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mark john junor Jul 2014
as crickets renew their song
she came to me dreamlike
a lone candle held back the night
its thin light strong in her heart
as she brushed her flowing hair
and looked with distant eyes to unseen horizon
to unseen memories taste on the soul
the cost to any but the mad is too much
but she endured
she has seen the promised land
and the greener pastures she longs for
are a distant lands postcard stuck to
the torn up wall above her bed
not a single word pierces that painted smile

in the nights stillness
i retrace my steps
to stand exactly where she stood
as if the magic of her presence might still linger
i stand breathing gently
somehow believing that i can feel her in the air
not wishing even this empty moment to end

even if only half perceived
her delicate features were hauntingly beautiful
her long thick auburn hair wet
with the night's rain
she had come to ask
i came to answer
she silently leaned against me
i silently held her

love has no need of words
mark john junor Nov 2014
drinking in the beauty of fall afternoon
chimes carry your souls song lightly
as you travel the autumn road to
the northern most house
that lay in the silence of the chill air
a windy sunshine had beat
upon its door all day
now night has crept forward to lay siege
darkness crouched at the window
with all its implied intents
inside its rooms
shrouded in silence
you sit in the near darkness
rubbing a free hand on the surface
of the mosaic floor
it forms an image of a woodland in spring
it forms an image of the promise of rebirth
the thoughts of a windy sunshine linger on your heart
here in the stillness of the northern most house
waiting for first light
not knowing what it will reveal
waiting to find out what you will be
the promise of tomorrow
or the tears of yesterday
its quiet in the shadows of the northern most house
where a windy sunshine will
beat upon the door all day
It's a silent place
Where men such as this
Come to settle up the debt
To balance the books
All that could have been
All that was
And the difference you made
In the lives around you
People known and unknown
In your time before
The passing room
10-15-60 ... 9-8-24
mark john junor Nov 2014
a beautiful ballad plays
one of memories
one filled with loves tenderness
if i could follow it on down its fabled road
if i could live the song and its beautiful places
walk with its colorful characters as they laugh together
be the young lovers once again as they discover that first kiss
if i could stand for but a moment where the singer stood
see the beauty of the passing days
feel the passionate knowin eachother
you can hear it in the guitar playin
hear it in the softly sweet words
oh to walk there a moment
to breath that air
to be there
if i could be the song
mark john junor May 2015
pickin and singin with my good ole boys
what laughing we got we share
a song of the peaceful way
a song of the beautiful day
rich tapestry of song to be taken with such tender care
history behind each note'
a smile behind every lyric
listen to it dance in your heart
listen to it do its dance in your dreams
you know i got me a tune for every brother and sister
you know i got me a hippie song for everyone
let me share it with you
a song of the peaceful way
a song of the beautiful day
lets dance together with care in our hearts
lets find what a living thing this peaceful way is
what a wonderful way it should be
its a beautiful life this hippie thing
its a giving thing
its the only way to live
let me share it with all you now
let me sing you my little song
let me strike up a tune that you will see with your heart
a song of the peaceful way
a song of the beautiful day
mark john junor Sep 2014
her rigorous objections
are herded slowly down the sheep trail
by studious pencil thin men with stylish mustache's
who have deep pocket pickers for friends
they gather round the weak willed and the willing alike
looking for cheap thrills and spare change
everybody needs a new road
when the old one seems to never end

but she with eyes cast down
mumbles her unappeased desires
as she shuffles a little closer to the truth as she sees it
she has it all written out in secret languages
she has books filled with life's coded thoughts as she see's them
barn burners and dare devils grace the cover of her latest creation
self titled to her own romantic name
she is stylized in her own way
so she adores the pencil thin men
with their dashing devil may care good looks

i wrote her a letter yesterday
full of stories from the great highway
full of chipper go getters and the glum go gotten
she is a forever stone on a necklace
she is a moonstone on a bracelet
she is graceful when it counts and
thats more than enough for me

the pencil thin moustache men
come to conquer the all night diners
in the small shoreline towns
but slink away in dawns first light
with stolen smiles and borrowed kisses
that they promise profusely to return tomorrow
but never do
such is the romantic night by her side
such is the wonder-wheel days of our
journey on the great highway
mark john junor Jul 2014
her tender thoughts
meant to ease my mind
only obscured what was already hard to see
but her kindness was not lost on me
an angel of the mercy
she held back the night till i had passed the worst of it
held my hand with warmth till the break of day
we wintered there high above the treeline
in the deep snows of high mountain pass
and when spring came at long last
kept my word
rode her down to the pettyjean
saw her to safety

long months passed without a word
till one late summer day
high up on the mountain side came cross her
in a picturesque meadow sitting in splendor
like a portrait of perfections
like a sad goddess come to earthbound tears
didn't need to speak a word
gave her a safe place to be
held back the night till the worst of it had passed
wrapped her in golden and silver thread
held her hand with all the love and hope my heart could hold
for her tears burned my soul
and i could not bear to see them flowin
stayed there all that night
and deep into the hardest winter since '63

with small smiles running cross her sweet face
she thanked me for my kindness
bid me fare thee well once more
it had come to her in a dream
that this love of hers would return to her
hurt her no more and be hers forevermore
so into the deep snow i took her
back on down the mountainside to the pettyjean once again
watched as the boat carried her away
nobody to hold her hand through the worst of it
nobody to keep her safe in the darkest of night
just my hopes to guide her
just my unrequited loves to keep her golden

sittin here in the darkest of the night
with nothing but the wind to speak to
say all the things i could have should have said
explain the things in the way of knowin
what could have been
in this valley of silver and gold
came to me in a dream
that this should have been
and will be again in that wonderful place called someday
when we will laugh again
when the night passes and wake to smiling face once again
just as the dream slipped away i saw her
one last time coming up the pettyjean
bright with joys
happy once more
coming home
mark john junor Nov 2015
the pornographic nature of poetry
freaks my head with images and wordplay
i adore it so
like a lover i cannot stop feasting on
my lips caress each syllable like *******
my heart rushes like the first glimpse of her face
thunders in my chest like each stanza in my hearts mind

the pornographic nature of poetry
silken smooth and sweaty
hard against the pen
pushing it forward fast
slowly withdrawing
each breath is a vow of love everlasting
each sentence is a heartbeat
feel it so strong
swift and sweet

the pornographic nature of poetry
i wake in dawns light
with it on my lips
a taste of the words so tender
a rushing of the soul to find the very center of my lovers heart
feel it in the brush strokes of the pen
as it scrabbles across the neat lines of the page
thrusting ever forward to the perfection
to the true expression
to the words that my lover smiles for
the pornographic nature of poetry
lurid and sweet
nurturing and deep
mark john junor Jun 2014
her untainted eye waits
as the edge of light is eclipsed
darkness fills the motel room
sound from the next room muffled but pure
unintended they fill this room with angers not our own
we just sit in our darkness breathing
she undresses and sits on the floor
i crawl out of bed and curl up next to her
the tv comes to life like an apparition
its pulsing flickers like heartbeats
slowing till we slept

my soiled hand sketches a history only wished
a desire for what could have been
bare my hearts fissure
and it lay in the slow rain
wet and weakly beating

she had shades of sorrow clinging to her eyes
her smile sang reassurances
but her distracted fumbling spoke to me
the silken mirror of adoration softened her words
as her image was coated with the happy thought ideal

her worries consume her lip
chewed slowly over the timeless evening
till only the pulp of my head remained
woodenly walking my way in her dark paradise
till the rain had
slowed
mark john junor May 2014
the rain is thick
and bright in the minds eye
captures the wandering and
turns skyward all thought of walking
seek shelter under tree
but its stirs the leaves and
resides on your skin in a
damp codependent relationship with you
up close and personal

the rain pours through the phone line
making her damp voice warm with invitations
and layered with the hearts silts
each woman ever loved has left her trail upon the heartland
each trail become a river of regrets and wishes on her leaving
each leaving having dried like tears with time becomes a layer of silt
that the hearts home is built with
the sum of the hearts who have come
and gone

the rain slows
as the phone line falls to a stillness
a lack of words between two who know far too many words
none of thouse words can change the color of a sunset
none can unfly a flown bird
we make small talk till even that slowly fades
we say goodbye
the rain begins in earnest
mark john junor Mar 2013
we laughed and shared the wine
by the summer moon
thought that those days would never end
so young and so full of adventure
so full of hope and loves

but darkness crept in
disguised as a friend giving gifts
"take this, it will ease your worries...
take this it will make you feel like heaven"

So many years gone now
cold stone has replaced the warm comfort
of my loves and companions

so many years gone now
and i mourn all that iv lost
and tell myself small lies
that as it was so shall it will be again
but once lost
you can never go back
you can never find the same road

there by the summer moon
you told me once that
you would allways be by my side

but you are in the boneyard and cant fin d a way home
darkness stole you
like it did all my dreams

bye my love
bye my love
mark john junor Jul 2017
without reservation,
such beauty radiates within the eye,
such dreams of softly spoken passions fire,
that once ignited burns within & gives
desires so lustful and hot that
they stream into the minds of men,
washing away all but the sole wanton
pleasures found within, and this lust like
a beast carries her away enfolded in his strength and power,
thrusting to find that one moment over and over when all but the pleasure deep and wide is known, that moment when worlds fade away, there is only her, there is only him....
mark john junor Jan 2014
the sun setting on the high mountain passes
brilliant colours in the sharp cold air
he rode slowly along the path
holding the reigns in one hand
the other resting on his colt revolver
his dark coat pulled up
covers his face
from the biting cold
some hours from now
further down the trail he will rest a bit
before pushing on
make the rio grande before the week is out
make the border and freedom before
the hangman can claim him
he shifts his weight on the saddle and
his horse flicks a worried ear
his appaloosa was his friend
too many miles shared and they had come to understand
and know eachother too well
from the desert towns dry and bitter
to the rain swept mountaintops of colorado
from saloons and dancing girls
to the long hard chase of the lawman following
had seen more miles than care to think
such a sweet tale
such adventure as he had dreamed of
when he was a boy
robbing trains and gunfights with bad man
but mostly he thinks of his country rose
and her little house near topeka
and how she said that there was always be
room for him in her bed and heart
with the hard won smile she gave him
rough round the edges but she was soft in every way
that a road weary man like him could hope for
thought of her now
all these miles away
as the sun sets on the high mountain passes
so deep with winter snows
so silent under crisp moonlight
her face there in his heart
as he drifts through the darkness
drifts through the years and miles
forever more
one hand on the reigns
the other on his colt revolver
some men were born never to rest
born never to know a home
mark john junor Aug 2013
the keepsake of former years shattered
slowly seep thru each dense  syllable
like glass ground underfoot
as memory's get shredded by change
i insulate myself from the unbearable
and sift thru the ashes

she presses her face to the glass
staring out with a worn eye
pushing her stone
she gasps for breath
the room she infests has a chipped and bruised floor
where her naked feet dance in the dust bunnys
leaving traces like tales of her days
footfalls of a sneaking doom

she cries in her sleep
and stutters a used and warm phrase
it highlights certain aspects of her wild form
as it bends along the lines of conversation
like a momentary prisoner of our daily premise
she escapes answering revealing things
but is trapped by showing her smile

breaking into the memory
you steal away your moments with her
in your arms dancing
steal away the hours without fear
and hope to find somthing that can
endure beyond the dream
live out side the vision
keep your warm in the cold light of day

its in her glass encased old room
that she waits pulling wires out of boxes
and humming a song that she cant remember the words to
but loves nevertheless
pressing her face to the glass
her worn eye searches for the path leading away
from here
from her
hoping to find her own escaping form
fleeing into the sunshine
mark john junor Mar 2014
the silhouette of two girls kissing
deep into the caress
deep into the tender
like they are plundering with feather light touches
in the flickering lamplight
the music drips through the dark room
like the leaking of bobby dylans mind
his voice torn asunder with spoken tears
with the gravel of a thousand hard roads alone in the heat
of an unforgiving sun
the girls are wrapped tight to eachother
like bubble gum wrapped in satin
you cant cast aside such delicate force of nature
it will saunter down and ask so sweetly
for you to take a powder while the girls get nasty

i sit on the hood of her buick
primer grey and fast
as fast as thick blood
and watch the stars dance on the chrome
and breath the thick air and see death dance on my fingertip
but most of all i see her silhouette leaning down
over me and sweetly asking
for my last breath
put cowboy boots to pavement walkin into the future
dragging the past that she wants
into the motel of the sun with its neon moon
where these two lover girls lay out by the pool
and soak up the sun till the world is in darkness
soak up the love like cherry soda
and plunder

the dance slow on the bed
while i'm curled on the carpet
but there's no desperation to be found
except in poor bobby dylan as he drips
like fine wine from the speaker
and intoxicates my dreams
with her eyes
with her thin bright wet lips
and her softly sweetly asking once more
to give it up honey buns
gimmie your last breath
silhouette of two girls french kissing plundering tender
so romantic
so loving
so long bye bye
mark john junor Jul 2013
there are moments
that endure in memory for a lifetime
only in the simple nuance
of their presence in ones life

the smell of your mothers french
toast sunday morning breakfast after the fire on the poarch
and the crisp harsh sound of eggs sizzling


the first day of school
and your locker full of new books
and unopened notebooks
crisp new paper had a scent
i recall it clearly
crisp wood with a metallic sharp undertone
the smell of newly sharpened number two pencils

i cannot place the memory
as to how old i was
or anything beyond the fragment
but its one that lingers for me:

spring sunlight
near dusk
as i rode in the backseat of a strange car
some friend of my parents
we were driving past Paine lake
and the sunlight burst upon me
thru a break in the overhead trees
and the thought that filled me with
such wondrous joy
'its finally summer'

what i wouldnt
give to feel that free again
without care or burden
simply filled with joy at
the simple wonder of it all
mark john junor Jul 2013
the soft cotton skin of her jeans
against my bare cheek was warm and enticing
i lay curled up against her sitting cross leg on the bed
her hands busy with her notions made quick shadows
in the light on my closed eyes
her scents heavy on the air
intoxicating
i stir and ran my hand up her thigh
and was overcome with desires
for every inch of her
we were occasional lovers
we just enjoyed each other from time to time
she was a giving and warm person
lit up a room when she entered
with her smile

she was lean
and tight
she was made for making love
and she reveled in it as much as i
long black hair
and deep brown eyes
where i often lost myself with willing abandon

she never asked
but i wish now i had
i do not know what became of her
i wish her love and happiness all her days
i send her my love from
this empty dark motel room
on the edge of urban blight
hope you fared better than i joyce
hope you have fared better than i
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 :-)
mark john junor Dec 2013
in the deepest of night
when even daylight is half remembered
and resembles to the heart
that of a lover long roaming in some
barely dreamt distant land
i lay with her
and while she slept softly
the notes play slow and soft
like the dark wings of fate herself
comin down the night road to claim your
very soul
come to grab you up out of your
wistful thoughts
a haunting of shadows
that in your state of mind begin to
resemble the loved and lost
you left behind
on your rise to heights
or your fall from grace
this is the song of your winter days
this is the promise in her eyes
a soft and scented binding
that holds you to the moment your in
regardless of your regrets
wine coloured words
that make grease lights and the stage swim
its in the deepest of night
when all the rush and toil of the day
has faded into the majestic night
into that stillness
your lips give birth
to the truth of your mind
leave this place or die
leave her
mark john junor Sep 2014
her happier eyes
brilliant even in the sun
but she has a rough feel to her soul
she walks along the hot sidewalk with a dozen bags in arm
looks like it would tire an army of horses
but she says shes fine
"don't bug me with that 'good guy ****'
know your good, just not right now...
cause id rather be mad"

three thirty in the pool of a streetlight
we both swim in reasons
we both have battleships on fire
and its really only the hot humid air that keeps the blow by blow going

by dawn we are curled up in a park
miles from home
making love cause there aint much left to say
shes still mad
but shes ready to cry
i tell her i'm wrong
but we both know that don't matter
we both are just confused by the her that aint here
we are just confused by what should be

her happier eyes brilliant like twin starlight trains
keep speeding over me
and i keep kissing her hand
cause it s the nice guy thing to do
two hopeless romantics lost in the south florida rainforest
mark john junor Jul 2014
the tender light of her eyes
haunts me from just steps away
they ache with unspoken heart deep desires
vivid dreams which unconstrained would set her passions afire
she falls into my arms with a kiss filled with longings unleashed
with unquenched hungers of loves burning intensity
i pull her in against me our skin igniting us
we wrestle with eachothers bodies trying
to pull eachother further in
closer deeper in loves furious heat
my sweet lover my goddess my everything
you are a flame in my embrace
softly quick and urgently you take me and i take you
quick now we race our passion to
the very heart of our love
and spill eachother gently in our embrace
breathing heavy and tumbling tingling back to our bed
and eachothers deep smiles
small soft kisses
gentle caress
cherish eachother tenderly
mark john junor Mar 2015
a waiting room
the rain outside the single small window
gives aspects to the room of comfort
a woman sits next to me
her phone makes water droplet sounds
as she taps gently on its screen
office sounds and smells

the room has pieces of home to decorate
like the painting of country road
its summer feel meant to warm the room
makes me think of childhood
the vase with plastic flowers
and magazines scattered on the meek coffee table

the steady office noises are interrupted by a womans strident voice
her words obscured but her angry intent clear
the waiting rooms occupants all turn to look at
the closed door
then return to the task at hand
of trying to play a good waiting game
of glancing at each other

waiting
waiting
so polite and proper we wait
for this doctors quick words
soon enough to head home
with prescriptions in hand
with answers in heart
mark john junor Apr 2014
i look at her in the innocence of her casual moment
and in the fine lines of the truth of her image
i see with clarity that she defines me
her hair wet thick tangible with its scented cascade
the curves of her eyelids
the flecks of black in the blue of her eye

in the detail of her
are the thousands of words that a woman's heart whispers
the seas of mystery and soft summer meadows of longing's dream
the ink of her lips feed my pens soul
the soft lines of them wet supple
to hear your name upon them is like having your soul wrapped in silk
she whispers mine
and for a time uncounted i pass from this world
in her lips gentle embrace

she says something but i am so caught by
the intensity in her eyes
the words unspoken there are the fires of my hearts very soul
i burn brightly there in the warmth of her gaze
i burn sweetly in her desires
like drifting on a sea of tears of joy
a thousand lifetimes of the wandering in bliss fairytale kingdoms delight
brought to life in space of a moment that she touches you with her eyes

i with the greatest care untangle her from her doubt
her lips paused in the spoken word
as she searches my face for meanings
i tell her simply that she is the garden of my soul
and i savor all the beautiful things that she gives life to in my heart
the ink of her lips writes the poem of my world
the songs of her echo along my senses from my fingertips
in the warm damp of her hair
to her scent filling my soul with its symphony's of every want that
any soul could ever dream
i burn brightly there in the warmth of her gaze
i burn sweetly in her desires
Born to the way of the wind
To spread wings and know
The life of the skies
To hear its wind song
to see the majesty
In the eternal clockwork
Of sun and stars

Ages pass like silent machinery
As the world below
Ebbs and flows
Along with the whims and designs
Of life breathing its births and deaths
Expelling the weary
Whisper in the new bright-eyed youth
that is the way of life
the way of the wind
And the world without care
Breaths on and on

He was born to be
that adventurer
Born to the way of the wind
Intrepid and carefree
He tread the sky like a trailblazer
Painter, Poet, Troubadour and Wiseman
Now we wait with him
To see what path is yet to come
Now we all await carefree
The choosing of our own
Way of the wind
my sister Margaret co-authored this picece
mark john junor Apr 2015
she wandered the twilight
like a beautiful dream
bathed in moonlight and sweet thoughts
her heart flutters
like a powerful butterfly
a link in the chain of events
between falling in love and being in love
the kiss between the hearts desire and its dreams
she is just a woman
but there is magic in the moments
there is true beauty to be found in the touch
a symphony of sublime in her every movement
a truth to the world expressed in her eyes
the heart is a place where all is possible
where it all can be at your fingertips
all the wonderful dreams
all the promise of tonight
she wandered the twilight
like a beautiful dream
and that dream is moonlight
and its wonderful to be lost there
in the fluttering of the silent wings
of a heart
for kjs
mark john junor Oct 2013
an old movie on the tube
with the volume all the way down
some old pink floyd on the turntable
a few candles
a bottle of australian wine
just me and you
ocean breeze
and lost in your eyes
loosen that top you got on
and find the spot on your neck to kiss
we make out
and whisper talk for hours
bout what we wanna do
places we'd like to see
i tell you bout paris in the fall
you tell me about nahariya in spring
but we may never get out of this bed
cause we cant keep our clothes on
or our hands off eachother
get the blues when your sleepin and im not
dont want you dreamin without me
want to share it all with you
in the morning lets
go borrow that skiff again
and see how far we can get
promise me we will figure out
what we did with our clothes
promise we can quit making love long enough
to see what day it is
lover come here its today and thats all that matters
sleep pretty baby
the world can wait
mark john junor Jul 2014
up ontop of a milk crate
standing in a three am parking lot
serenading while
she sat on the curb smoking a rolled cig
laughing with a sparkle in her eye
later when the night sets us drifting
the quiet back streets
walking hand in hand
thick and thin
till the stars are washed away
till the beautiful summer days have faded away
this is our time so lets not waste it on words
step outa them jeans babe
show me some of thouse tender moves
show me that tattoo
and she just smiled and said
sure nuff
sure nuff
mark john junor Mar 2014
as the brazen thief of light
leads his army of ten thousand stout spears  
under the shelter of storms sweeping force
with as his dark eye fixed on the jewels of the kingdom
with his dark eye fixed on the crown of creation
his leathery skin glistens with the sweat of his labour
as he quietly moves his army forward

the soft light of fading sun
resolutely clings to to this small room
in denial of days end
in spite of the mighty arms of darkness approach
hear its struggle as the wistful dreamers of late day tries
to rouse themselves to battle this darkness approaching
hear daylights noisome futile pact to remain
forever

the striving of darkness bursts in the door
and begins to fight its way across the room
a faceless army of shadow
knives threaded to the poison of light
spears aflame with the heat of battle
and before this irresistible tide
sunlight retreats with weeping and resolutions to return
fill the void with a vast force unkempt
with a mighty host blade tried and true
liberate the world from
darknesses cold hand

darkness reigns in the room for
seeming untold hours made up of years

look to the east
and see the rising might of sunlight
feel the furnace hot vengeance as it now strives forth
ten thousand swords emblazoned with the suns anger
marching out of the east like a tide
to reclaim what was so wrongfully taken

the brazen thief of light too late catches wind of his doom
and with frightened eye calls upon
the rushing tide of his army to withdraw from this doom
but they are locked in conflict
and torn asunder
he flees with accursed fear upon his face
and limbs flogging the hard road
back to the darkness from whence he came
to raise another dark army
that will fill the horizon with the spears of spite
reclaim what was so wrongfully taken
mark john junor Apr 2014
his leather face worn thin by the years
is tanned and striking as it catches
the approaching dawn
his threadbare fingers nimble still
weave the moment into the tapestries of his mind
hung in cold vacant halls
each priceless memory dust laden
and faded

thouse around him collapse the fortress of night
and tend to the camps low resolution cook fires
but the true furnace is her eyes as
she unfolds the plots and treasons found
sketched like livid tales in the beaten earth
of the summer meadow
a mesmerizing connection only found under
moonlights saving grace
she weeps in the morning light for what she
has never had and lost

he favours the game leg
while as a horde we break slowly from cover
and while two of the girls rise and fall
of the fortunes of absent rivals
their chatter echoes along the concrete
but are pale after all in springs embracing sun
where all things old feel like they will be new again
where there is hope in the very air you breath

he staggers to the daily mission
where the thin soup and weak bread are the message
but it is for the known face of it
it is for the familiar grace of it
the girls chatter is cold in nature
but it is warm to be companion to
better the bitter hand
than the empty one
he rests his game leg and
wonders how he travelled so far without
mark john junor Sep 2014
her critical thinking gone astray
her tupperware mind seals in the flavor of her intents
nail polish chipped
no ring to show the lay of the land
bright eyed with hints of joys
sunglasses askew
lipstick on her neck
this casual girl
in one brief moment our worlds collide
parking lot of seven eleven
she is a complex song not to be heard
but to be felt with the heart
this casual girl
she unbuttons her shirt
and shows her new tattoo
woven pattern of snakes and flowers
reflection of the mind perhaps
reflection of the casual girl and her inner tears
my heart grips this as she turns to leave
this casual girl
slave to her moment
she must go with the crowd
she must be a popular girl
in that brief moment our worlds collided
she spun like the summer sun free of her tears
she lived for my presence for the first and last time
she desired to speak to me
i never even knew
this casual girl
mark john junor Feb 2016
this dark heaven
this treasured place
a promise of pleasure
the stain of human gesture brought and sold
bleak for its beauties of the eye to behold
strained against the leash which holds it to the street
it too has dreams
wishes held close to the heart
spoken aloud only in whispers of the night
faces carved with the eloquence of once loved and lost
caress becomes sinister in this piecemeal love affair
smiles become shells for the lies told
only the twenty pieces of silver accepted
only the once innocent soul sold
all too soon i must flee this dark romance
all too soon the morning sun will reveal
this dark heaven
on her way home
mark john junor Jan 2016
safe in the fortress of my heart
i looked out on the mysteries of my world
reveled in the complex dance of lovers united in
burning desires and passionate loves
and then i heard a distant swansong
heard a distant love affair promised behind
such lovely phrases and alluring photographs
but as the truth of it resolved itself in minds eye
i could see it failing in the crisp moonlight
i could see its painful ending that
is as sure as a rising sun
that it would leave me
in a dire thirst
a depleted soul

please pull me away from this swansong
this enticing tale
for its sweetness clings to me
its promised loveliness and beauty
are only facade for such a dark and lonely place
i will end up believing such a tale
i will fall victim to such a beautiful thought
and the swansong will be spread to yet another
lover torn from the worlds complex dance
of true beauty and love

safe in the fortress of my heart
this dire tale sweeps up against me
trying to wear me down
i call out that others should be aware
i cry out that others should see
this swansong so pretty and beguiling
is such a dark thing
i will hold out for the dawn
i will stay true to my love
and there i will breath easy a summer's day
in there i will find loves true tale
loves complex dance of passion and desire
i will once again dance happy and free
with all the other lovers wrapped in
the warmth of our passions
mark john junor Mar 2014
she opens a pack of
sheffield english type  number five cigarettes
i rest my head in her lap
as she reads a french newspaper
its raining in paris and theres a girl there who is unhappy
dreams of romantic places never have sad girls in them
she must be a tourist

she sips some strange brew of teas
that has a heavy bouquet
loam and flowers..like a sweet wine
she suddenly laughs and translates a piece of the
french news for me
but i dont hear what she says
i only hear the rich beauty of her voice
i only hear the captivating beauties of her
i lean up and kiss her
she tastes of the sea and english cigarettes
i am lost in her essence and her her girlish delights

she pokes me and makes me look at a photograph in
the paris newspaper...its the sad girl
she looks english
that graceful beautiful elegant sadness
that only english girls can speak without ever saying a word
jezebel sips her tea and smokes her english sheffield cigarette
holding it like girls hold cigarettes in that dainty way
i forget the english girl and her sadness
as i lay looking into the eyes of this dreadlock hippie queen
janis joplin plays softly from her mp3
shes tapping her bejewelled toes to the ancient music
bachelors in literature she loves the written word
she has read everything ever written by anyone
she has read her way through forty years worth of poetry by me
and corrected my atrocious spelling along the way
this is morning in her arms
now you know why i am so in love with her
now you see why she is everything to me
she leans down and lays a single tender kiss on my cheek
and tells me she loves me
this is heaven
mark john junor Jul 2013
her delicate stepping on up the carpet
places her in the shadows
where she dances silently
but with such powerful seduction
she smiles at me as she slips by
and her scent grabs me and squeezes vicegrip on my heart
her fleeting fingertips on my forearm
ignited me like my whole house on fire

its frigid in the hearth of her soul
and that heat you see in her eye
has a source deeper
there are dark dark things in the deep places in the world
and that's what really turns me on about her
no apple pie sweet young thing
this little Betty is sure to be the death of me
and I'm ******* that leg like
a rabid dog
that's what love do to ya they all joke
as I pass with this little Betty
***** old man...chasing the nurses round his hospital room :-)
mark john junor Dec 2016
a desolate bargain
all my dead days with a
crown of thorns
for a single gesture of warmth

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

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

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

still a saint of her persecuted tears
now that the full weight of
this mortal dirt soul
hangs upon me like a corpse
all the living done wasted away
mark john junor Oct 2014
this noisy head i live in
it just never quiets down
theres some motherf#@ker screaming at two am
about some unpaid bills or parking tickets
and some other idiot going on and on about some girl that left
somebody is always throwing trash out in the common area
little bits of some ancient relationship
small parts of some old mystery
just want to tell em all ''will you all please shut up"
stop that godawful freakin racket
some fool on the roof shouting poetry just when your drifting off to sleep
another idiot in the basement throwing monkey wrenches in the works
always somebody causing some kind of ruckus
just want to scream
"can we PLEASE get some peace and quiet for five minuets"
this crazy head i live in
i want to move
to some nice quiet country house
where you never hear a sound
peaceful with birds chirping
where i can get some rest
not this confounded noisy head i live in
not this apartment building of lunatics i call a mind
(do me a favor...shut up)
mark john junor Aug 2013
the aperture opens
low watt bulb hanging on a chain
rocks slowly in a perceptible breeze coming
from a hole in the wall
a dark odor permeates the room
time has been spent here
desperation has sweated its own flavor of fear in this room
laughter that had no joy has spent hours spilled on the floor
evil has romanced good and plundered its favors
on the stained mattress in the corner
left its once ****** form heaving with
the ****** taste of hedonistic self destruction
slow and pure
pleasured for her like a ribbed one
lubed with promises of a hot carnival of sated fantasy

the aperture closes slowly
the view fades into a single grey line
of wary perception
moments tick by
as the room changes faces

the aperture forced open by her deft fingers
spun monkeynuts she is seeking something to occupy her madness with
or she will end up like the rest in the mirror picking skin
'oh god, please don't let me be a skin picker'
she whispers over and over
as she prys and pulls at the thin metal covering
at the thin eyelid of perception

this perception chain
one moment of reality spawns the next
its clarity the passed on poisoned gene pool of all your yesterdays
the languid drifting from year to year
all the treasures gathered turned to dusty memory
all the lovers fled along the ever enduring wind of change
and as your days have burned slowly down
you begin to realize that each had its place in
the tapestry of your life
and here in this last room of your life
you come face to face with what you have created
and it is unrecognizable to your mind

the walls are covered by ever mutating versions
of a dope shooters regrets
of a spike house roll call of thouse who have cashed in
and are now remembered only by there survivors
i open my eye
and look about in the shadow
and leave you there
because you were never there
you discarded your real self in a spent ****** needle
in the alley behind our once happy home
along with the used ******
from your
an ugly little ditty...

note: there is nothing missing, it ends how it ends.
mark john junor Aug 2013
the lens of perception
gives distorted answer to the postulated mind
so you crawl thru the muddy sunshine
to her cool bed
through the ink and sweat
of her armpit flavors
to her eye
and steal away her thoughts
and childhood twisted memories

perception beats me about the head with its difficult fists
its angry it always has been
it skitters along on broken insect legs
and speaks in a undefined whisper
it ransacks my pockets of hope
perception is a choice they tell me
i can change it anytime i like
but its stained face waits for me when i shut the light
its reproach waits for me in the uncertainty of her *******

in the halflight of morning
she lay sleeping and perception crawls slowly over her
leaving no part of her uncaressed by its warm hand cold eye
and in that slow torture of silent revere i begin to see her differently
i see the flaw in the logic chain that lead her to me
from the far distant mountains where we met
i see the flaw in the chain of events that lead my former
lover to follow a spike out the door
i see the lust chain follow the young and willing partner

as she spreads the flower of her dark treasure

i see these chains and wonder how they bind me
to what fate
to what doom
i cannot perceive

this demonic symphony rolls on ever onward
through the years
through the misery and madness
through the joy and laughter
through the miles and minuets
the lens of perception ever distorting ever tainted
by the cool soft touch of a womans hand
its driving me mad
mark john junor Mar 2013
Fourty years
hunched pen to paper
in this cold failing light

desperately carving
in this slow wooden river of paper
each passing face and dream

no master
of this rough wild beast
i cling to each word
and by bare hand wrestle it to
its palatable thought

Now i can only pray to reach
edge of page without faltering
as age and my illness eat away at
my strength

Two pages follow this as a peice of work
each one with a cruel cold pain
night will soon evaporate

i must find a place to shelter
before i am seen
mark john junor Feb 2014
the dying candle throws itself
in shadows across the silent places of the room
one of the sleeping figures stirs
disturbed by distant daylights sound
but she diminishes once more into the
innocence of shadow and dream like temporary deaths
an escape from this life

sleeps whim carries across the threshold
to walk on the road leading away from this life
and explore the empire that exists between
shadow and light
a carnival encampment draws you in
the painted faces garish delight
all manner of creature welcomed
even the darkest beast may find home in this
game of shadows
this temporary death she lives tonight

we are reborn each time we slumber
coming back to this life renewed
coming back with the strength we found
in the loved ones waiting for us on the other side
with the strength found in the knowledge that
we can be reborn from our ashes

i tread this morning on a far mountain road
while the fiery colours of some worlds dawn
crept up into a foreign sky
and was joined by a lover awaiting my return
and we laughed at the pure simple beauty
and revelled in eachothers joys
i awoke renewed
i awoke with hope
mark john junor Sep 2014
thorns in the thicket of thought and
thistles of the heart's crown makes a bitter tea
which she pours thin for her porcelain dolls
with plaster-of-paris cakes 'n' cookies neatly adorned
with christmas colors daintily painted in blood and tears
the bard speaks the rueful tale with cliffhanger pauses
and excited joyous moments enclosed in the
crisp images of winter wonderland
the bard is a figure of such stories
long white beard and eyes that twinkle like stars
but now that the tale is told
the song sung.....
the bard retires his joyful face in his private room
with its smoky mirrors
and clutter of memorials to his younger days
his words once on the powdered lips of elegance
now are the dirt stained humble man's bread and butter
they were grand stories
they were adoration's to velvet goddesses....
but now they are but thorns in the thicket of thought
picturesque visions of nubile nymph's only sadden the old man
the bard packs away his joyful face
it is for the readers whom he loves
the road weary eyes linger upon her lace
she was a beautiful moment of summer in his winter life
she's now a sacred image protected by
thorns in the thicket of thought
mark john junor Apr 2014
the waters edge under the midnights star
she walks slow where the waters overflow the sea
barefoot in the salt waters and sands
carrying her sandals and wide dreams
you can feel them walking there by her side
a soft magic that holds
she talks to me in such voice to lend me to the dream
and i give myself to it free

i am the candle flickering in her window
i am the chair that she curls up in
wrapping herself against the winters chill
and i keep her warm and safe
i keep the hours that she waits here
like a fine dream
thistles and snow
so long ago

she walks slow on the edge of the sea
as day kisses night
barefoot in the soft sands
caressed by the warm sea
like a song for the heart
like a forever more
thistles and snow so long ago
mark john junor Feb 2014
this treasured moment
while lover plays with locke of hair
and talks quiet of the day
her smiling voice plays along the
verges of my mind
like a butterfly soaring
on the fading light of the failing sun
her romantic tones
and fingers wandering playful
as treasured moments becomes one
with such tender notions in my lovers hand
she sits with me while i make dinner
laughs with me from her glass of chardonnay
this quiet time between two lovers
living such a normal day

there's an echo following me down main street
it sounds like her laugh but who can
be  sure in this rain
we walked all night
these treasured moments between lovers
and at first light standing in the field
we could see the rusted wrecks
of all thouse who have walked this way before us
all thouse who had given into the night
but not us
her hand kept me afloat
her  sweet words kept me alive
when the waters had swept away all reason
when thoughts divulged like secrets in the night
between two lovers that never shall part

as i dance to the mornings sunshine
she is the song that plays in my head
just like she allways has been
shes there in so many ways
shes the stars that are the roof to my dreams
shes the bed i keep my dreams in
she the harvest of the bluejay at first light
twin suns rise
one in the sky
the other is my lovers heart
burns bright and hot
for me
mark john junor Dec 2013
thief of my calm
this ******* liar loneliness
crawls around this cluttered room
casting pieces of desperation at my heart
and fragments of memory's at my head
thief of my night
it steals away under the bed
waiting for me to try vainly to sleep
while i toss and turn the thief
will come out and haunt me
with thoughts of long lost lovers
with memory's of happier days
the theifs hunger is insatiable
his appetite for the creating of dark souls knows no mercy
i fling my eyes wide and clean the room
trying to leave him no safe place to set shadows
but as i fall exhausted to the chair
the thief's hand slips from underneath and
spills the scent of her perfume to my senses
and i can almost feel her soft skin against my cheek
i cannot bear it
she is gone
and i am left here with
this monster loneliness
this hated vile creature sadness
leave me be
i beg of you
mark john junor Mar 2013
In the fall of 1973
walking home from school
i went by the stone bridge
every day, rain or shine
on my way home i would stop there
at the middle of the bridge
and look over the edge
at the water wispering below
i had a song in my head that day
some girl singer
talking about love and hope
i felt so alone, and i just wanted that girl
from the song to see that it wasnt ok
that it isnt a sunny day

Thomas paines cottage
has stood there since 1733
along with its dumb little stone bridge
over a small stream
I want go back to my home town and tear that stupid
cottage down and blow up that bridge
then maybe it would be ok
maybe it would be a sunny day
mark john junor May 2013
the day is ripe with intentions
both planned and spur
but none come to fruition
on the expanding branches of todays sorted
and troublesome thoughts
no answer is a good answer


i lay back in the faulty wire of malfunction
am i just grasping words here
random from the meaning....disturbing

but there is the crux of the problem

static thoughts erratic along the edge of mind
where when what...the normal fare
but the images
crisp clean
a man in a feild...his hair is on fire...he is laughing
a tower in a snowstorm...a single light burns on it...it is desolate

images and the flow
of them along the page
showing the words
rather than speaking them
folly i tell you...folly

the day grows long
and i ahve things to do
i will not do them
mark john junor Dec 2014
her opulent presence
is beautifully crafted on the night of the mind
her tattooed form elegantly painted sensitively
but oh so erotically
lip rings and candy necklace feast for the lusts
but she knows your eyes are on the plunging neckline
she is a deeply written romance novella
she is a poem of darker daylight
longing within her good girl image
to be as bad as bad girl can be
beautifully written in that smile
written in the sunshine of the opulent soul
mark john junor Feb 2016
she was an icon
the first time i saw her
looking back over one bare shoulder
the small photograph illustrating her in muted colors
thumbnail image of perfect harmonies
her name emblazoned in small type
but great things come from such small beginnings
roads the heart start out as a trail in the forest of humanity
hard to see where the path leads
winding its way thru mystery's
soulful words written there guide
but false trails can leave a man weary of the chase
mistaken paths can lead to dead-ends
i followed the light that she gives
i heard the song she was saying
now she sleeps beside me
wrapped gently in my arms
such true paths of the heart
make this life worth living
such beautiful days we have spent
our road plain before us
in laughing joys simplicity
mark john junor Jul 2014
in the wilderness
i sketch in the thick air with my words
painting grand towers and epic people riding against
the forever setting sun
grand lives with natural loves like sweet roses
loves so deep and true that they defy time itself
wondrous lives like fabled stories
ever dreamt never lived
lives that such willful and swift hearts dream of
that such timid dreamers may seek and find
only in fragment
only in hearts wish

but i wonder
should such be spoken
like treasured gift swimming in the golden rivers
of sunlight hill
such people cannot exist
such lives cannot be truly lived

so should words so diligently woven true to meaning
be spoken with such bravado
so like a drunkard bellowing in mystical theaters
so like a fool speaking so loudly of things he cannot conceive
so i must set aside my pen
and cease its speaking
for my heart breaks
for the lives i will never live
thank you everyone who liked this poem, it really really means ALOT to me to get that support
mark john junor Sep 2014
tidal pool of light
gathers round my feet as day evaporates
without sound it echoes in my minds eye
a thousand years breathed in a single moment
the weight of worlds falling within
the graceful collapse of a single feather touching
like tender kiss tumbling lost
like me
to the same battered wood floor
she once laid in such divine supplicant pose
bare to the golden light as i am now
and for a fleeting moment i share imagined space with
her presence
i can feel thunderstruck awe of her casual passing through this place
she
she
but as the tidal pool of days end dries
to the inky darkness
and the moment of perceived shared destiny's fades
i gather one last kiss to her soft hand
one last fare thee well
for one so loved and yet so lost
left behind all delusion
that i could deny you anything you desired
i forgive you for being the object of my affections
i forgive you for being the crux of my self illusion
i forgive you for being the thousand years i breathed in that moment
i say goodnight
because you are...
i kiss you goodnight
because you once were the...
tidal pool of golden warm light now gone
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