STRIDER MARCUS JONES

 

A Woman Does Not Have To Wait

 

under the old canal bridge, you said

so i can hear the echoes

in your head

repeating mine

this time

when it throws

our voices from roof into water

where i caught her

reflection half in half out of sunshine.

that’s when i hear Gershwin

playing his piano in you

working out the notes

to rhapsody in blue

that makes me float

light and thin

deep within

through the air

when you put your comforts there.

Waits was drinking whisky from his bottle

while i sat through old days with Aristotle

knowing i must come up to date

because a woman does not have to wait-

until my speech and face is

naked like a grockle

in those other places

we are coming to

under the blue.

it isn’t much, but all i have for us-

me, behind this mask of mirrors.

 

This Theatre Of Show

 

i want to go

where love songs grow,

on the radio

into someone's heart.

 

i want to know

if i play too slow,

and fade before the glow

can flame and spark.

 

i mend a dream,

distil it, to mountains seen

through mind and eyes potcheen,

lotioned by loves mark;

 

with tongue dabbing gleam

in fast flowing stream

of sweet nectarine

from sun up through sun dark.

 

i want your glow

in the thoughts i know,

before they dim down low

and depart-

 

this theatre of show

above and below,

where we all act to know

our own part.

 

so many vines

in the times

i know,

grape, but fail to flower.

i taste their wine

in its summertime,

but show

i am just a shower.

The Mess of Thrown Off Clothes

 

i listen

to your love beads glisten

in the flotsam

of my room-

 

we make them

from samurai sword folds

at forge and loom

in the mess of thrown off clothes.

 

so many smoke me kisses

at portal doors,

and mithril wishes

on primitive floors-

 

take us back again

through heath and fen

to imitate

lost landscape-

 

cycle

and circle

sky and stone

outside and home-

 

in love in less

with your heavenliness,

and loneliness

durable under duress.

 

Pomegranate Flesh

 

ask those

who grow old-

some fruits are nicer

when they're riper.

you don't stop

the clock

on the one who chose

you to hold-

her pomegranate

is still your sonnet

of sepia feelings and flesh,

sensuously sweet and fresh.

 

although the mirror never lies,

it shows the beauty that lives

as it dies

and gives

its own reflection

of your perfection

to me

then and now,

each memory

taken

by the lenses

somehow,

preserved

by your words

and curves

in my senses.

 

our dance,

that thrilled

in its intricate

tango on the floor,

is still filled

with time intimate

romance

and more-

talking rubicon of reason,

in layer, upon layer of season

so sedimentary

since you entered me-

and i consumed

your silky mesh

of pink perfumed

pomegranate flesh.

 

When You Came In

 

the air

tore into shreds

around our heads

in the room

when you came in.

bare

words

flew out of your chair

like accusing,

hysterical birds

and pecked at my plume

of silence

spitting vile violence.

i wore the harness

of your darkness

and pulled its load

of false truth

behind my youth-

you told me i was old

and i lost a tooth.

in the scene, that cut the cable,

while we both sat at the table

in the garden-

love's sour jasmine

drooped,

poisoned in its ruined roots,

then you wept to me

and went to him

tears

trailing,

years

jading,

fading

beauty

again.

that was there.

that was then.

a solar flare

of raven hair

around its star,

last light more magnificent than most,

close

but far.

 

STRIDER MARCUS JONES

 

STRIDER MARCUS JONES – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.  His poetry has been published in numerous publications including: Dreich Magazine; The Racket Journal; Trouvaille Review; dyst Literary Journal; Impspired Magazine; Melbourne Culture Corner; Literary Yard Journal; The Honest Ulsterman; Poppy Road Review; The Galway Review; Cajun Mutt Press; Rusty Truck Magazine; Rye Whiskey Review; Deep Water Literary Journal; The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine; A New Ulster; The Lampeter Review; Panoplyzine  Poetry Magazine and Dissident Voice.