POEM – LOW VAULTED CEILINGS (BY STRIDER MARCUS JONES)
within those man stone walls
promoting their god
bringing us to him
i told the priest-
you tell us to be content
with poverty
while you live in this big house
throwing us scraps
begged from money lenders.
this is not what Jesus
asked his disciples to do.
this is not what he died for.
he said live amongst us
and share what they have.
the priest,
red with rage,
oppressive and oppressed-
pulled my mam aside
made her shrink in his stare
weep in his words
walk me in our sins
from his dark-damp house of angels.
outside
in feral sunshine
i pointed to grinning gargoyles
chasing chastened shadows
back down primitive paths-
to a cellar flat,
bare bulb dangling
prison beam probing
baptised flesh
and mam tipped tears
soaking into straw mattresses
sucking up cold from the flagstone floor
woodworms eating a Van Gogh table
where six mouths sat
sharing stale bread and cold beans
with whiskered skirting board mice.
years later,
i left Dedalus in Dublin
in the pages of a book
to his epiphany
and Jesuit suit of guilt-
while i quenched
my glistening fruit
in street light ladies-
drenched in smokey curling
dancing clouds
and stories from voices
bouncing off low vaulted ceilings
caressing human in darkness.
Published by strider marcus jones
Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and ex civil servant from Salford/Hinckley, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry are modern, traditional, mythical, sometimes erotic, surreal and metaphysical http//www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjones1. He is a maverick, moving between forests, mountains and cities, playing his saxophone and clarinet in warm solitude.
His poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, England, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain 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.
http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjones1 .
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My poetry blogs are:
https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/
http://poetrybystridermarcusjones.blogspot.co.uk/
Location: Paris, France
For his published poetry books: Aspects Of Love; Inside Out; Mavericks; Wooded Windows and Pomegranate Flesh see:
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Read poems from his books with reviews and comments on http://www.wattpad.com/user/striderma.
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His poetry blogs are:
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Read this brilliant review of one of the poems from WOOODED WINDOWS
http://dagdapublishing.co.uk/2014/09/...
And so you sit and stay
since you’ve been coming
to the running
of my day,
the in between
of real and dream
is drawn in what we say
now i lie sunning
in the summer of your way.
it shapes the shade around me,
foundations where you found me,
emptying that grey
obelisk of thought stood in the room
no more scarring the bloom–
and so, you sit and stay
motions mending me,
feet turning wheel, hands shaping clay.
© Strider Marcus Jones
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Today’s featured poem comes from Strider Marcus Jones. A piece wrought with intricate symbolism, “And So You Sit And Stay” deals with an ambiguous love and the capacity understanding and companionship have for healing, both mentally and physically. The seasons and their corresponding wildlife are utilised in a continuous metaphor throughout the poem, to the extent that much like the dissolved barrier “in between [the] real and dream” the repaired flower that is “no more scarring the bloom-” can be interpreted as the narrator’s internal soul and mended emotions, a viewpoint that is given further depth by the narrator’s “sunning in the summer of your way” an abstract, though beatific gratitude to the unnamed subject’s kindness.
Much of the imagery in this piece is organic and wild, except that which deals with the narrator’s situation before the unnamed subject came upon them: “emptying that grey obelisk of thought stood in the room” Again there is a wilful combination of the physical and mental planes, though here it is used to demonstrate the bleakness of the narrator’s lonely plight — an impersonal, towering civic construct that f (less)
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Poetry by Strider Marcus Jones 