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mark john junor Apr 2013
Her bright red hair
burnished sunlight renders
lust my soul
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
mark john junor Apr 2015
gone are the days
when frail old men appeared in the looking glass
to be full of song and wine
they sit back now and spin their tales
on the summer night breeze with knitting needles
and crayola crayons
mischief in their eyes for the season is upon them
no better place to reap ruin than midsummer night
no better time than now
polyester suits now march in unison
cheap shoes clicking on the hardscrabble
a bare toothy grin echoes the moonlight
these once frail old men are a force to be reckoned with after all
they march on through the pine forest of night
into the creeping dawn
they knit madly and draw with crayons recklessly
in a crescendo of insanity's come to fruition
these looking glass souls with cheap shoes and ties
these johnny-come-lately wind up madmen
gone are the days when you could dismiss them
they have come to own the night
when they hold court over all the world
in the looking glass
mark john junor May 2013
the day races to extinction
and as the shadows dominate
the last few warm rays
become lambent on the abnormal insight
that has grown within me as
the day has grown long
she had no face
she had no presence in the air
no name or written word to leave behind
yet here she is
a mere ghost  image between the dark sheets
of the rainstorm
as she has for may years
just watching silently

the  scratching noises of the pen in my hand
replaces the wind-song of summer day with harsh tones
yet it brings my thoughts to distant woodland lake
that was my escape from the years that i spent in the
company of the lesser misbegotten

that lake and the my time there
was unchanged and seems remote in my vision
from the turmoil of my winterbound soul

plundering my forward motion for the energy to cope
with the passing thoughts like carnivals of flesh
obscene visions of naked truth
unrestrained by years of devoted hiding
i am unable to grasp any other path
than to become like her
a shadow obscured in the
in the rainstorm
a fleeting vision
in the passing hours
mark john junor Jan 2014
the substance of her eyes
was deeper than the stain of words across her lips
in her eyes you could read the
fairy tales or the romance novella that she was
living moment to moment
the epic taste of beautiful kingdoms fairy princess
in the sparkle of her half spoken smile
the clear lens of passions heat
in her perfumed sweat breaking upon her delicate brow
the high seas and paradise's shores with a strong lover
in the ***** hue of her blushing bride face
the substance of her eye
would tell how far away she is
at any given moment
and today she is
lifetimes and worlds distant in your arms
today she is someone else
with a different life
the substance of her eyes
is one of absence
mark john junor Sep 2013
you may be confused by her
apparent lack of pants
but not to worry
there is a logical explanation
and like any other explanation  i assure
you we will hunt it down and
put it out of its misery
explanations shouldn't be allowed to run loose
next thing you know we will have understandings
and that's not gonna happen
not on my watch kiddo
nothing worse than reasons for every little thing
the universe should have mystery
and her ****** should remain one of em
preferably someplace else
but there it is
she is carrying her personal plastic tupperware jesus
cause we all have our crosses to bear
and she hasnt got any pockets
i feel so bankrupt
by this ******-social  two step dance i'm getting
whatever happened to just sitting down
and talking it out
but i don't want to know
that requires an explanation
leading to an understanding
and eventually enlightenment
and oh my god don't ever say that "e" word in my presence again
perhaps i should have titled it "absence of light" like some peoples minds
mark john junor Sep 2013
absent words speak loudly in the minds eye
often heard more clearly that the ones that are spoken
all the things that one wished had or could be said
the absent person also speaks
in your heart
mark john junor Apr 2014
it was just past three am
and the engine was running rough
and there was miles and years to go
streetlights goin by so fast they seem to flicker
like an old time picture show
the radio playing loud
some oldies station with an echo
like time was a tunnel of stars and streetlights
that endless perfect night with your girl next to you
shes wearing shorts and a wifebeater
flip-flops and all thouse bracelets
she tinkled when we would bounce in the back seat
she just laughs and says **** tootin'
my soul is three inches from flying pavement
and iv never felt so alive
the whole world comes down to that
floating flying dreamin running laughin freedom
on the wings of the engines secret fires
the road itself takes on a other worldly glow
in thouse hypnotic headlights
there in the tunnel of stars and headlights
a buick and a girl
iv never been so alive
mark john junor Nov 2015
center of my soul
down there in the wet hot sandy soils
down there where the black dog digs
her claws furiously tearing at the thick grainy clumps

center of my soul
an inescapable silence clouds my thoughts
like her deep eyes lingering on my open face
like her words seeping slowly across the hard wet breeze

soft finger traces figurines into the damp frosting
in the bathroom mirror
a tactile thought
a brief pinpoint of light in the darkness of her embrace
her soft tangle of skin wraps itself across the surface of me
i feel her moisture and her warmth
texture of crumpled paper burning
texture of a smoke filled room
texture of a person who allready left

joined in a single moment
by a conspiracy of lusts
joined slowly in this dark touching
united in that quick heat of wanting

never seen in her face
never hoped in my closed eyed dreaming
the silence slips slowly past our window
it is everywhere
in the damp morning grass
in the temple of night
surpassed in the vault of morning light
mark john junor Dec 2014
i remember back when you were
on the coast highway
living day day to day
breathing freedom like others breathing air
i remember thouse days seems so long ago now
i remember when we lay like lovers
under the quick stars summer moon
and i held all your dreams as you held all of mine
remember that you never once had a dark tale to tell
remember your laugh and how it danced on my heart like magic
woke in the morning to find you gone
but you were there on my mind
never forget the old place
never forgot the sea crashing
never to forget to the feel of the sand 'neath my feet
never forget your beautiful embrace
mark john junor Jan 2015
she is the neon glow but i am the rusty sign
she is the moonlight but i am the the dusty ground
everybody says they need to add a light angelic
the kind that only can be found in the hearts of
pretty girls like her on nights like this
a light that leaves you in such peace with all you have done
and become
a light that leaves you beautifully complete
with mind romancing reasons to capitulate
its not so bad after all this carpetbagger life
with your tidal water jewels and ransom notes
with your fragrant notions
and whispered dreams
its that angelic light that leaves hope when all other lights have gone
its that angelic light from the young girls heart that gives
breath to old man dreams
and a younger man's schemes
let me dance a little longer in her angelic light
let me taste these last few passing moments sweetly
it is that angelic light that gave me reason to go on
its that promise that still keeps the daylight alive
so let me sell you some tidal jewels
and strands of golden thread
let me invite you to sit in the angelic light while we sip the wine
and pass the summer's time
old man dreams
and young man's schemes
they seem so kind
in the angelic light
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
mark john junor Jul 2013
the villain of the shadows cringes
and cries out as hard things do when they
behold themselves in such places
as in the true light of the fair maidens eyes
mercy is often found there
compassion and love too
but what he see's is a sale to the highest bidder
he steals away with the key to her heart
steals away with the treasure trove of
a fair maidens hopes and dreams

before the dawn can reveal his track
to the lawman who now follows in slow pursuit
he gathers himself and his plunder and sets off at a dead run
the lawman is a cold customer from times gone past
and he knows that twain shall never meet lest there be blood spilt
knows that the cold hand of justice serves none but its own
it lives to see others die
so he sets off at a dead run
as dead as his soul seems to be
as all his days have been
running from all his yesterdays
at a dead run
as dead as the lawman's heart

he stops for the night in the empty wash of an old stream
makes a fire by the water worn rocks
entranced by the lines of their ancient and dignified past
it troubles him so
he looks upon his ill gotten treasure
looks upon the fair maidens heart trove
and for the first time sees the beauty there
for the first time he sees what compassion's gentle hand looks like
the firelight jumps and leaps like dancers
he lay down and dreams of ceremonial dances and golden idols
dreams of a people for whom riches are in the heart
dreams he lived as one of them rich with love and happiness
he wakes with tears in his eyes

the lawman spends his night tracking slowly westward
he will not rest or sleep till he gets his man
he never dreams of anything but the cold hand of unjust justice
no compassion no soul to be tainted by hope

the villain of shadows begins to hear echoes in his mind
things that remind him of summer breeze and a girls pretty smile
her hand in his in the pouring rain
ages ago before darkness consumed him
now he begins to see a new path for him
if he can escape the lawman
now hes at a dead run to stay alive
now hes at a dead run to return the fair maidens treasure
if even a villain of shadows
can be redeemed
perhaps i may find some small coin of hope
but its hard to do at
a dead run
its that image the phrase invokes... "dead run" sounds like it should be a contadiction, but isnt. thats why it fits my life so well, im at a dead run.
mark john junor Jun 2014
i found her in a field of flowers
dancing slow to the summer song
lost in her mind to the dream of a broken heart
dancing sensual with her dreams of lovers nonexistent
lost in the beauty of daylights pretty wonders
she had daffodils in her hair
she had midnight in her eye

i took her to the hilltop
far and above the sea
far from the temptations and tastes
the toxic poisons that are the worlds playthings
for wicked is the worlds kiss
and i thought if i could shelter her
she would heal of her own accord
she would be the girl i once loved

i had gone looking for a square meal for the mind
little intellectual meat and potatoes good for the soul
but as i was supping and laughin with casual company
i heard the distant crack of thunder breaking
like the uniforms of illogical world come to claim
their greasy hands on her clean white linens
stole her away in the rain
stole away my sweet lover never to be seen again

so now i sail these back roads
on the trapeze of delicate balances
of firing loose cannonballs at the
fleeing desperadoes wreathed in silken plunders
balanced against my pockets overflowing
with the wicked maelstrom of misery's and mysteries
that my dark woman's heart and dreams made for me
beloved is for more than just for a passing day
i will never stop searching for this wayward lover
remembering her salt thigh and ruby lips
mark john junor Dec 2014
she lays out in the warm sun
scented with the romantic notions of moonlight
her illustrated eyes slowly wander me
like a sensual thought left to drift
like a sweet dream left to thrive
she lays out in the summer daylight
adorned like she is the treasure of night
echo of her deepest
echo of her darkest
like a soft promise of
like a sweet dream of
she lays out in the warm sun
her head alive with refined and delicate beauty
her lips have poised wet meanings silently implied
while her hand wanders its loose fingers along your roughness
seeking and finding the soft spot between bitterness and delight
and there she sees me
melts onto the cool crisp bedsheets
and into my waiting arms
nothing makes her desire the night more than
desire itself
mark john junor Aug 2014
her voice a fragile thunder
her thoughts gossamer wings beating on
the thick summer air
her awkward gestures a lovin embrace to
the eyes that haunt her histories

dawns intensity begins
its silent fire consuming more and more of
the spacious turning heavens
a star falls
she reaches out one unconstrained hand
fingers tracing its path across the pale blue skies
a word of worshipful sorrow on her lips
till it fades into the sea
extinguished with loves kiss no doubt
no doubt

she floats upon the wind
no sand or tree in sight
she floats upon the sea
back and forth across the deep night
seeing the world breath
seeing the mechanics of the star strewn heavens turning
how beautiful the stars
how desolate the sun

silence had finally taken her
her parched eyes now forever closed
her hand on the tiller
till doom strikes its hour
alone on the sea
her life slowly ceases
extinguished with loves kiss no doubt
no doubt

her dusty wings folded
the breached purity of her heart
leaves her a silent figure forlorn
with her eyes forever looking distantly
with longings painted vividly on her face
a desolate angel
of sea and sand
to greet the lost sailors
and thouse who wander the sea
at the end of their voyages
end of their days
mark john junor May 2016
there in the imperfect silence of night
searching for embers of hope among the
burned bridges of your life
the driftwood theology of a wandering soul
wherever the tides take you
trying to find some token of salvation in
the star filled heavens
trying to find meanings in a grain of sand
as with any driftwood soul spend your days
searching for a shore to call your own
trying to find embers of hope in the
burning bridges of your life....
there in the imperfect silence of night
while you await sleep to overcome your busy busy mind
while you wait for the solace of letting go
drifting and dreaming
lost in the beautiful places that dreams take you
you find that the driftwood theology is a wonderful thing
carve your own inner beauty into the wood of the world
take the love i know you have in your heart
and give it as a gift to the world around you
and you will find that you are no longer driftwood
cast on the worlds stormy sea's
you will find you have always been home
right here in my heart
mark john junor Dec 2013
her mind was as open as the crystal blue sky
but she was lost in the cage of her heart
the one she carries with her
covered with a fine silken golden cloth
the one one  that she has attached jewels to
attached tales of Madrid and the
travels she made as a young girl
it was on one of thouse dusty roads that she found this tale
written on a placard that reads so well
like something Hemingway would have said
that reads like a key to all the closed doors in
any city of the ancient world
forever sealed
by times jewel encrusted hand
by the golden trim left the passing of
thousand pilgrims on the road to divinity
the rain had swept away the tastes of yesterday
and leaving behind a scent to the air like rebirth
like a second chance for this one run filly
all the heads hang low in the humid sun
all the thoughts come to the coming carefree night
but as she steps carefully through the picked fields
carrying her basket of treasures
her soft cotton dress revealing more than it hides
she sings sweetly to me
in a voice only i can hear
of a dusty road near Madrid
of a sweet young girl that she was once
and in her heart still is
i pull aside the golden cloth
and unlock the cage
for some beauty's were never meant to be
captivated by any less than
real love
mark john junor Aug 2013
wake in the morning to
after effect
the sharp edge of consequence
that brings misadventure into startling focus
not quite death incarnate
but an after effect of its nearness
you dry heave with the sudden and present fear
and the knowledge it carries
i wrestle all night with tomorrow
a left handed struggle against the cold facts
that i cant foresee
a word twist can attest to my incapable process
as the knowledge sinks in

my poems grow shorter
as my life slips into the denser wood
the night overtakes me
fare thee well friends
haste not to the gallows
for it seeks each man in his turn
and gives no credit for words
***** or barren
gives no comfort nor wine
for the grieving
or the celebrating
just gives cease to the roads aspiring minstrel
and his forlorn tune of loss


after effect lingers with a taste of gunmetal
is copper tinge leaves impressions in the eye
that time cannot vacate
and love cannot appease
once again i come
the miles a man treads are the measure of his soul
i advance the thought that you see my own threadbare nature
reveal my own worn feet
and ask if i have not exceeded the pretense she lied
gone above the expected
i cannot move mountains
but i can move hearts and minds
a poet, a wordsmith, a pen jockey
a introspection in a lesser volume of words
i am a mover of hearts and minds
a poet
a wordsmith
a craftsman of phrase
batter up, strike three and im still at the plate...the pitcher slowly winds up his arm....will i get a strike four and five...will i run the bases and make home plate to the cheering crowds....silence answers me with its own quiet comfort of no answer at all
mark john junor Sep 2013
the hunched figurine
the tablet of her arm
has written there the church of her desires
each vein has a scar
blackened by collapse
and my lips seek them
and with such tender kisses
i do worship her and her devotions
the tool box comes out
and she delves into the greasy depth
withdrawing a single
straight narrow viper
with the poisons loaded
it stares at me
she licks her wet lip
and invests in me
the dream
i wait the bitter watch of night
with her false sleeping touching my shoulder
and jarring her back from the soft place
she runs her hand up my cold chest to lips
my kisses so tender of her church
trackmarks on my heart
after the bitter
is heaven

your bold words ring hollow
your intent was true
but the years have gathered on your limbs
struggle to breath
struggle to pretend that enduring this
will bring some measure of peace
will bring some answer to the long years
bargain with the devil
for a longer day but she holds all the cards
and keeps banking records of all your hearts
humble ideals ready to cash in on your weaker moments

the bare bulb dusty room
the appalling barrenness of its leathery skin
and the scent spins in my head like an illness
screaming its foul intentions
but i am drawn in
its soft seductive voice
after the bitter
after the thirst
it pours itself into my arms
and unbuttons its jeans
the unspoken is that its soft and warm
and after the bitter
after the thirst
it seems like a place i could be
ugly place i willingly wander

a feast of images
so many colors
and interesting things
pretty pictures
listen to the small screaming sounds as she consumes them
see the seeping flow become a
puddle of creeping figures
they make their way cross the room
to  her footstep
they shadow her moves
each one has a hand to the pulse of feelings
emotion plays to the heart of every play she makes
make no mistake

puddle of creeping figures
each individual one
a shadowy man in a grey overcoat
but as a mass they resemble
a smiling face of a woman familiar to you
familiar enough to get close with a blade
pool of creeping figures
a shallow lake of bleeding images
that makes strange sounds as it moves with
incandescent life
see her eyes glow like bloodworms
but she is what i desire
i french kiss her ideal
she will be heaven to me after the bitter
Age
mark john junor May 2022
Age
thoughts once so clear
now flee en mass like
small birds scattering in the wind...
try to capture one
and it fades to dust in my
trembling hand
my eyes teared up by the loss...
what was her name...
when was it I smiled like the
sun bursting through the clouds on that day...
where did I misplace that long-sought device...
where have all my yesterdays gone...
all escapes along the shifting winds of age
small beautiful birds
plumage so bright and beautiful to behold
loves and laughter, days of wonder and joy
crumble into dust as my forgetful fingers
pry at their edges, trying to recall...
her yesterday was my forever
do you think she remembers me? ...
as I slip into forgetfulness
I hope that I will no longer remember
to mourn my forgotten yesterdays...
age is coming for me
and iv forgotten how to tame that ugly beast
mark john junor Aug 2014
beauty is a hearts hunger
beauty of feeling or beauty of sight
....i live for her....she is my light
mark john junor Oct 2014
she talked to me with a sunset of sorrows in her face
tried to reassure but to no avail
she just needed to hear someone care
and you really cant blame
hard enough to find a hand to hold
in these cold days

she kicked open the door
and erupted out into the cool night air
with loud proclamation of innocence
but the few took notice
hard enough to find a clean slate to start over with
gotta make do with rewriting your own dark history's
put a few smiley faces in there for good measure
aint nobody keepin' score

she leaned back
in the passenger seat waiting to see where
desperation was gonna take her
so she pushes the apprentice of shadows
who was waiting for a loose maiden to rescue
for an escape from the dullness of the day
cause its hard enough to find distraction in your own head
from the long road and tricky questions
so she will latch onto his madness for a while
cause its better than being alone
mark john junor Dec 2015
the shifting pattern of smoky sunshine
in the leaves brightly green in the light overhead
make a soft sound in the edge of a warm breeze
breath it in and taste its freshness
with your minds eye

my hand moves in the blades of grass
they turn aside with ease and leave behind
a trace of memory in fingertips

my eyes slowly wander the littered lawn
each piece of paper and plastic holds its own shadow
each tell a tale
of carnival sounds and laughing couples
of city place unkempt and sour with graffiti
shell of nature walled in and fenced
trapped by mankinds vision of an island of green
within these walls of concrete
and curtailed from leaving the borders of this place
only its birds fly free

there where the rose bush struggles for life
by the heavy stone wall
in its dirt shadow i lay down
close my eyes open my heart
to the rhythm of its living
this place seems eternal
a island of green in the vast sea of grey concrete
this place is a heaven struggling to be
a valley of beauty in among mountains of cold steel
i see it all behind my closed eyes
iv seen it all in a dream
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 Oct 2013
the clock spins on down
time rollin on
hear the dead slouch through the darkness
the light yonder
aint one of dawn
its a burning
a burning in the souls
of man woman and child ever born
to see what shouldn't be seen
to do what shouldn't be be done
man has always been this way
nothing will draw a bigger crowd
than the forbidden fruit
than the pain of another human being
than the most perverse things
mankind's perverse mind can think of
the clock spins on down
time rollin on
age of man being able to destroy himself
the clock of doomsday
is always five minuets to midnight
they have chemical weponds in syria
they have nukes in north korea
aint no grave big enough
aint no funeral pire hot enough
for mans petty spites
for mans thirst for blood
we can put a man on the moon
we can spend billions for a war on drugs
but we dont spend a dime to stop mans fascination with
his own destruction
mark john junor Apr 2016
grew up dreaming a john lennon dream
about peace and love happiness and hope
bout all the beautiful things that could be
if we could just agree to love one another
grew up believing that we could build a heaven right
here on earth if we could all just believe
that everything is possible with just a little bit of love
but as the years have passed by
as the song he imagined keeps playing
as we have all grown older
we realize that we dreamt a john lennon dream
and all the beautiful dreams like it
they are fragile dreams only a heart like his could put to song
but i think to myself
perhaps if we could all still try
perhaps if we could not just give up
maybe we could change the world just a little bit
maybe we could find john lennon's dream
here on earth
find the peace love happiness and hope
if we could believe like we used to
our own hearts could dream like john lennon
that our love expressed together as one
could change the world just a little bit
then just a little more
just a little more
what a beautiful world that dreamin' could build
if you could join us dreamin' a john lennon dream
dedicated to a very great man, john lennon, and his dream.
mark john junor Feb 2016
this long hour that she's
refusing to speak to me
we sit in the bedroom
opposite sides
the tv goes unheard in the corner
softly whispering nonsense to itself
like a madman
she is sitting with her perfumes and paints
looking distantly into the mirror
i study her face from across the room
grasping for words i dare not speak
trying for a thought that could resolve
remembering that sometimes its better to let anger alone
but from here she doesn't look angry
she plays with her hair
applies lip gloss
fiddles with things
waiting
i let loose with a softly spoken 'sorry'
she tells me she loves me
what did it all mean
why had there been such angry words
i look for the meanings but left puzzled
sometimes its better to let anger walk its own path
out of its dark woods
her sunshine returns in the coming hours
and we are once again
hand in hand
a glance away from a smile
a kiss away from each other
we make love in the afternoon sunlight
and drift into sleep entangled in each-others arms
lover sweet lover
mark john junor Feb 2014
the asphalt solution bears no fruit
and it wears on my already threadbare sneakers
i hobble a shifting house out of the rubble
but its paint is chipped and its metal worn
so there's little doubt that it'll never last
there's no roadmap and doubts are abundant
but no there's nothing to go back to
lets lets plunder on into the wild blue
so we three poor-boys set out to see the kingdom

the asphalt asphyxiation
and somewhere near at hand
a mechanical voice mutters an anthology of misgivings
the door is ajar...the door is ajar.....
we can do little but count blessings
and covet the coin another man carries
cause they are morally bankrupt and socially diseased
the asphalt solution near at hand
i step sore foot to road
but am stopped by the rolling of thunder
crashing of wave or was it of naive

somebody gotta save poor-boys like me from ourselfs
the knightess in shining armour rides in on her trusty steed
her quick wit makes short work of dragons and trolls
to save the kingdom and the poor-boys alike
for the world needs more women superhero's like her
a knightess in shining armour
with sensible shoes
wicked ways no more she says
go home to your woman and be at peace sillyhead

so put sore foot to road and tread my way
back on to safe and sound
the asphalt solution get put away
after all the only road i wish to see
leads me right back to my happy little florida home
my woman and my cat waiting on me
a hobbled home knitted by a midnight thief's slippery hand
a knitted life stitched by the memory foam of bad dreams
cup your head to your woman's soft features
your gonna be all right kiddo
i swear on a stack of comic books
about women superhero's
mark john junor Sep 2013
the pretty maiden wearing a blue chambermaid dress
her placard read "don't abandon me here"
which she carries down the dusty street
everyone stops to stare
as she walks slowly by
they all feel so sorry for her
she was left here by Knights of Columbus back in 1967
her prom date kissed her on lips
and she lived all her life for that moment
for the perfect guy
for that perfect kiss
and she has been wandering these backwater towns since
trying recapture that kiss
nobody can seem to love her like he did
and he got in his showboat convertible and drove off
after the parade that day
left her standing here in the middle of main street
with party favors and streamers at her feet
now she is an icon for all the century's between now and then
and America growing out of its childhood
July fourth isn't about family anymore
its about bigger bang for your buck at the mall
here she comes again
her hollow eyes are staring off to the horizon
where she expects to see
her prom date to come back for her some day
he will be her knight in shining Buick
come to sweep her off her weary feet
on theses dusty backwater streets
in an older and sadder America
mark john junor Mar 2014
a lean mean cruelty machine like her
saunters into the room
thick with the thieves in her eyes
and the slow drawn tongue on her dry lips
as she lowers her thin hard frame onto the couch next to me
and vomits harsh words all over me
before placing one pale hand softly on my thigh
and begins to move it ever so slowly in a circle
like a suggestive vulture circling a piece of meat
now her phrases are a songbird of beauties
as she narrows in for the ****
pure cold viper in ripped up t-shirt and filthy jeans
i was in love before she even made it across the carpet
mark john junor Dec 2013
contagion of hope

her soft blonde hair brushed back
over one pierced ear
the tones of her eye was one of hesitation
i asked her of what such a beauty could fear
after all she would have a thousand strong souls
to nail their backs to a wall at a
word from her feather light lips
but she insisted that the soft touch of her cheek was enough
to be a contagion of hope
to even the most desperate of soulless men

i must have been mad
because i did stop to caress that sweet face with my weary eyes
i sought out her lock and key heart
and found that she desired to be desired but never touched
and there came a burning in the dark forest of my mind
i would wander a time without count before i would see the burning for sadness
meanwhile she apologised profusely but could not contain her dream to flee
and away she rode on a black mare
'her riding clothes brown leathers from Portugal
and they were as soft to the eye as she

she spoke quick to the man at the gate
and he shut out the night
and sealed her eyes with tears
so i kept the watch though i am no professional solider
her companions did sneer at my reckless behaviour
but she in passing let one hand trail over my face
that left welts on my soul
what price is a good price for such heartache
"such is love" she said to me
and i began to see that i could never save her from herself
she will forever ride from one ancient kingdom
of bone dry dust to the next
forever unfulfilled but forever loved
by her army of nights in shining armour
desperate to save her from her own distress  

her ice cold lips are painted this night
a light shade of pink
and what a thousand strong souls wouldn't do to feel
their tender touch
but iv been in that prison
and in the morning i shall ride free
of this blinding hope
i can bear no more flags of the hearts defeat
the last i saw her
she lay swooning at the gate
one breast bared
and her handsome knights milling about
in a panic
forever unfulfilled but forever loved
mark john junor Mar 2016
implications of nightfall creep in the broken window
i sit leaning against the graffiti strewn wall
the city lights spread out below me like a carpet
over the rolling hills
spiderweb of streetlights leads the mind on a merry chase
all those homes down there each containing love and warmth
all those places in the heart known as safe

an appealing silence haunts this place
leaves the listener with images of all that has transpired here
illustrates the meanings of the scrawled
words on the wall before me
two lovers had been here and left behind a casual love note
spraypainted  in a hue of green
tepid words of a quickly lived love affair
a passing summer romance
now abandon in the chill fall air

i can picture the girl lingering here
in a sullen twilight
retracing her past
wishing

there are abandon places in our world
where abandon people linger
places where they can let down the pretty face defense
where they can set aside the mask
and perchance to hope a little sunshine
will grace them for even a moment
will give them
a way to go on
mark john junor Apr 2016
she unburdened her
her faraway daydreamer heart
fanciful and bright
where she treasured a beautiful home for
all the sweetness she had always carried around
as a book of poems she had been writing since she was
a little girl
far from the work-a-day life she lived
far from today's troubled clouds
a winter wonderland with a summer heart
a palace for a princess so lovely
and a prince charming made of paper-mache'
that she keeps with her teddy bears
she unburdened her beautiful heart onto the pages
poems tender poems bright
poems woven out of silly dreams and lollipops
shes a faraway heart girl
flying in beautiful starry skies
forever bright futures
and warm summer days
mark john junor Mar 2013
just one load
just drift on that soft sunlight beam that makes
this harsh place seem warm
just one load
so i can be ok
with everything iv done everything i am
wont take away from anything
wont get lost this time
i promise
i promise
LIAR
but i am alone
shes gone
and its just me
not even a friend
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
mark john junor Jun 2014
illusions soil damp with summer rain
we are silence creeping softly
in halflight carrying a farthings worth of sugar
for his bitter tea and stale buttery breads
our stealth footprints leaning to the shadows trail us
the thick scents of tilled earth
and the fresher faster scent of rain
turn to whisper your hush-now's and stifle the laughter
tis serious things afoot in the majestic night

seed lain with casual grunts
by the farmers son come of age
till foolish boy reckons what hes done
but storm riding in and no time to dawdle
bread in the basket and skittles in the cookfire
whats to be done whats to be done
he sweeps his mistakes aside and plows onward
like his pappy would have done

illusions soil fertile
and fools will take to heart any tale
so we have come sneakin' and creepin'
to harvesting our due
in halflight carrying a farthings worth of sugar
for his bitter teas and stale buttery breads
feed the fools mind with all manner of delusion
and while we sit and sup in the heavenly scented field
the thick scents of tilled earth
and the fresher faster scent of rain
he will be singing and dancing a madwoman's jig
under a lunatic moon
mark john junor Feb 2016
my smile so unlike a vagrant
only wanders the backstreets off her heart
leaning on the lampposts of tenderness
while her storybook temptress casual apparel
lures my pervert tendencies ever onward to
the gates of her pearly pink sweetbox
she leans heavy into that come hither look
she desires dark things that she will never admit to
shes an american girl down to her hello kitty socks
adorable an sweet
***** girl so nasty nice
i take up drawing again
trying to capture my soldiers retreating
after a long night on the battlefield of between the sheets
she nestles in close
as i taste her with my lips
we fall to dreamin
sleep rushes in
i dream of a withering sun
i dream of long ago autumn nights
mark john junor Apr 2014
her desperate beauty clings to my heart
like the wayward soul seeking shelter
from wild winds rising
already fond of her delicate smile i collapse
while the distant world shifts
beyond the borders of the bliss her naked laugh creates

profane to speak of her flaws but to me even her flaws are
but devices of the flawless design
and such design as to entrance
her eyes comb my appearance from root of souls keepsake
to the bluster and bravado of summer night
she with her lush moist lips speak so bravely the conquests
but the shyness of her eyes speak fluently
of her deeper thoughts
of how she wishes to be the conquest
how she desires

like a winters coat pulled to banish the chill
our companionship in this hour comforts us both
while the waters of the world collapse on
the tin roof of the beachside shelter with summer birds song muted
her skin a deep tan have scattered my thoughts
as will when such intense beauty focuses her will upon mere mortal man
we both laugh at this to be true
she begins to apologise but i will hear none of it
i ever the gentleman bow to her graces and capitulate the day

her desperate beauty walks away as sun gathers once again
she upon leaving gently kissed my cheek and gave me the delight
of her smile
a gift to be treasured
i never even knew her name
mark john junor Oct 2013
this place where peace of mind
is a material device
where its tangible depth
can be measured in more than words
this fortification of stout heart
and decided mind
i fall back to reside here for
a moments reprise from the clash
of the seeming armed conflict
that must rage about this place
you cannot have dark without light
peace without war
isn't peace of mind measured by the conflict around it
isn't the measure of a mans serenity
in the struggles he must endure to achieve
i fall back to this segue between
dark of ignorant bliss
and the blinding incandescence of misinterpretation
of that so called enlightenment
peace of mind is a state difficult to discover
because it cannot be truly achieved
it is the illusion of sophistry
peace can be found in small amounts
in the laughter and love of friends and family
in the arms of a lover
in the warm sun of summer's day
in the grandeur of summer night
mark john junor Jan 2014
december 10th 1982
1am
sleepless in the the neurotic wastelands
she has fifty two cards
each has a face none of them are mine
but the jack of hearts is there and with her childbearing hips
they could pump out a couple of rug rats
start their own little civilization
here on the backwaters
she gives me a ride to the edge of the glades
and drops me off at a truckstop in the rain

december 10th 1982 4:22am
the salt of the earth diner on route 1
with the waitress chewing gum at the counter
staring off into the distant light of highrise miami
a sheen of sweat glistens on her deep tan
but its not as sticky or deep as her mind
thats wandering out in the Catskill mountains
looking for Johnny Appleseed

december 15th 1988 10:00am
doves take flight in the
soft white afterglow of day
with a stir of wings
and her tender lips let slip
of her longing for innermost peace
her eyes seeing nothing but
the golden glow of some distant day
some half remembered day
the time i wait for
summers sweet song
has been far too long
this is a winter world

december 15th  1993 1:00pm
leaning over the balcony rail
she shouts her smiles down
to the regular faces on the rows road
petticoats of fine linen
and her hair up
shes a sea of smiles
as they all shuffle in to see the show
Broken Bernie and his girl Christa
who snowbunnys down to the neon Florida sun
round this time of year

december 13th  1996 6:00pm
desperado's gather in the setting sun
hunger in their eyes
between the rock and hard place
and with a hard eyed thought they
move into the town
she pours him a cup of coffee
and lays a hand softly upon his shoulder
urging him to stay and leave such things
to lesser men
but he knows he must rise to the call
to do less would be treason to his nature
to do less would betray everything he has stood for

today, now*
the words waiting on lips as i stumble out of sleep
make little sense at least to the waking mind
but the world makes little sense when fully awake
so this dream fragment hardy seems out of place
wearing a stove pipe hat chewing on a whales tail
and chatting with Abe Lincoln
my guess would be he wanted his hat back
mark john junor May 2014
if she submits just so
if she contorts to the worlds twisted vision
her breathing becomes quick
and her hands silhouettes
mimicry of ritualistic love

if she submits just so
the world will see
and snow will fall warm as summers day
quick will be slow
hurt will be healed
and the difficult will be easy
as easy as his smile back when he loved her
and things will be the way they were
before

her thin fingers
on the window panes frost
etch panoramas fine line drawings of loves triumphs
a garden where hope blooms
where beauty and happiness are one in the same
in the smile he shared with her back before
before...

washed and trimmed to measurable perfections
she kneels in the strange halflight of the worlds eye
and waits for the settling dust to speak
for the haze on the window to illustrate
for the clocks silent mechanical action to cease
waits for the world to change her

her breathing quick and measured as she leans with perceptions
to any sound of approaching footfall
but the only sound that pierced the thick darkness
was that of the worlds slow decay
if she could only
but hes been gone for so long
that smile
his sweet smile while he loved her

if she contorts to the worlds twisted vision
if she submits just so
the world will see
shes a good girl
and snow will fall warm as summers day
it will be as it was before
before
he will come back
and snow will fall warm as summers day
mark john junor Feb 2014
her exquisite laugh
decorates the night air
while the freelance jesters look for
pennys on the ground
she rides the limelight she makes
and dances a quick two step on her
very own red carpet roll-out
while her kid brother flicks the light on and off
parody of paparazzi
its a pizza night and they pass
the special smile round like a litre bottle of coke

long after the party broke up
she lingers in the mirror
debating her narrow hips
and dreamy thinking of some special boy
she would dish the salacious details in full
but  none of that really happened
just like a kid in an ice cream shop
wants all the flavours all the time

its been years
but she tells the tale vividly
while looking at old pictures with such
as mystical tears in her hearts eye
shes all grown up
but we are all still young someplace inside
i kiss her goodnight
and we dream
mark john junor Mar 2016
i brandished the inquisitive dream
and it flourished in the fading sunlight
like the fading glory of a dying empire
it spoke words of its own making
herald proclaiming loyalty to the house of windsor
it withdrew images from its ancient life
and spread them before me like a tapestry
full of the past splendor and beauty of king and country
of stalwart men of iron will striving against darkness
in a clash of steel and the roar of cannon
and the salty tears of the men who went to sea
conquer the seven seas that rise and fall to the words of a queen
its an englishmen's dream
dignified despair
tea and biscuits at a quarter past four
the queen's photograph hanging dusty but regal in the parlor
mad dogs and englishmen stand at the ready
at the gates of the empire
to keep safe the lords and ladies
to keep right the awesome might
of fine english blades
spilled blood on every continent
for king and country
just an englishmen's dream
im a Scotsman
mark john junor Dec 2013
she wears a set of keys
on a chain round her neck
one for each of the nights alone
unlock my heart with these she whispers as if it were obvious
but then she casts her love letters into the river
saying that nobody ever understands her point of view
so we might as well all be blind
there are no real desperate words
on her tragically trembling lips
but what dose come out jiggles like a carnival crier
to the harmonica players thoughtful song
she used to sing it in the coffee shop she loved
back in one of her yesterdays
now her days are an egg shell blue patchwork of plaster fixes that
define the destitute box and its failings at life's tiresome money game
its trail of paperwork attempts to find a prophet
who could give us a defining moment and photo op for time magazines cover
somebody to tell us that we are on the wrong road
she spends her days taking care of me and
sweeping up the dusts
of all our yesterdays
and neatening up the lines of mason jars
filled with jams and jellies
the sunlight falling through them makes a rainbow she smiles to me
as she settles into a cup of coffee to stare wistfully off into the morning
i ask what's shes thinking but she never dose say
she just runs a thin hand through her auburn hair
and laughs that its snowing somewhere far away
that some field in a distant wood is peaceful and filled with the grace of innocence
that one finds in the stillness of fresh snowfall
that one finds in a newborn child
or a newborn day
mark john junor Dec 2023
Wind sweeps me along
like the dry old leaves of yesteryear
dry and brittle
imprinted forever with the
memory of long languid summer
faded now to dark browns
far afield from the lively green
that was youth
ever-growing
never-ending
ever alive with all that I could do
but never did
dark sounds the bell that tolls
a dark song that only whispers sing
I am swept up into a stone-wrought doorway
and I nestle my sleepy head into its comfortable corner
sleep comes soon
restful wakefulness that is the edge of dreams
sleep comes nearer
and away, away with all the discomforts of life
watch them fall away like a veil of tears
away, away goes I into the sleep of ages
a new leaf born into the next world
mark john junor Mar 2015
she paints ugly things in pretty colors
she runs with the devil and whispers with the saints
she is a good girl in bad times
she's a angel in disguise
you can find her riding shotgun
in the roughest part of town
you can find in her the softest heart
she is a flower blooming in a field of thorns
she is a woman to be reckoned with
and a force of nature to be feared
but she will always be kind and gentle
she paints ugly things pretty colors
and gives them happy homes
she really is an angel in disguise
(for the grocery store girl)
mark john junor Jun 2015
the quiet angry man
with all his jack in the box surprises
and his lonely heart songs
what lust consumes his dreams
what solace would end his crisis
his is a tale of two lives
his own and the one others would have him lead
his is a tale of two worlds
his own and the one he perceives
how can he reconcile his angers with
the peaceful world around him
would medications do the trick
would a woman's love
angry old man
striding slowly along the roads edge
balancing on the cusp
of his world and the next
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...
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
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