the broken spring breeze
all most loosing my perch
above the the swill and swine
of quality hill park


the mental termites feed
on the foundations
of my reason and my calm
the insect approaches
with his hard nail footstep
and quietly as all most
to remain unheard
speaks a riddle to the air

what is in my head
what is the sound of silence
what is the thunder of thought


begone you feathered freak


i hop on my steel steed
and make swift tracks
southeast
all ways southeast

warmer weather
and no quality hill park
(the hill is not very good....so they
called it that in a attempt to cover their
inadequacies)
edit: it would REALLY help if these poetry sites had spellchecker built in....we are both really ****** spellers
May 2013 · 311
my jag (11w)
mark john junor May 2013
i drive my jag
it drives me
nothing deep
just fast
see my icon pic...thats my jag
May 2013 · 1.1k
her bulletproof layers
mark john junor May 2013
lightheaded i scatter to the curb
and stare in blank wonder
at the carnival of obscene
open on the ***** street

a father wanders drunk up the
sun dappled lane
singing that tune from childhood
if he could only recapture
even a moment
but time evades him like paper butterflys
and his life flees as he chases the past

a mothers brother lurks in the shadows
hoping to be seen and unseen
in the same moment
his hand clutches the traces of a poison
that hes here to sell to imitation innocence
its the same as the ones in the cars
they just sell a different form of insanity
just another filthy lie
they are trying to hand out with a smile

she lay back in the bent perception
and plays on the dreams that might spark
but benith her bulletproof  layers
she is crying for all the tenderness and love
she feels she will never know again
she waits for the bicycle man
she knows he is her escape from the carnival  

there is no time to waste
i must escape this vipers nest
this wasteland that lives between the
fast food restaurants
and run down motels
for the empty lot....colfax and gilpin

edit: just before it was posted lines 12 thru 18 were redacted. that was the only change
May 2013 · 680
memory to the sandalwood
mark john junor May 2013
there is a quickness to the light in her eyes
there is a memory to the sandalwood scents
and the steam train of her thoughts

captures the soul
in the soft tangle of her hopes
in the the gentle web of her bright dreams
and you can loose so much and still
find a home here in her embrace

she meets you in a pizza shop
and sips wine and smiles at your advances
she will take you
and she will be wild all over you
when shes ready
but for now she just wants to enjoy the day
she wants to enjoy holding your hand


captures the soul
in the soft tangle of her hopes
in the the gentle web of her bright dreams
and you can loose so much and still
find a home here in her embrace
find comfort in her safe haven

you told me that if i tried
that if i followed
we could be
we would be
you told me that nothing
would stand in our way
we would be lovers forever and forever
and you would never let go of my hand
edit: removed 5 lines refering to making "candles and...."
May 2013 · 855
two hundred sinister faces
mark john junor May 2013
bobby's mind wanders
his momma said hes a good boy
but he has grown to be an old man now
and there is nobody left to gauge if hes still good or not
he gathers himself in the bus stop corner
out of the rain

he scans the ground for dropped coins
and his gaze falls
on a crumpled bright paper
one corner shows a crinkled face
its a sinister face
he unfolds it
and unfolds the paper too

all the years fall away from his eyes
troubles slip away into the darkness
all the things that
he should have, could have, disappear

the paper leads him to the tower
and the wretched machine spins slowly back to life
he takes his place
in the dusty room slowly turning the hand crank
unfolding two hundred sinister faces
unleashing two thousand bare feet knuckling
the threadbare carpet leading to sunshine

it isnt what you think that traps you
its what you feel
its the past you have not faced and defeated
its the things you fear
its what they make you feel

unfolding two hundred sinister faces
and they feed on his weakness
by making him feel strong
eats at the scarred surface of his soul
part two of "100 sinister faces" which i wrote 5 days ago...but the poems dont really have much in common..about two very different subjects... they are, if you will pardon the pun, two faces of the same words.
mark john junor May 2013
filled with shades of yesterday
the river road's thick air labors
in my chest
as the intangable wall of
blind rage
strikes again and again in thoughts
too powerful for wishfull thinking to deny

fists clenched slamming down
on the ungiving pavement gives only
voice to the uselessness of this rage
it has neither reason or goal
it simplly bleeds thru awake mind
it simply breeds like a disease
an infection of the moral soul
with shades of rationalizations

they printed a book
and built a church to their
god of lies
and the misguided truths others hold as
a path of reason

scape goat to their inadequacy
lambs to the slaughter the fresh recruits
stare in wide eyed wonder at the drawn blades
dont it look like nirvana when what your leaving behind
didnt wear such a sweet smile
some things will never change
they learned that in the great war
they learned that in the feilds of cambodia
the monsters feed and their
lips red with blood
...smile...
death is never frightened
its allways has a smile


the river road far behind
but its taint lingers
as all evil men will
long after their due date
rotting in plain sight
but nobody can afford to strike the tent
and bury the corpse
after all he was a celebrated smile
he was a devil to dish the news
and loved to lend a helping hand
but only if that hand held a blade

if i had only closed my eyes
if i had only turned my back
i would not be here today
wither that be a good thing or nay
waits in the wings


get me out of here
it is the memory of...not a current reality that i wake with, and memories like evil men and women
must be excised and buried...i dont want your rotting existance to linger past your due date
edit:
May 2013 · 862
a pale sky rides overhead
mark john junor May 2013
it had  rained all night
and the damp clung to my soul as i walked
pale sky riding high above
the few stars that shone now faded
if i had only closed my eyes to the wrong
if i had just turned my back
but i have allways been a fighter
a fool tilting my lance at windmills to
right the wrongs
but you cant fight lies
they just add more lies
and im so sick of these oceans of lies

the room glowing in the warm light
of the slowly fading fire in the hearth
the wine has made me lightheaded
your head resting on my shoulder
the moments that we lay here
seem like forever
and forever is never long enough
its snowed all night
and i can taste the crisp cold from here
not a thing disturbs
the gentle sound of your sleep
and i cannot help but brush back the strand of hair
that has fallen across your face
i love you forever
and forever is never long enough
nothing is more improtant to me
than you and our child

it was the middle of the night
and i had not thought to find anything
in such a place as this
dark and desolate
had not thought to open a door to
a pale sky rides overhead
stars barly showing thru
the city light
our new day had begun
without fanfare or celebration
just a pair of train tickets
to a distant shore
changed line 22...from "not a sound" to "not a thing"
only change to be made
May 2013 · 2.5k
she is a poem is pajamas
mark john junor May 2013
she is a poem is pajamas
an unfinished Picasso fresh from the shower
she is a watercolour painted along the
moments of my day
in bright vibrant colours
running along my thoughts
as fluid as the delicate turns of her laugh
shes not just a woman
shes a universe and a summer day
wrapped in a rose printed dress
shes a intoxicating potion and a carefree laugh
iv never wanted to be anywhere but here
holding her and breathing her
loving her
drinking in her every moment
she is a poem in pajamas
mark john junor Apr 2013
nothing ever makes sense
when its all upside-out-inside-down
when its all mixed up like her heart
like her thoughts till she can **** on a big fat joint
she always says dont bogart
and dont be lipping my paper...dont want your slobber on my doobie
then she relaxes into her day

but my backwards head thinks shes allready gone
least thats what im seeing in  my
upside-out-inside-down thinking
shes doing her nails
and out of the corner of my mind
i am watching her her packing her life up and moving on
im imagining what will it be like if she was gone
know that redhead would come more often
know that my days wouldnt be as good
know my nights wouldnt have any passion or hope
that my world would be empty

but then she comes over to me and slips hers arms round me
and all that upside down inside out backwards thinking is a lie
shes not going anywhere without me
and she whispers a soft word on my ear
baby dont you ever leave me

this is no ordinary love
this is passion
.
Apr 2013 · 376
fool that i am
mark john junor Apr 2013
dry winds blowin all night
pushin the grey sky north
pushing the storm into me
put my boots on the hardscrabble

looked out to see
the ruin of a homestead burned
in the wilderness
long forgotten
these stones once gathered
and placed with care
now scattered to the winds
now cold without the love that they once contained
without the love the once protected
just like me
just like me

the night passes slow
and i find little comfort in the sheets
my mind flows far distant
my bones rest uneasy in this cold place
my heart turned to dust long ago
but it still feels
and the feelin that grows in my soul
and the knowledge that grows in my soul
there is distant voices that call
where are you tonight
why arnt you here in my arms
with me
mine

put my boots to the hardscrabble
i go to find you
out there in the world
you are my lover
and i need you in my arms
as much as i need air to breath
Apr 2013 · 499
her image
mark john junor Apr 2013
is the contrast between the woman i see
and the woman loved so great an abyss
isnt the very nature of her tenderness in her soft eyes
in the simple sweet curve of her sleepy smile on a summer morning
isnt it in her words passionately whispered in the sheets
and the softer still words she leaves on my ear as we fall asleep after
i tell you
that this image
is love
because it is her
dedicated to a girl named May...whos beauty was is heartstopping
Apr 2013 · 778
love story of poet and word
mark john junor Apr 2013
in the deep recesses
stacked away in the hours devoted
the pen starts and stops
faint scratching sounds as
ink bleeds to page

images surface along the edge
of dreamlike state
folding back the breathing waters
of each thought speaking its own true nature

a language i cannot utter
except with my clumsy hand
except with my tears

each page its own song
with heroes and villains
tragedy and triumph
each image a crafted love story
between poet and word

twist along each trail
loosing oneself to the creation
tear away the bonds
that hold you steadfast in life
this place transcends mere life
this place is redemption

i weep at the fading image
as the poem closes
so little time to grasp all it showed me
and my hand so inadequate
my words fail to express
the love story of poet and word
Apr 2013 · 463
be free to cry with you
mark john junor Apr 2013
feeling the finer points of winters many truths
his ancient skin bruised by the many passing seasons
violence is his son
wasteland his daughter
church of the withering limb
apostle of the hurt soul
this poem is an open grave
this poem filled with my pain
and a thousand souls will rush forward
wanting to know this particular pain
wanting this scar on their own soul
the poem will speak to you in a voice so sweet
and you will want to know the world that spawned such
a lovely creature...one that could understand your particular pain
they will chase a vision of who you are to be to them
and your mind of dirt or dust will grind on
and your loneliness is not eased
your tears still sting like knives on your soul
i would give you all i have
all i have ever had
to just hold you in my arms
and be free to cry with you
cry with you
dedicated to :Lennie Themooch Raindog
Apr 2013 · 433
crave with a weary soul
mark john junor Apr 2013
morning drifts in the the window
and touches her dreams
stirring her to a whisper
she calls to me
and tho i am right next to her
my mind is lost in far away night
a fast fast train
thru the shadows of a distant land
and there is only silence
that holds me pen to paper
that holds me idea to the forge

when i was a younger man
it was a simple thing
knowing and seeing
knowing right and seeing the way to go
but this grey is more than in my beard
its in my mind
its in my soul

she reaches out to me
brushing my tangle from my brow
tells me to wake, wake lover
but i cling to this shore
i cling to this quiet place where none
can follow
where none can take me from this peace
i crave with a weary soul

just about gone
have little to dream on anymore
have nothing to build on
im ready to go home
im ready to go home
i am on the waves
i am on the fast ship thru a dark night
feel it thunder neath  me
feel its power as it races the years
as it draws me away from this dawning day
into the mysterious  night
(last of the steampunk glasses poems for a while at any rate...she took her spike and her spoon and made trails east...so i wont be boinking that bunny for a little while)
Apr 2013 · 368
leap with you
mark john junor Apr 2013
there are lies we tell ourselfs
to protect ourselfs from what we dont want to face
from things that never see the light of day

there are truths we tell ourselfs
over and over till they loose their power
to persuade a change of course

iv been down many roads
that tho i never would have said out loud
i was terrified every inch of the way
there have been paths that i followed
knowing that i was blinded to the blades arrayed against me
but i never hesitated a single footstep

standing here on the edge with you
looking so fine in your skintight jeans
one breast showing thru the threadbare fabric
and your eyes on fire with all the things your feelin
your words sharp and quick like knives
with all the things your knowing

there are lies we tell ourselfs
to cast aside caution
to throw away reason
and right now im trying to find
those lies to tell  myself
to blind me to all the reasons i  shouldn't follow you
shouldn't leap with you
into the fire below
into the certain death i see
into the darkness you curse
Apr 2013 · 1.3k
retro-edition neo glam girl
mark john junor Apr 2013
she dances to imitation elvis
with the toy cowboy guns blazing
from their sunflower and daisy barrels
fuzzy kittens are hunters in the jungle
of laundry-land
she a sorceress retro-edition neo glam girl
and she might have a moment for your version
long as the colors dont clash
shes a horse girl in a slack jaw rabbit world

i thought to spare you
i thought that you would break under the burden

they led the weak ones to slaughter
and she was in her coloring books
the blood washed up on the tiles like a tide
and she wished so hard not to see
that it was just a dream
she is no weak child
she could hold back the mountain back
but her tears break on this blade of sunlight like
a thousand voices wailing in pain

i cannot bear to see you this way
wrapped in rags in the fashion capitol
shivering in the cold before a warm fire
hungry in midst of feasts
rise up woman
rise up and take your wrath
take your children under your protection
take me home to the river road
where i was happy in your arms

she dances with imitation elvis
with the toy cowboy guns blazing
from their sunflower and daisy barrels
Apr 2013 · 1.0k
a hundred sinister faces
mark john junor Apr 2013
sits in the dusty room and slowly turns the
hand crank on the wretched machine
unfolding a hundred sinister faces grinning
unleashing a thousand bare feet knuckling the
threadbare carpet leading out to sunshine

dawn is almost upon us
and the truth i must face up to
is merciless
and it eats at the scarred surface of my soul
this factory of madness i must abandon
this pleasure palace of the sinister i must leave
this small world that i at least understood

i stand on the threshold and peer uncertain
out to the world that shocks me

how will i contain it
how will i master this vast place
i cannot even silence the fearful beating of my heart
i am alone in this world
i feel what it is to be crushed benith the weight of indifference

the paper with the hundred sinister faces and thousand bare feet
gathers raindrops on the bus stops floor
no longer able to unleash a power to sustain me
the paper is but a rancid cartoon
and weak reminder of worlds left behind
i shrink ever further into the shadows
hoping not to be seen
by the real sinister faces
not to be benith the thousand real bare feet
knuckling threadbare lives they rule
i am alone and afraid in the real world
for reginald and his sinister cartoon...i wish i could get you back to the safty of your ivory tower...some people were never meant for this cold world
mark john junor Apr 2013
pull the blanket closer
and stare unseeing into the flames dance
hope that shadows pass
hope that just desserts are served up elsewhere
dance with a practiced aire
out the way out the steam train
rollin like thunder
down to the gates of hell
but you got caught up by a celebrating hand
and its the eternity in flames
its the barrows of cold
that your bound

pull the blanket closer
cant find warmth in the words
that fill this page with gallows image
that fill your heart with cruel memory
and you look to the east
but no dawn ever approaches this desolate place
no hope will rescue you
no lover to find you this time
no warm soul to share with
the hours

and its on this
steam train rollin like thunder
to the gates of hell
that i find you sittin
waiting for judgement
dealing out a hand of cards
its aces and eights'
and a blade
that im gonna rob ya of everything you
ever took from me
im your special place in the fiery hell
thats your punishment
to meet me here and be beaten by me
Apr 2013 · 822
limelight assassin
mark john junor Apr 2013
contrive to be the one
standing at the center
to be the one in the limelight
and high society gives you a warm welcome
with a practiced hand you
manipulate the air
to produce the wind
and it blows cold right thru my soul
and i know that i am no longer welcome
in the great halls
in the family's kitchens
in the fields of maidens

with a professional eye
line up the targets
to resemble me
and people think that its so charming
but i taste the poisons in your unseeing glances
i sense the malice in your every gesture

its in your shoe print
in the sand of some  woman's ****** shore
its in the words you scrawled on the headstones
of scared churches
laughing with filth in your dark soul
its in the deathbeds of the trail of victims
you have left behind every doomed road you travel

with a cage round your eye
you think to keep
your intent within
but it seeps clear like a river
of dirt and death
and falls to the silk ground
and curls there like a viper

i must flee you
because i see you
your no Prussian prince
your tyranny in the satin sheets
your a well trained assassin with a clean glove
covering the lepers touch underneath

i must flee
i must flee
...pain in  the tuckas
Apr 2013 · 925
viper in dust and dark
mark john junor Apr 2013
time
no timid creature
its  leathery skin
its unseeing eye
moves thru the dark
between our worlds
a shattered place of promises we had
thought to keep
things we had gathered thinking to
build a world with
loves we had vowed
to keep or a avenge

time is making a new man of me
time is making new roads of your future
time is our lover and our nemesis
time is the jackal that feeds on
our hopes'
time is the farmer who sows the seed
of the growing hope you have in your cold cold eye

time is the reason i am now
so afraid
in this dim light motel room
with paper winged nightmares spreading across
the landscape of my dreams
time is the reason i hope
that we can flee

time is a viper
that is in the dust and dark
your grasping fingers
and your weeping
your educated whispers in denial
are just invitation
to the vipers kiss

release me from your side
release me fool
i dont share your wish to die
time is drawing near
i must flee
i must flee
Apr 2013 · 914
bitter man
mark john junor Apr 2013
innocence eyes and the social smile
and her neatly carved appearence
is what strikes me as she flows across
the doorstep
because everything about that
face is false and it speaks for itself loudly
in a harsh and violent voice
but the world accepts that
better that the face of things
are neat and clean
it matters little what lay benith
but reality is pornographic
and it will skull *******
death has a hardon for more death

the darkness has an allure
may look so attractive
mystery and adventure
silence the things chasing you

but take care my friend
its a bitterman who eats bitter breads
and stands back from his fellow man
its a mindful man who shares the warmth of
his hearth and home

no good will ever come from this thing
this darkness that you adore
it gives you a sense of belonging
that is really the feelin of being consumed alive
no fitting fate for one such as you
she is beyond all aid
or recourse of the worlds cold hand


long pause
filled with the soft sound of her bringing herself to
******
in the bed
across the vast dark room


her voice reached out to me
with a feeling of tears
soft and smooth as silk
'this is not how it was supposed to be'


her voice captivates me
captures me with feather bonds
entice me down the dim hall
in the humid night
to the sanctuary of her arms

headlong into the night
this memory is like a mountain that i must climb
no ordinary woman
no beer hall dance song

this is no ordinary love
this is passion
this is what life is meant to be
Apr 2013 · 373
my sweet love, come home
mark john junor Apr 2013
so barren
and bitter the taste of your words
are invading my ramparts
and have become a pestilence on my mind
it whips round and round inside my skull
it grows with each passing hour

you lack the faith in yourself
patience to find your way out
of a trap of your own devising
its a thing
yes difficult to leave behind but its a thing
things can be lost or replaced
people cannot

i will wait for you
because i love you
but i cannot abide that you are
what you have branded yourself
you are brilliant
you are a light in all this darkness
i would not be alive if you hadnt saved me
you are a wonderful and beautiful woman
that has so much to offer

there are symphony's in the silence
there are forests of thoughts
to be had in the space between
when you left and
the waiting for you to come home
come home baby
we are gonna be fine
we just gotta stick together
Apr 2013 · 611
july romance
mark john junor Apr 2013
her soft skin wraps around my awake mind
slowly
creeping along
i want her soft hair in my mouth
i dont care that
her love only is peice of foil and a straw
i sit next to her
and reach over
pausing before i touch
no objection


voice broken
hands shake
in the wicked wind
on the edge of the storm comin
stands alone waiting as dawn creeps up the sky
tears are pain
tears are a lifetime of regrets

smile has been replaced
helpless gestures
emptyness that follows untill its real
it consumes
its you upon which it feeds

remember me to my friend
on the river road
his is an endless summer
his is a home built for the ages
built with love

remember me to my brother
on the citys edge
his is the mad mad night
his is a road that holds no comfort
built with the broken backs of a thousand lost souls
his is a land that is dark
i cannot abide there

where am i going
my girl came home :-)
Apr 2013 · 753
spoon logic
mark john junor Apr 2013
these hours are split
laughter in a circumstance shelter from the rain
with two strangers and the inner hungers
that brought them to this place
both would deny
but both look to me testing the waters
and the waiting for the silence to be breached
i lay back in the shadows
breathing the gaps between words
looking for scents of trouble or profit
ill-will or devious plot
dopegame logic would have me leap
but trust your gut is singing loud and clear
i make hot feet for a safer trail
this is not where i wanted this poem to go
but here it is
on my spoon cooking up
a jumble of words boiling away the impurity's
dawn is here and time i must be going
Apr 2013 · 593
mountain
mark john junor Apr 2013
this memory is like a mountain that i  must climb
the night reflected in her eye
the warmth of her words reflected in my heart
a glass of wine left her lips wet
a random thing left a laugh in the air
you would have liked her

we fell
headlong into that ruined night
its echoes were strange
and winter was in leading edge of
that cutting wind
but we didnt pause to fear
we plunged ahead into the shadows

been lost in that wilderness
between the city lights
and the darkness of some mens souls
she rose from the dirt
she rose from the ashes of some
forgotten past life

taking me in her hand
led me out of my own complex pasts
to a new beginning with her
on a road that neither of us could foresee
this memory is like a
mountain i must climb
i must see what was there
i must heal what i left behind

her soul was as complex
as the tapestry of stars above
her heart as wondrous as
a majestic night filled with a lovers dreams
spinning in the breeze
we made our way as one
plunging into the shadows
edited version
Apr 2013 · 514
paper butterflys (part two)
mark john junor Apr 2013
her obscure face in the cold bathroom
cigarette hangs limply from her
smooth lips
her words are few and spoken very softly
she asks if i like the girls room
her hand rests on mine
its so warm...too warm

she spent hours cutting paper into butterfly's
and taping them to the motel wall
all different colours
all different sizes

she removes her shirt and splashes water
on her bare skin
glistening in the buzzing overhead florescent light
there is a slight smile pasted on her face
eyes open a slit
i am worried about her
im not good at pretending
and she laughs at me a soft laugh
cups my face in one hand and tells me
thats shes fine
that if i wasn't her sisters man
she would jump my bones
i make her put her shirt back on

paper butterfly's
and her very human face
filled with tears
filled with fears
e.
Apr 2013 · 289
paper butterfly's
mark john junor Apr 2013
shes wearing a jacket two sizes too big
and you can see she has been crying
but she smiles all shy and says shes fine
her voice little rough
but her hand is sure as it takes hold of yours
you know that no matter what
she wont let go
im scared
Apr 2013 · 458
grand empire of plague
mark john junor Apr 2013
the barefoot priest
speaking in broken latin
leads three black carriages thru
the smoking ruins

one widow mothers tears
in the ***** grey church
scraping her hopes from another
mothers broken cup

an educated man would know this symphony
would know this face of plague
box draped in the grand colors of empire
but that wont hide the horror within

the barefoot priest
stands in the desolation
and blesses the dead ground
while gathered round him
the lost desperate flock hope for shelter
from the fearful things seething at the edges of the light

dusk is a burning
that chills my soul
there is no tommorow where that cold hand touches
his blind eye sees all
his sweating mouth  bleeds
i hacked up another poem (two ends, one harsh)and put this toghter from its peices
Apr 2013 · 901
sea of souls
mark john junor Apr 2013
her image ransacked
her vision blighted by crawling thief
and she was in hard pursuit
but misery is a folded page
that never reveals its true face
until one is beyond the
redemption of being able to withdraw its poison

i know its hard to
hear one voice in this sea of souls
crying out in fear and pain
thousands of pens and paintbrushes
each etching into the unyielding
tapestry of our world
their own voice
their own vision
their own sorrows and joys

my face obscured to you
my world foreign to you
but we share this moment here now
that my pen speaks to you
if it can tell you nothing more
if my labors embark nothing else
let it be that you have been heard
you are not alone
you have been heard
Apr 2013 · 656
screams inside of whispers
mark john junor Apr 2013
she wanders up to me aimless
her tears scream in whispers
both hands knotted in her unwashed hair
she bursts out with a desperate plea
'release me from the unseen hands
of a long dead predator
**** the monsters that chase me and
unleash me like a feral beast'

I slip away into the forest of chairs
before morning group
fishing in my mud coffee for answers
look for sunshine in the medications
before the storm of thoughts can darken me

this cold wall place
this hard mattress escape
fortress of inner demons
hides more than just the dark face of abandon souls


no wonder his arm is a mass of scars
no wonder the man in the corner
spends his days weeping for a broken blade of grass

all of us in this dark cold place
all of our tears are screams inside of whispers
i ******* up the ending...so i removed line 18 (which read "no wonder her tears are screams") because it was redundant....not a vast improvment, didnt really fix the problem with the ending...but thats all im going to do.
Apr 2013 · 508
an old mans latest peice
mark john junor Apr 2013
spent all night
tinkering with it
till it ran like a kittens purr
on fresh bowl of milk

spent hours
shining and polishing
till she gleamed like a fire engin
rolled out for parade

an old mans poem
creaking and held toghter
with bits of tape and more
than a few tears

and the laughing talking wondering
crowd walks by without a word
to marvel at some young mans
novel new fangled huffing puffing
poem machine
LOL...a whimsical peice...and my girlfriend is doing "the worlds smallest violin" bit for me LOL...please dont take this poem seriously...
Apr 2013 · 362
roses (part two)
mark john junor Apr 2013
this is no ordinary night
she was here
her perfume still lingers in the shadows
the snow cannot cool the heat she left on my lips
cannot cool the fire she started in my heart
she gave me all her soul contained
gave me her candle light jazz bar nights
gave me satin warm love benith the stars

alone with every tender inch
alone with her knowing
with her
inside with everything she has to give

nights have never been so long
the world has never been more mine
than in her arms
the soft scent of roses and that white dress
she gave me her candle light jazz bar nights
her endless nights on the sheets
as her man...her only ever man

this is no ordinary love
this is passion
now a fever burns in my mind
now a maddness burns in my heart
now she is in me
consumes me with a fire cool and deep
a love that can never be undone
a bond that can never be forgotten
Apr 2013 · 355
roses
mark john junor Apr 2013
The night soft filled with the scent of roses
filled with the quiet  whisper of her dress on her bare skin
the room on fire with her eyes
the world gone far away outside...far far away
her lips part slightly as she mouths the words
take me.... take me ....  love me... love me...take me...

she walks to the edge of the bed where I lay
she melts onto the sheets
and our touch ignites things in her
that makes wicked sounds come
that makes wicked dreams come alive

hours of knowing and learning eachother later
she lay shy in my arms
looking up at with eyes that say
my innocence is yours....my heart is in your hands
kissing her softly i hold her tight

the night is filled with the scent of roses
and the only sound that i can hear
is the whisper of her soft skin on the sheets
the only thought that reveals
is how could i ever have existed
before i had her
before she had me

tonight....roses
i edited the third line, which originally read "room on fire with her eyes as they lust along my body"...i took it apart because i felt it detracted from the peice...it was too blatant and far too soon in the peice to launch into that deep kind of waters. i may regret this, and change it back...i hate reading my own work...i think ill go read sombody elses
Apr 2013 · 1.1k
forgive
mark john junor Apr 2013
there are days
that float to the surface
you were one of thouse
we walked in the woods
as the last days of winter came to a close
and we the warmth that friends reached out to
and we were the warmth that made a home for all

you made candles to pedal on the corner
with bright colours flowing round
that wax scent still fills my senses
just like your smile
while i wrote songs and built my machines
to bring our bread and butter
and we would end our day wrapped in that old blanket
with the cabin in the woods on it
wrapped in each other in our love

there are days that come to me
there is only the wind
where her whisper once guided me
there is only silence where her smile once brightened my day
sleeping here miles away from
where we started
sleeping here ages from when we started
there is only the song that calls to me

thouse days are gone
and so are you
if only you were alive i would tell you
how much you still mean to me

forgive me for not being there to save your life
i would give anything to have that day back again
mark john junor Apr 2013
would it be so wrong would it be so terrible to taste the forbidden fruit one last time one more time

just a taste till the day is lost in hazy glow till my thoughts are wrapped in that soft place

would it be so wrong would it be so terrible to go back and taste that forbidden fruit

been here all day and my soul is do weary just a little just a load
LOL..i sleep with a *****,  she wants to go back and have a *******...i write poems about my ex whos been dead twenty years...she likes the poems...i write one poem about doing a load swear to god thought she was gonna ****** me..
Apr 2013 · 487
not a burden...lost love
mark john junor Apr 2013
she was the one
was the only one i will carry with me
all the days of my life
everything else in my world has changed
but end of the day
close my eyes she is there waiting for me
she is my one moment in life that i will replay over and over
and wish i could change

close my eyes and that warm spring moring will allways be there
like from beyond she is holding me here
forever unable to change what was meant to be
what i could not have changed even if i had known

i was a young man
strong and sure of what to do
which path to follow
so sure of what was
and what was meant to be

till the spring tide changed everything
and now old and grey
i linger here with her smiling face just beyond my closed eyes
and no path seems so sure till it allready has my track upon it
no future is sure till its underfoot
and no person granted no matter how near

she is the one i carry with me
waiting for me to close my eyes for that last time
she is the one i will replay in my heart over and over
till i forgive myself....till she forgives me
in the next life
it is thru communicating that we heal
Apr 2013 · 586
twenty years ago
mark john junor Apr 2013
twenty years ago

her loose strand of hair lingers over her face
i brush it back gently
and a tear slips free
i can see in her eye
that she wishes that somebody would stop her
that she could escape this charade
i can see its bitter on her lips
i can see it makes her feel so small

so we escaped together
and found ourselfs a happy home to build
a future she told me, a future she promised me

the soft hand slips in
and the next line writes itself
its her that im living for

its her smile that that makes it bearable
its her her loving words that make it understandable
its her eyes that see me
its the future that she promised me was coming
its the future that she promised me was coming

why isn't she saying anything
why are her eyes dark and distant

short lived in this half-light serenade
the tide has withdrawn
leaving me in the cold spray of a winter rain
silence in her eyes
silence on her lips
its so cold here...why wont she speak
why do we linger here

i wish someone would stop me
wish that i could escape this charade

and she died there twenty years this day
at the spring tide just at dawn
she will never speak the world to me
will never smile the day for me
never whisper the love with me
LOL...relationships...she keeps deleting this poem, i keep putting it back up...Babe, i write em, you read em...not i write em, you delete em... :-)
Apr 2013 · 408
beating softly
mark john junor Apr 2013
like the wings of a thousand birds
fluttering in my mind
each thought creates this mad sound
that fills me with until my mind will explode
desperate to slow them lest the dangerous ones come
like a hard swift nail
tainted ugly and filled with regret
the soft slapping of a thousand wings
on the fetid air
feel the disease as it crept in and nestled beinth your skin
it was warm with a smile and comfort of caring

a thousand rampant thoughts overwhelm
beating softly at your mind
beating you to death
and the dark ones come now
the ones that frighten with visions
of things you just cannot bear alone
and are too ashamed to speak of
the dark ones that bleed you of your strength
and stir uncomfortable things in your lusts

again you try desperately to
slow thoughts to keep the dangerous ones at bay
hope that it wont crawl out till your done
hope it wont show its face till you are alone in your bed
safe under the covers
where no-one can see
where they cant hear
the wings of a thousand fluttering thoughts
beating softly at your mind
beating you softly to death
Apr 2013 · 688
her dark dreamland
mark john junor Apr 2013
her naked self is in her thoughts
as she lingers on my shoulder
that perfumed ideal dances in the dim light
with a madness of lust
she will be bound to the fractured movement
she will be mastered by the faster slow tides of ******
its love she seeks in the darkness of its eye
its warmth she sees in the burning cold

uncertainty and fear is what lures her
follow that mindless beast to its lair
and open herself with abandon
to its demon intent and its filthy seed
surrender is the victory
in this reverse of shadows mindgame
its her naked self in her thoughts

i suffer at the thought of her pain
but she smiles and leads me on into
that shadowland where
the monsters feeding is the pleasure
the beast suckling on the tender is the prize

this face is a stranger to me
this woman is a monster unto herself
this woman is a dark dreamland
this woman i love
asks me to take her there again and again
beyond the light of reason
beyond her naked self of her thoughts
some i like right up till i hit that "save as public" publish button...like this one, now that iv read the **** thing i wish i had left it the the stack with the rest of the junk.
Apr 2013 · 1.1k
gears grinding
mark john junor Apr 2013
my desperate gears grind
in hopes of vanquishing
the soft shoe shuffle
and sly smile serenade

but i am a stranger in
this clockwork land
and a fire now begins to burn
in the foundations of this folly
i have built

bitter taste now follows
her sweet furrowed brow
and rampant doubts flee the slow fear of
her eyes

as i cast myself headlong
at each broken future to repair
futile hope
she hastens behind gathering up
each spent medicine we laboured
to heal our lives with

desperate gears grind into the night
and our sweating bodies entwined in this
intoxicating brew of false hopes and twisted visions
soft shoe shuffle of moving ever forward
soft sly smile serenade calling us to the bright future
they are a slow death that envelopes us

save her please
Apr 2013 · 579
feet of clay
mark john junor Apr 2013
with feet of clay

and how we have traveled this night
how we have lived a thousand lifetimes in these  hours\
while they wispered in desperate quiet
we sang and danced and let our hair free
your coming home to me lover
my arms and my heart ache for you

never ever leave again
with you i sail over this world with such freedom
without you my love
i am mortal with feet of clay

pennys on the pound broker the deal
we shall pay the ferryman to take us
back across the river styx
and away from the dark forboding hills

with you my love
i can defeat the world.
the reference to the river styx is an inside joke about the cherry creek that runs thru denver..foul water that you would not want to touch. my girl will be home soon...and i am so very very happy.
mark john junor Apr 2013
i remain undivided from you.

the narrow broken day begins
wth my head
in the mist of that yesterday
the foot is ready to dance but the song
is slow to capturte the feelin
and i drift off into a thougtht


i can feel the proud peice comin
and i want to stand as they allways have
true and sure
but as i rise to the breaking
i hear you calling to me
that you need to be saved from yourself
please baby come quick..come quick....

i dont need to stand there to be true and sure
i dont need a song to tell me that i am a good man
and i have earned my place
i have you in my arms
and that is the only home i will ever need
that is the only place i need stand
your my love
your everything to me
mark john junor Apr 2013
Her bright red hair
burnished sunlight renders
lust my soul
Apr 2013 · 482
the soft dangerouse road
mark john junor Apr 2013
the soft barrier between us
a cotton and folded cloth mask of wishes
a storm of tears
that seeps from my soul at hours such as this
a thing that abhors the weak
and reviles the strong

i am cold in this room
alone with only photographs
to reflect you
i only need wait few more days

panic flees followed by fear
there is a woman out there i would
love to be with
envelope, swallow, taste
**** upon
cleanse our souls with her
quick and hard frame

her lean form is now in the room
she disrobes and makes to the beds edge
i cannot deny
this is a dangerous road
the redhead is rachell..
this poem is dedicated to Daniel James who runs hello poetry...without his work, none of us would be here...
and elliot too :-)
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