Thursday, October 1, 2020



Cubist Ghettos

I think
To shrink
The distance
Of resistance
Inside self
To all else-

In the mystery
Leaves what is closed
Openly exposed-

To explanation
Under examination
When there isn’t one
That hasn’t gone
Until roof floor and sky door
Are no more-

Only roulette rubbles
Of drone troubles
In cubist ghettos
Wearing jazz stilettos-

Flashing flamingo legs
To pink paradise Harlem heads
While new trees grow up mute
And ripen with strange fruit
Some whites too this time
A drowned boy me and mine.

The Portal In The Woods

Seeing somnambulist sunrise
Through open window
Touch your face
After love rides
On moon tides
In ebb and flow
At tantric pace-
Love resides
No asides
Spices of the flesh
Soaking rooms in Marrakesh
How I ate your truffle in Zanzibar
While you smoked my long cigar.

Back home-
Tribes of bloods
And druids roam
Seeking out the overgrown
Portal in the woods
Where we handfast
In this present of the past
Dance chanting
In stone bone circles
Like ooparts
Magical arts
What chaos hurtles-
Reconnecting rhythms
In living and dead
To those algorithms
In natures head.

We are rustic-
In land and sky
The  air  fire  water
To warriors who slaughter
If Us or Them must die.
We wake
For clambake
In a cauldron lake
Of limbs together
Then cut sods of peat
From the bog under our feet
Exposing the pasts
That never last.

Clouds Of Chaotic Crowds

Like Faustus-
Leave the house dust
With fool’s gold
This conveyor belt lair
A castle in the air
For Dante’s dreams of doubt
To wander about
In, with voices that pretend
To be a different friend-
Oh my, what a frame,
Too big to blame
And beyond a simple say
To save and stay-
So, close the dungeon door
To be what you were before
And walk away
Into the clouds
Of chaotic crowds
Falling as rain
On sterile plain.

Dark Drawn Man

dark drawn man
in two - legged sedan,
Diogenes least
the more i am.
a worn down crease-
like blotched butterfly wings,
that drop in tokens
on imaginings-
lost, but living
through drought and giving.

dark drawn man
of wiccan, glam
rock and folk-
who likes a smoke;
hermit and ham,
sometimes a dam
for the waterfall
of it all-
bohemian and gothic,
romantic, hypnotic,
hates cam.

dark drawn man
whose thought beats flam
on sticks
of words
his focus and blurs
without tricks
of prussian blue
and cadmium red
the way Modigliani drew
his mistress on his bed.

Sophocles was right!
the darkest days, catch chinks of light-
running out of Ram,
but love is who i am.

Trapped In Manufactured Time

so lost schooled-
but not a fool,
stands in cold sunshine
on golden heath
where no kings rule
and ancestors of cottons thief,
make poor ends meet for dirty dime-
trapped in manufactured time.
he sits
and fits
in the shadows of its shades
and lines
on Cribden hill-
where clouds spill
like wire brillowed blinds,
imagining a wintered witch
composing pagan spells and rhymes
with bones like martyred blades,
whose burned marrow curses
industrialists and tokened slaves-
to believe a full purse is
how life measures made.
the trees are gone,
and wandering tribes,
who worked and gathered everything as one-
now live down in gas warmed hives,
in settled serfdom's
truths and lies.


STRIDER MARCUS JONES – is a poet, law graduate and ex civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms. His poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, England, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, India and Switzerland in numerous publications including mgv2 Publishing Anthology; And Agamemnon Dead; Deep Water Literary Journal; The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine; A New Ulster/Anu; Outburst Poetry Magazine; The Galway Review; The Honest Ulsterman Magazine; The Lonely Crowd Magazine; Section8Magazine; Danse Macabre Literary Magazine; The Lampeter Review; Ygdrasil, A Journal of the Poetic Arts; Don't Be Afraid: Anthology To Seamus Heaney; Dead Snakes Poetry Magazine; Panoplyzine  Poetry Magazine; Syzygy Poetry Journal Issue 1 and Ammagazine/Angry Manifesto Issue 3.

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