Shimmering lightly as you move
Lights bouncing off of your high features
I think this must be a dream

You'd never do this
Yet here you are
Moving against me as the night fades

Gestures into touches
Gazes into stares
Thoughts into actions

Last Night
Tonight
Tomorrow's night

Soft and warm to the touch
Your skin under my fingertips
We keep coming back to this

Darkness comes
You come
I come

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

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

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

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

© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved

Bing bing **** annouce
train to Chiang Mai departs soon!
the king sleeps dog barks

white
round and clean
it sees me sit in the gallery
looking at the painting.

cold
smooth and generously
it pats my back when I get too tired to
look anymore.

if I said I could paint YOU
here in this room that YOU gave me
if I could touch the feet of
       the ones who cared.

please feed
please feed
please feed
me

white
round and clean
it sees me stand before the painting
laughing with Kitaj eyes.

cold
smooth and sincerely

it looks at its watch.

Photograph

I looked at a face
no longer there.
A frozen smile,
familiar and warm.
Once young,
now old.
Gone with time and
long forgotten.

Eyes lingering on  
pasty ink
paled by rays of sun.

Cradling a frame of a
foregoing time,
fingertips brushing
against a landscape once familiar,
now faded.

This image has the ethereal magic to stop
that candid snowflake, coming from a snowing sky,
which lays now in a warm field.
It preserves the feelings
of how beautiful it was floating on air,
and that freedom
still thrive in me as the seasons go by.