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164 · Nov 2019
Harvest Moon
John E Marks Nov 2019
soft and steady rhythm of a baby

breathing

her gaze which tells you all you need to know

her footsteps tender in the snow

the pitter-patter blast of rain upon a window

considering all we do not know

or understand, we stand hand-in-hand

under this beautiful harvest moon
67 · Nov 2019
Translating the rain
John E Marks Nov 2019
I wish she knew from the very start
Which mountain the sun came from
For your eyes can be deceiving in rain
Fountains are rain corralled and I'm tempted
Into sleeping on your neck. A servitude of roses.
In which green bay and the rolling sea spy on me
That's deep, but it ain't at all clear. Like seawater,
Lagoons on tropical Islands are lost on me.
Kind of like a fantasy.

I wish you and I knew from the very start
That in your heart of hearts
You do not have a way to deal with the sea,
Water is a better sort of wound
Because water wishes from the very beginning
That human hands will remain unpolluted by blood
That is the key to the music box hidden in the secret
Garden, where the door is always closed, where puddles
Stay with the stories and water dilutes the tears of lovers.
Simple but astonishingly wet before you know it
You are. Water has the urge to repeat
When I reach the end of your hand
You reach the bridge, the bridge
On the verge of doubt;
Eject me from the river
Soak me in the sun
I break it to you:
Dreams do come true.
Passing clouds and waves and tides
I went and went and went
I took the shade of this old water tree,
Even though she was tired and broken,
I'd love to see you
Kiss the sun with your wet lips
Drink the water
See my heart melt.
64 · Nov 2019
The Unwritten
John E Marks Nov 2019
The times of wonder have gone

The wise women drugged

Into submission.

Forensic psychology reveals traces

Of long-forgotten faces

Which, much like Munch's silent scream,

Degenerate into nightmaredream.

Desire, in all its lurid manifestations,

Falls into disuse,

And all is as it was before:

A flat, grey concrete floor

Krema I at Auschwitz

Eminently productive

340 corpses could be burned every 24 hours

This was indeed progress of the sort required

Arbeit macht frei

Weaponising the common man and woman

An act of genius

Monsters exist

But much more dangerous is the common man

Ready to act without question.

Yes, plenty of those in our nation.

— The End —