Thrilled to have my poem Pyramid Prison published by Piker Press on 26th April, 2021. My thanks to editor Sand Pilarski.

http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=8260

Pyramid Prison

in detritus metronomes
of human habitation
the ghost of Shelley’s imagination
questions the elemental,
experimental
chromosomes
and ribosomes
of DNA,
reverse engineered
that suddenly appeared
as evolution yesterday.

her monster mirrors dark wells
of monsters in our smart selves,
the lost humanity and oratory
that fills laboratory
test tubes
with fused
imbued
genes
to dreams
of flat forward faster
distinction
to disaster
and barbarism’s
ectopic extinction.

this is our pyramid prison,
where all souls
and proles
climb the debased
opposite steps of extremism,
like Prometheus Unbound,
defaced
sitting around
the crouching sphinx
abandoned by missing links.

free masons of money and wars,
warp the altar of natural laws,
so reason withers
and wastelands rust —
no longer rivers
of shared stardust

in the equal symphony of spheres
in space,
filling our ears
with subwoofer bass,
definitive
primitive
medieval
evil
waste.

Strider Marcus Jones
Is the founder, editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal.
He is a poet, law graduate and former 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  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.
His work has been published in over 150 poetry journals, magazines, reviews and anthologies in the USA, Canada, England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, France, Germany, Spain, Australia, India and South Africa including : Dreich Magazine; The Racket Journal; Trouvaille Review; dyst Literary Journal; Impspired Magazine; Literary Yard Journal; Poppy Road 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; The Lampeter Review; Panoplyzine  Poetry Magazine; Dissident Voice and Piker Press.
He is the author of five books of poetry:
Pomegranate Flesh, Wooded Windows, Mavericks, Inside Out and Aspects Of Love.
The links to his books can be found below.

For his published poetry books: Aspects Of Love; Inside Out; Mavericks; Wooded Windows and Pomegranate Flesh see:
http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/strider…

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_s…

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_…

Really chuffed to have five of my poems published in Academy of the Heart and Mind Literary Magazine on 5th December, 2020. My thanks to the editor..

https://academyoftheheartandmind.wordpress.com/2020/12/05/become-transhuman-and-other-poems/

ACADEMYOFTHEHEARTANDMINDFICTIONPOETRY

Become Transhuman and Other Poems

By Strider Marcus Jones

Become Transhuman

mop my stain
of thoughts
from their existence,
before they grow too old
and follow me,
into disrepair
and rigid ways-
but leave one drop
of luminous ribosome
to feed its reason
if i choose to let mortality
become transhuman,
then i, so acting shaped
to mime and mummer
like a paradise peacock
in a rainy coat of chaos-
would delete myself
born blind, gone wise.

When The Day Breaks Down

when the day breaks down,
i look rain drowned
like that hole in the ground
trapped road where i wait
floating in the pool of fate.
which way is sound.
back
is gone,
and forward
the unfound
wild track
moves on.
sideways
yours and my ways
shout
then separate out
in pieces of broken pre-Raphaelite plate
and coffee stained passages of forgotten Blake,
now ornaments
of visionary discontents-
i removed when
to begin again.

Doing Nothing

doing nothing
is a way
of doing something
with the day
if you leave it open.
just think,
what was, has been
a long drink
from the same stream
and you are not broken.
love flown and fled
shared who you are,
happened, was said
but only so far
sound spoken.

Broken Line

i keep seeing you forever,
but forever
isn’t time;
its now
is only never,
and its plough
isn’t mine:
but those fields, were not faking
in the wind and rain
of mime-
when giving, was worth taking
to remember the same
soft swaying, then making
broken line-
on loves ketch,
so ebbed and etched
in sips of moated wine,
whose sober stillness
of fathoms reflect-
this nearness
each dominion can't confine.

Grains of Sand

imagine
crossing the Sahara
with the Tuareg;
sleeping
under one vast canopy of stars,
consoled by constellations
that once looked down
on ancient forests
and wind worn mountains
older than these here now.
it all repeats itself-
the river- beds and rocks
return to the sea,
where temporary strangers
sit like Robinson Crusoe
on loud, tractor raked beaches
in smells of salt and dog shit
watching the waves,
thinking inside them
coming and going
like friends to be afraid of-
as nature retunes herself
ignoring our significance
becoming grains of sand.

Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former 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 https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ 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.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. All Rights Reserved.

Delighted to have my poem She Is A Suffragette published on Surrey Libraries Poetry Blog on 29th November, 2020. My thanks to Editor J M Gale.

https://npdsurrey.wordpress.com/2020/11/29/she-is-a-suffragette-by-strider-marcus-jones/

SHE IS A SUFFRAGETTE by Strider Marcus Jones

Posted on November 29, 2020 by jmgale

Photo by Johannes Rapprich from Pexels

her hair tumbles
blowing like unfurled cotton
through unforgotten
fumbles
in vegetation
of our own
interpretation
of each other
in the dark.

my desk grown
out of a tree sown
from my lover
where i carved these words in the bark
sitting in her branches
knowing what life is
all about
as i look out
of wooded windows

and absorb it’s shows
as it goes
through each obscenity
of extreme supremacy-
a woman must not let
a man forget
she is a suffragette
in her soul and under his blanket
so never kept

or chatteled forever
to the custom weather
of his debt.


Copyright Strider Marcus Jones

From his fifth book Pomegranate Flesh

Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former 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 https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.

His poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, Australia, England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, Germany; Serbia; India and Switzerland in numerous publications including: Dreich Magazine; The Racket Journal; Trouvaille Review; dyst Literary Journal; Impspired Magazine; Literary Yard Journal; Poppy Road 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; The Lampeter Review; Panoplyzine Poetry Magazine; Dissident Voice.

Delighted to have the first of five poems: The Dance published by The Piker Press on 23rd November, 2020. My thanks to Editor Sand Pilarski.

http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=8264

The Dance

pull the roof off
knock the walls down
touch the forest
climb those mountains
and smell the sea
again.

watch how life
decomposes
in death
going back to land
to reform and be reborn
as something and someone else.

there’s no great secret to it all.
no need to overthink it through

food and shelter
fire and shamans
clothes and coupling
used to be enough
with musicians
artists
and poets
interpreting the dance.

then warriors with armies
religions with god
and minds buying and selling
stole the landscape
and changed time.

smash the windows
break down the doors
melt the keys
rub evil words from their spells
and puncture the lungs of their wheels

before they kidnap you from bed
call you dissident
hold you without charge
wheel you out on a stretcher
from waterboard torture
for years
without trial
in Guantanamo Bay.

they are selling
the sanctuary
we made
with our numbers
bringing back chains
making some of us slaves
outside the dance
in the five coloured rings
making winners
and losers
holding flags and flames.

Article © Strider Marcus Jones. All rights reserved.
Published on 2020-11-23
Image(s) are public domain.

Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former 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  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.
                                        ——————————————
His poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, Australia, England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, Germany; Serbia; India and Switzerland in numerous publications including: The Piker Press; Dreich Magazine; The Racket Journal; Trouvaille Review; dyst Literary Journal; Impspired Magazine; Literary Yard Journal; Poppy Road 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; The Lampeter Review; Panoplyzine  Poetry Magazine; Dissident Voice.

 

Delighted to have my two poems – The Ascent Of Money and The Dance published online in Albany Poets, New York State on 18th November, 2020. My thanks to the editors. https://albanypoets.com/2020/11/two-poems-strider-marcus-jones/#

Two Poems – Strider Marcus Jones

Posted by Albany Poets | Nov 18, 2020 | New Poetry

AFP PHOTO/Nicholas ROBERTS

The Ascent of Money

the stars are those
we have forgotten
both living and dead,
floating in clustered constellations
not labouring in rows-
with hair growing grey
and teeth going rotten
singing songs, God’s godless pray.
harvesting crops.
chants drowned in clocks
of tobacco and cotton,
the peasants and slaves of civilised nations
duped by liberty
in recent history-
dug out canals, made railways and roads
out of tarmac to tread-
into factories
like tribal junkies
hooked on cheap gin and beer instead
of joining the cholera’s watery dead-
ten to a room in a slum and lead-
like human batteries,
sleeping without moonlight
on sarsen stones,
or druid voices in their homes-
where thoughts have no dreams or flight,
just sleep, recharge, get bled.
you have to be poor,
to think utopia
can be something real-
not to exploit or steal
that ambrosia aura of women and children and men
for the spoken wages of despair-
that suck you in,
glad but grim
when times’ clock punches that card by the door
and mass myopia
conditions all to labour, keyboard and pen
for food and shelter with a roof and fourth wall
shanty made out of cardboard, wood and tin
in sunny Sao Paolo, where the samba rain leaks in
while orphaned children beg and play
eating the forage of capitalist waste
dodging death squads night and day
imitating Socrates at football to hope to taste
what’s inside the cold, glistening towers
casting invisible powers
behind the smoked glass and soldiers of stone
leaving blood and bleached bone
from over there-
where the ascent of money doesn’t care
about it all
because its infinity is small.

The Dance

pull the roof off
knock the walls down
touch the forest
climb those mountains
and smell the sea
again.

watch how life
decomposes
in death
going back to land
to reform and be reborn
as something and someone else.

there’s no great secret to it all.
no need to overthink it through

food and shelter
fire and shamens
clothes and coupling
used to be enough
with musicians
artists
and poets
interpreting the dance.

then warriors with armies
religions with god
and minds buying and selling
stole the landscape
and changed time.

smash the windows
break down the doors
melt the keys
rub evil words from their spells
and puncture the lungs of their wheels

before they kidnap you from bed
call you dissident
hold you without charge
wheel you out on a stretcher
from waterboard torture
for years
without trial
in Guantanamo Bay.

they are selling
the sanctuary
we made
with our numbers
bringing back chains
making some of us slaves
outside the dance
in the five coloured rings
making winners
and losers
holding flags and flames.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones

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 https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between forests, mountains, cities, and coasts playing his saxophone and clarinet in warm solitude.

His poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, India, and Switzerland in numerous publications including mgv2 Publishing Anthology; Dreich Magazine; Trouvaille Review; dyst Literary Journal; Impspired Magazine; Literary Yard e-Journal; Poppy Road Review; Cajun Mutt Press; Rusty Truck Magazine; Rye Whiskey Review; The Poet Magazine; 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; 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.

Really chuffed to have my poem Childhood Fires published in The Racket Journal. My thanks to wonderful editor Noah Sanders. A fantastic journal.

https://theracketsf.com/

file:///C:/Users/Strider/AppData/Local/Packages/microsoft.windowscommunicationsapps_8wekyb3d8bbwe/LocalState/Files/S0/8301/Attachments/JOURNAL%20NO.%2027%20%20FULL[12883].pdf

C h i l d h o o d F i r e s

S T R I D E R M A R C U S JONES


late afternoon
winter fingers
nomads in snow
numb knuckles and nails
on two boys
in scuffed shoes
and ripped coats
carrying four planks of wood
from condemned houses
down dark jitty’s
slipping on dog shit
into back yard
to make warm fires
early evening
dad cooking neck end stew
thick with potato dumplings and herbs
on top of bread soaked in gravy
i saw the hole in the ceiling
holding the foot that jumped off bunk beds
but dad didn’t mind
he had just sawed the knob

off the banister
to get an old wardrobe upstairs
and made us a longbow and cricket bat
it was fun being poor
like other families
after dark
all sat down reading and talking
in candle light
with parents
silent to each other
our sudden laughter like sparks
glowing and fading
dancing in flames and wood smoke
unlike the children who died in a fire next door
then we played cards
and i called my dad a cunt
for trumping my king
but he let me keep the word

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones

Really chuffed to have my poem Poets In The Backfield published in The Beatnik Cowboy. My thanks to brilliant editor Chris Butler.

https://beatnikcowboy.com/

Strider Marcus Jones

 ~ LEAVE A COMMENT

POETS IN THE BACKFIELD

Stay a while?
The subliminal cuts are coming through
These days of deadly boredom,
And poets in the backfield
Writing
Something
Interesting.

Hardy, would not like today,
Life’s become an angry play;
And our deoxyribonucleic acid
Carries no imagination,
That’s not already put there
By a rival TV station.

I can hear you saying,
Yes, but we have the right to choose:
A colour and a ball of string-
Or poets in the backfield
Writing
Something
Interesting.

You said:
“The Golden Bird eats Fish
In South America
And most of the peasants let him,
Because of Bolivar.”
Yet, millions starved in Gulag camps,
And Czechs cried fears when Russian tanks,
Thundered through their traumoid streets
Pretending not to be elite.
As one old soldier put it:
“The West and East preach different dreams,
But ride the same black limousines.”

Stay a while?
These sheets are cold
Without your sighing skin;
And this poet in the backfield
Is writing
Nothing
Interesting.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones from his second book Inside Out https://www.lulu.com/en/gb/shop/strider-marcus-jones/inside-out/paperback/product-1v85mddp.html

Delighted to have my two poems Broken Omnibus and Ethnicity Blends published in The Poet Magazine, AUTUMN 2020 Issue- Poetry on the theme of A NEW WORLD from poets around the world. My thanks to Editor Robin Barratt.

https://www.thepoetmagazine.org/autumn-2020—a-new-world

BROKEN OMNIBUS

in
out
about

another
day
of centrifugal

do
and
doubt

at home
in town
going down.

so out
the sun
like some

great
worshipped one
looks on

this
primitive
petri dish

thinking
back to the
beginning

one time
thinning
bliss

in opus
of ordinal
opulence-

such unfurled pus
unevenly spread
like jam on coronation crust

seduced by alchemy’s golden thread
to Mephistopheles sun splashed bed
but seeking exodus

with the Creator
back to nature
in broken omnibus.

ETHNICITY BLENDS

hear that rain
swell the brain
contagious

like a plain
Auschwitz train
outrageous

looking back, we did the same,
coming forward, we do it again,
ethnicity blends to save us.



Copyright Strider Marcus Jones from his second book Inside Out

SELECTED POEMS from INSIDE OUT by Strider Marcus Jones

Strider Marcus Jones's..Poem/Poetry Videos On YouTube
inside out back cover 2

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjnes1

http://www.wattpad.com/story/30815-15-poems-from-my-second-book-inside-out-by-strider





Chuffed to have my poem My Old Socks published in the October 2020 issue of Litterateur Redefining World. My thanks to the editors.

https://litterateurrw.com/#:~:text=Litterateur%20Redefining%20World%2C%20a%20monthly,to%20submissions%20throughout%20the%20year.

MY OLD SOCKS

my old socks
sheath the feet
that fill my boots
to walk on land.

hard hands, sweating like peat,
still break rocks
in imprisoned heat
born trapped roots
in dynasties of the damned.

the faded thread-
diminishes in duty until dead
while famous patterns
conceal what really happens-

their reasons behind closed doors
gain ignorant applause
for wars
and poverty

rising from floors
of serial
imperial
cruel pomposity.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones

Delighted to have 3 poems published in Impspired Magazine, Issue 7 on October 1st, 2020. My thanks to editor Steve Cawte on such a brilliant magazine.



HOT ROD
 
fast and furious
archangel in paint and chrome
brings me home-
purring megaphonious,
combusting with sav and sap
that i glimpse
peeking into warm grill chintz-
then she lifts her corset bonnet
and lets me touch her glinting bones
secreting home spun
pheromones
attracting, like moon and sun-
mysterious
and mnemonic
old senses,
fallow and fenced
soon become drenched
quiller and squirter
in that linguistic converter-
glow mapping,
overlapping,
slowly blown
in the metronome.
 
 
 
KNOTS IN STRINGS
 
so what
if knots
in strings
bring an end to things
that were.
 
i can undo her
tapestry
make it gone
and move what measures on
powers infinity.
 
found in mound and moat
elements made unmade
sink and float
convex and concave
dance a burning wave.
 
spiny gorse
not in bloom
sits inside a horse
to be taken in, rape from giving
creates a living tomb.

BLOOD AND VOW

the past plough

through this continuum

cannot be denied

and I am tied

to its dead

equilibrium

by blood and vow

once two backs

lips wide

whose broken thread

fooled polygraph tracks

even her eyes lied

as she did the devil’s dance

with chance and circumstance

mortal bribed

she was only doing

what other men do to women

so how could I not be forgiving

love is umbilical

and cynical

for all its miracle

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones

Delighted to have my sensual poem Fractals of Clarity published in Ramingos Porch online Magazine. My thanks to the editors.

https://ramingoblog.wordpress.com/2020/09/28/the-ramingos-porch-fractals-of-clarity-a-poem-by-strider-marcus-jones/

THE RAMINGO’S PORCH – “FRACTALS OF CLARITY” A POEM BY STRIDER MARCUS JONES

FRACTALS OF CLARITY

how can i forget
the way she sucks me
while she smokes my cigarette-
tongue strokes
tip pokes
softly round the rim
then deeper in.

the sensual symmetry
of close caressing
fondle messing
with her hair
and gentle bobbing of head
up-down-there,

so much love
i hold, in my hands
between my legs,
sliding out and in
rubbing circles round
the sea sound
collar of her quim.

we make self similarity
in fractals of clarity
lying back,
looking into each other
picking out stars in sky black
drapes that cover

what this does
to us.


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  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones from his fifth book Pomegranate Flesh

Poet with five published books. My books and poetry links: https://amazon.com/Mavericks-Mr-Strider-Marcus-Jones-ebook/dp/B00NLKPE3O/ref=sr_1_4?dchild=1&keywords=strider+marcus+jones&qid=1588612979&sr=8-4…

http://lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjones1…

https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com

https://wattpad.com/user/stridermarcusjones…

Really chuffed to have my poem Where Words Go published in Neuro Logical Literary Magazine. My thanks to the editors.

https://www.neurologicalliterarymagazine.com/post/where-words-go-mark-jones

Where words go – Strider Marcus Jones

I want to go

Where words go

After we say them

And settle on their receivers thought

To ease their mind if caught,

And warm their heart throughout.

I want to roam about

Where words hang out

When no one hears them,

And watch them enter someone else

Invisible with stealth

To make them hope or doubt.

I want to be a word

Profound or absurd

And be adopted or rejected.

Bio:

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  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.

Thrilled to have my poem Salted Slug published in the excellent online Rusty Truck Magazine. My thanks to editor Scot D Young.

SALTED SLUG

your words stung,
and hung
me upside down, inside out,
to watch you
swan turned shrew-
hairbrush out all memory and meaning,
from those fresco pictures on the wet plaster ceiling-
that my Michaelangelo took years to paint,
in glorious colours, now flaked and full of hate.

the lights of our plaeides went out,
with no new songs to sing and talk about-
suspended there
inside sobs of solitude and infinite despair-
like soluble syllables of barbiturates
in exhaust fumes of apology and regrets.

you left me prone-
to hear deaths symphony alone,
split and splattered, opened on the floor,
repenting for nothing, evermore-
like a salted slug,
curdled and curled up on the rug-
to melt away
while you spoon and my colours fade to grey.

the heart of truth-
intact in youth,
fractures into fronds of lies and trust,
destined to become a hollow husk-
but i found myself again in hopes congealing pools
and left the field of fools
to someone else-
and put her finished book back on its shelf.


Thrilled to have my poem Mirror, Mirror published in the wonderful Trouvaille Review on 11th July, 2020. My thanks to the editors.

https://www.trouvaillereview.org/home/mirror-mirror-by-strider-marcus-jones

Mirror, Mirror by Strider Marcus Jones

mirror, mirror,

in the hall

age comes to us all,

and looks wither

through the play

of years slipped away,

away

in the lapsed lingo of street

and road,

where tangents meet

and move with innocence

up summits of experience

told,

whose fruits we eat

then weep

when they implode.

these reflections

in this autumn of adventurous directions,

mean more

standing in the door

of ebb and flow

watching people come and go

wearing introspections

of what they know

after listening to a stranger’s small confessions

on midnight radio.

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  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between forests, mountains, cities and coasts playing his saxophone and clarinet in warm solitude.

Delighted to have four poems published in the excellent Dreich Magazine Issue 6, June 2020. My thanks to its inspired editor Jack Caradoc. Love my four contributor copies. Well worth submitting to. https://hybriddreich.co.uk/dreich-6/

THE SAMARITAN MACHINE

this field pond

is only my

dissolved

imagination-

thought drops

of summer rain

making fractal ripples

drumbeat on skin.

a portal shared

with cawing crows

reveals

who scams and snoops and shoots

in contract conversations.

this windsong

of Virginia Creeper,

ruling Bear and Wolfsbane

rustling in black bamboo

trusts its Samaritan Machine

telling it who to redact

in this imposed

dystopian

equilibrium

of dumbed-down masses

worshipping Carousel.

THE MAD HATTER HIDING IN DARK MATTER

in our house

i binned the radio

for playing Strauss-

left the suited rodeo

of casino Faust

and shot the gentry shooting grouse.

into the wild garden

without spun jargon

we went

through rusting arch of rose dissent

onto the precipice of peace

where slush borders grip and grease

like usurping techtonic plates

shapeshifting smaller states.

their innocents bombed and dispossessed

join our shoaled oppressed

of obedient possessed-

while The Mad Hatter

hiding in Dark Matter-

says blame them, instead of Strauss

in suits playing casino Faust

and enslaving gentry shooting grouse.

SUBMISSIVE IN SUB-HUMAN HERDS

everything

has its end

in its beginning-

so why pretend

expanding

to defeat-

we’ve made it bad

so just shag

with who you have

and eat.

never mind the fear

of being no one here

in the crowd-

the real nobody’s

are those somebody’s

grown large

in their mirage

and loud.

rise up. be true-

the land is green not blue

and they’ve stolen it from you

to shoot stags and birds

and ride over you with legal words

submissive in sub-human herds.

BOOTS OF HARLEY

this universe has no center

and you’re not there.

this sun is only sunny on the hood-

its light can’t bend more benter

to be fair

as time stops running rings in wood.

the floorboards creak

and pictures speak

when I stand in empty corners making room,

for ghosts that want to have my seat

when they come in from the street

after riding like Valhalla under sun and moon.

summer shoes,

with beards of barley

in their soley grooves-

still think they’re boots of Harley

on electro glide down highway avenues-

with a woman’s arms around my waist

singing Bob Marley

and promising me her taste.

foot down. legs braced-

rocking back the headboard on the bed and base

in the hanging of her breasts

where my head would rest,

her lips a vanished beauty of the past-

explode

unload

to this contrast-

that turns its empty pages in my head

unlit, as I lie in bed,

running out of Kerouac road-

i feel the beat

and go to sleep

with some more story told.

Really chuffed to have my erotic poem Telepathic Lotus published in 1870 Poetry Magazine. Thankye editor, Jack Henry. https://eighteenseventy.poetry.blog/2020/06/20/telepathic-lotus-by-strider-marcus-jones/

J H
telepathic lotus, by strider marcus jones
hot ride
in you,
quick quim
cum too,
shaft slide
deep wide,
grip him
veined blue.
deep throat
with smoke,
moans moat
invoke,
tongue like a limpet
on your moon-
crescent lit
syrup spoon.
rocked round your rim
four fingers in,
soft stroke
your high note
in drab dusk
and damp dawn-
through its musk
warm swarm.
boudoir-4669610_960_720

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  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.

Delighted to have five poems published in Strands Lit Sphere. My thanks to editor, Jose Varghese.

https://strandspublishers.weebly.com/lit-sphere/five-poems1238163


Five Poems6/10/20201 CommentPoetry ~ Strider Marcus Jones​ 

OVIRI ( The Savage – Paul Gauguin in Tahiti )
 
woman,
wearing the conscience of the world-
you make me want
less civilisation
and more meaning.
drinking absinthe together,
hand rolling and smoking cigars-
being is, what it really is-
fucking on palm leaves
under tropical rain.
beauty and syphilis happily cohabit,
painting your colours
on a parallel canvas
to exhibit in Paris
the paradox of you.
somewhere in your arms-
i forget my savage self,
inseminating womb
selected by pheromones
at the pace of evolution.
later. I vomited arsenic on the mountain and returned
to sup morphine. spread ointments on the sores, and ask:
where do we come from.
what are we.
where are we going.
~

IT’S SO QUIET
 
it’s so quiet
our eloquent words dying on a diet
of midnight toast
with Orwell’s ghost-
looking so tubercular in a tweed jacket
pencilling notes on a lung black cigarette packet-
our Winston, wronged for a woman and sin
re-wrote history on scrolls thought down tubes
that came to him
in the Ministry Of Truth Of Fools
where conscience learns to lie within.
not like today
the smug-sly haves say and look away
so sure
theres nothing wrong with wanting more,
or drown their sorrows
downing bootleg gin
knowing tomorrows
truth is paper thin
.
at home
in sensory
perception
with tapped and tracked phone
the Thought Police arrest me
in the corridors of affection-
where dictators wear, red then blue, reversible coats
in collapsing houses, all self-made
and self-paid
smarmy scrotes-
now the Round Table
of real red politics
is only fable
on the pyre of ghostly heretics.
they are rubbing out
all the contusions
and solitary doubt,
with confusions
and illusions
through wired media
defined in their secret encyclopedia-
where summit and boardroom and conclave
engineer us from birth to grave.
like the birds,
i will have to eat
the firethorn
berries that ripen but sleep
to keep
the words
of revolution
alive and warm
this winter, with resolution
gathering us, to its lantern in the bleak,
to be reborn and speak.
~

CHILDHOOD FIRES
 
late afternoon
winter fingers
nomads in snow
numb knuckles and nails
on two boys
in scuffed shoes
and ripped coats
carrying four planks of wood
from condemned houses
down dark jitty’s
slipping on dog shit
into back yard
to make warm fires
 
early evening
dad cooking neck end stew
thick with potato dumplings and herbs
on top of bread soaked in gravy
i saw the hole in the ceiling
holding the foot that jumped off bunk beds
but dad didnt mind
he had just sawed the knob
off the banister
to get an old wardrobe upstairs
and made us a longbow and cricket bat
it was fun being poor
like other families
 
after dark
all sat down reading and talking
in candle light
with parents
silent to each other
our sudden laughter like sparks
glowing and fading
dancing in flames and wood smoke
unlike the children who died in a fire next door
then we played cards
and i called my dad a cunt
for trumping my king
but he let me keep the word
~

WOODED WINDOWS
 
as this long life slowly goes
i find myself returning
to look through wooded windows.
forward or back, empires and regimes remain
in pyramids of power
butchering the blameless for glorious gain.
feudal soldiers firing guns
and wingless birds dropping smart bombs
on mothers, fathers, daughters, sons,
follow higher orders
to modernise older civilisations
repeating what history has taught us.
in turn, their towers of class and cash
will crumble and crash
on top of ozymandias.
hey now, woods of winter leafless grip
and fractures split
drawing us into it.
love slide in days
through summer heat waves
and old woodland ways
with us licking
then dripping
and sticking
chanting wiccan songs
embraced in pagan bonds
living light, loving long,
fingers painting runes on skin
back to the beginning
when freedom wasn’t sin.
~

IN THE COME AND GO, I MIND YOU

in the middle, where i find you,
i wriggle in behind you
all the way.

in the come and go, i mind you,
what we were is reconciled, you
let it stay.

this template, for being tender,
is our state to remember
into grey;

beyond the time of soil and ember,
into nothingness’s timbre-
be it, play.
~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  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between forests, mountains, cities and coasts playing his saxophone and clarinet in warm solitude. 
His poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, England, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, India and Switzerland in publications including The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine; The Galway Review; The Lonely Crowd Magazine.
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Delighted to have 2 poems in Impspired Magazine Volume Two. Thankye editor Steve Cawte. https://impspired.com/2020/06/04/strider-marcus-jones/

 Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate andex 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  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick playing his saxophone in warm solitude.

 His poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, England, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, India and Switzerland

TAKING OFF MY COAT

each evening
is like taking off my coat.
i sit down
apart from the day
and nothing happens.
i let silence sing
her supernatural note-
in the air, i drown
in how the lonely play
as reality slackens.
curdling in a chair
with arms of broken branches
that used to be
and went somewhere
in circumstance and chances-
now greying, like wild hair
at the end of all its dances
with the gravity
gone from its romances-
i feel time's weight
compress the emptiness of fate,
into some sort of nothing
that held my hand,
and left me something-
to understand.

ON TONQUIN BEACH

moods turn with seasons
shades and sounds;
thoughts walk through reasons
ups and downs.

come sit
by the fireside
close to me,
soft fit
and confide,
watch the sea-

splashing feet break blue water
on Tonquin beach,
tall firs fill a quarter
of sight and reach-

waves wash over shoreline,
a soothing sound,
combing thoughts from time
gives them ground
to mingle and mischief
the mind into mire,
like a selfish thief-
that plays with selfless desire.

Time speaks to his daughter
through this release,
while loves lore restores her
masked belief.

Inside Out by Strider Marcus Jones

https://inbetweenhangovers.wordpress.com/2016/09/02/inside-out-by-strider-marcus-jones/

Inside Out – Love Poem by Strider Marcus Jones

the soft scent
thought and taste,
inside out
of you,
is more meant
face to face,
formed out
of knowings new.

the when and wait
of it
phase and age can’t brown,
set to the fate of it
time ticks down,

softening temptations
lips to elevate
with elements of emotion,
whose vibrations
syncopate
when happenings motion-

a simple thread
of thought,
to leave its bed
and become caught,
in the welcomings you weave
that beckon and believe.

Strider Marcus Jones
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 http//www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusj…. reveal a maverick moving between forests, mountains, cities and coasts playing his saxophone and clarinet in warm solitude. His poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, England, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, India and Switzerland in numerous publications.

Just started submitting poems again after a two year break. This is the perfect home for one of my favourite poems. Thankye to all at The Rye Whiskey Review. https://ryethewhiskeyreview.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-head-in-his-fedora-hat-by-strider.html?showComment=1588086353064#c6562627403360076815

Tuesday, April 28, 2020

THE HEAD IN HIS FEDORA HAT by Strider Marcus Jones

a lonely man,
cigarette,
rain
and music
is a poem
moving,
not knowing-
a caravan,
whose journey does not expect
to go back
and explain
how everyone’s ruts
have the same
blood and vein.

the head in his fedora hat
bows to no one’s grip,
brim tilted into the borderless
plain
so his outlaw wit
can confess
and remain
a storyteller,
that hobo fella
listening like a barfly
for a while
and slow-winged butterfly
whose smile
they can’t close the shutters on
or stop talking about
when he walks out
and is gone.

whisky and tequila
and a woman, who loves to feel ya
inside
and outside
her
when ya move
and live as one,
brings you closer
in simplistic
unmaterialistic
grooved
muse Babylon.

this is so,
when he stands with hopes head,
arms and legs
all aflow
in her Galadriel glow
with mithril breath kisses
condensing sensed wishes
of reality and dream
felt and seen
under that
fedora hat
inhaling smoke
as he sang and spoke
stranger fella
storyteller.

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  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between forests, mountains, cities and coasts playing his saxophone and clarinet in warm solitude.
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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THE KEEPER – Love Poem from Inside Out by Strider Marcus Jones

THE KEEPER

you warm the bone in me,
pump blood through stone in me,
pluck strings unknown in me-
whose notes dissolve the screams
of ghosts that blacken dreams.

proud pictures of the past,
fall out of photographs-
some fade, but others last-
and we become the present in their place-
vibrating beads on strings of symmetry in space.

unravel in my head-
fuse fact and fiction with your timbre thread,
more than moves in blankets on tomorrows bed,
wet with cum and joyful tears-
the keeper, not the tenant of my years.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 2009. INSIDE OUT. All Rights Reserved.

SELECTED POEMS from INSIDE OUT by Strider Marcus Jones

Strider Marcus Jones's..Poem/Poetry Videos On YouTube
inside out back cover 2

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjnes1

http://www.wattpad.com/story/30815-15-poems-from-my-second-book-inside-out-by-strider

CALCULUS – SELECTED POEMS from INSIDE OUT by Strider Marcus Jones

CALCULUS

Darwin can’t explain the missing link,
and science, did not invent the goal
of faith in how we think-
but Newton keeps us
sane to find the whole
gravity and reason for our role-
in calculus.

science beyond ours does exist,
in un-deciphered hieroglyphs
and alchemy’s of metals
malleable like petals
on spaceships
crashed in Roswell, gone
to Area 51.

like Dedalus, who prayed too good
through Dublin’s streets
of saints and sinners,
while whores exchanged their treats
for cash, from winners and beginners-
i walked towards the priesthood,
but woke up wet with wood.

i realised, Carlisle was right in saying:
no lie can live forever-
that the Gods we make together 
praying-
don’t care or intervene
in human fate and actions-
so Spinoza’s God is seen,

in the orderly reactions
of the universe-
creating life, and waiting hearse-
but metaphors of doubt persist
on the road to armageddon,
for if physics shapes all of this-
what shapes these cloths of heaven?

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones INSIDE OUT 2009. All Rights Reserved.

SELECTED POEMS from INSIDE OUT by Strider Marcus Jones

Strider Marcus Jones's..Poem/Poetry Videos On YouTube
inside out back cover 2

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjnes1

http://www.wattpad.com/story/30815-15-poems-from-my-second-book-inside-out-by-strider

THIS NOW MY THOUGHTS – Love Poem from WOODED WINDOWS by Strider Marcus Jones

THIS NOW MY THOUGHTS

this now my thoughts

open at the image of your name

won’t be revealing

the secrets they explain-

do you do the same

on these out walks

remembering the rain

drop fractals on us feeling.

back we go again,

without preachers

or bad teachers,

harvest high with hope

just us and frayed strands

of poetry and bands

on this bridge of notes

our mind spans.

in give we’ve got

the bloom of this plot

in garden to river

shaping start and stop

the melting clock

of body quake then quiver

through the Dreamtime day night

and soul spirit lit by landscape light.

we climb the Orange Rock

to revert back far

but have no Gaelic croft

to live in who we are.

it has changed hands

until the purpose of these lands

shoots dissenting music out of birds

and sucks all truth from ancient words

so existence is

another language.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones from his book WOODED WINDOWS. 2011. All Rights Reserved.

WOODED WINDOWS by Strider Marcus Jones

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjones1%5B/embed%5D

http://www.wattpad.com/story/1031729-14-poems-from-wooded-windows-by-strider-marcus%5B/embed%5D

EXISTENTIAL SYMPHONY – Love Poem by Strider Marcus Jones from WOODED WINDOWS

EXISTENTIAL SYMPHONY

the sensual awakenings

and moist warmings

of coupled mornings

when you lie down on your back

and i drink you

like sweet water from my hat-

but more than this, you

mean more to me than that-

the mind glue

undersaid

is moresaid

because the mass and volume

spills out of these conventional rooms

we shed-

it never doubts

that all within us, is ours without

the frills

of impossible possessions

that fills

love and bares it’s confessions.

i is flip flapped

and tongue smacked

by the time lapsed

music of your words

that sing and fly

low and high

like tantric birds.

sex me your beauty boolie boobs

to way with

and your pouty southy mouth

that loves to give

me head in all your moods-

that ice in long vermouth

and sober drunken truths

of ageless youth.

i have taken

each note

of your existential symphony

inside me

but not forsaken

the infinite strings of marxist hope,

where individuality

can still be

individual

and not residual,

unlivable

bonds that broke

when alienation spoke.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones from his book WOODED WINDOWS. 2011. All Rights Reserved.

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http://www.wattpad.com/story/1031729-14-poems-from-wooded-windows-by-strider-marcus%5B/embed%5D

IN MAID’S WATER – Love Poem by Strider Marcus Jones from Pomegranate Flesh

IN MAID’S WATER

we’ve left the well-footed

road,

the rutted

and rebutted

road

of shadows cast

by towered glass.

opened closed curtains

for fusty moths,

chanted white spells with Wiccan’s

goths;

left pictured

rooms and halls-

become un-scriptured

hills and squalls-

in maid’s water

pouring down her

erect chalk man,

like a wild gypsy,

love tipsy

partisan,

smelling of cinnabar

and his cigar,

swirling

like whirling

clouds

while the changed wind howls.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones 2012. From his book Pomegranate Flesh. All Rights Reserved.

In Maid’s Water is also published in issue 5 of Catweazle magazine …http://catweazleclub.com/?page_id=484

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjones1

http://www.wattpad.com/story/1880383-40-poems-from-pomegranate-flesh-by-strider-marcus

THE WORD LOVE – Love Poem from ASPECTS OF LOVE by Strider Marcus Jones

POETRY SOCIETY JPEG BOOK COVER FOR POETRY SOCIETY MEMBER BOOK SHELF

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THE WORD LOVE

if i could take
the word love,
and give to it
the sound of how
you speak,
then look inside
its shell
and find you-
living out the years
like you belong:

i would wear
its shape and substance
in the shadow
of myself,
and hold it in my
empty hand
to not feel so alone-
then raise it to
my lips and taste
its phrase and something more-

as i head home,
along that rutted road
of fallow fields
and ancient tracks,
through what was, and is now,
and might become-
while posing pines,
stand and hang in quiet air
absorbing spoken thoughts
like silent sentinels.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. ASPECTS OF LOVE. 2009. All Rights Reserved.

NINETY NINE PERCENT IN TENTS from WOODED WINDOWS by Strider Marcus Jones

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http://www.wattpad.com/story/1031729-14-poems-from-wooded-windows-by-strider-marcus%5B/embed%5D

NINETY NINE PERCENT IN TENTS

in the compound of this room

we make our tent

with revolution’s loom

knitting a firmament

that challenges corrupt times

with solemn slogans

to plutarch totems

simply marked on cardboard signs.

resistance kindles in the dark

and breathes new poetry and art

like a cultural tsunami

elites can’t beat with armies.

these sincere spears

of human spheres

stand soft spoken,

peaceful, but not broken

like disciples in fabric domes

chanting social justice tomes

while Jesus circles existential

throwing speculators from the temple.

we don’t need money in our tent

to make each other feel so spent-

only the sea shore, forest and mountains

to trickle streams and spurt fountains,

unlocking love when the cradle rocks

the secret rhythm of intimate clocks.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 4th November, 2011. All Rights Reserved.

Peter Brook’s The Mahabharata

Peter Brook’s original 1985 stage play “The Mahabharata” was 9 hours long, and toured around the world for four years. In 1989, it was reduced to under 6 hours for television. The Mahabharata is one of the two major Sanskrit epics of ancient India, the other being the Ramayana. Traditionally, the authorship of the Mahabharata is attributed to Vyasa. Without being directly related to them, the Mahabharata derives many of its philosophical concepts from the Vedas. The Mahabharata tells of Prince Arjuna and his four brothers Yudhishthira, Bhima and the twins Nakula and Sahadeva, all married to the same woman, Draupadi. They are known as the Pandavas, the sons of Pandu, who was king of Hastinapur in North India and himself the son of Ambalika and Vyasa. After the death of their father, the Pandavas grow up at the court of their uncle, the blind King Dhritarashtra, who has become the new ruler. There is always great rivalry between the Pandavas and the Kauravas, the one hundred sons of Dhritarashtra. Eventually the old king gives his nephews some land of their own but his eldest son, Duryodhana is jealous of their success. He challenges Yudhisthira, the eldest Pandava, to a game of dice in which he loses everything. The Pandavas are then forced to surrender their land and go into exile for thirteen years. On their return, the old king is unable to persuade his son Duryodhana to restore their heritage, and in spite of efforts at reconciliation by Sanjaya, Dhritarashtra’s charioteer; by Bheeshma, his wise counselor; and even by Lord Krishna himself, war cannot be averted. The rival hosts face each other on the field of Kurukshetra. When Prince Arjuna surveys the battlefield, he is overwhelmed with sorrow at the futility of war and it is at this point that The Bhagavad Gita, the “Song of the Lord,” begins. The teachings of The Bhagavad Gita (https://spaceandai.com/project/the-ba…) are spoken by the divine Lord Krishna, who is acting as the prince’s charioteer. They are overheard by Sanjaya and reported back to King Dhritarashtra. When Krishna has finished speaking to Arjuna, the two armies engage. The battle lasts eighteen days and by the end of it nearly all of the warriors on both sides are dead save Krishna and the five Pandavas. The Mahabharata – Channel Four Television, the Brooklyn Academy of Music, Les Productions du 3ème Etage; produced by Michel Propper; directed by Peter Brook B.R. Copra’s Mahabharat (English subtitles) https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list… The Ancients: Vyasa and The Mahabharata by Wes Cecil https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wIQ_… Genetics and the Origin of Ancient Indian Civilization https://spaceandai.com/project/geneti…

SELECTED POEMS from INSIDE OUT by Strider Marcus Jones

https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/selected-poems-from-inside-out-by-strider-marcus-jones/

VELVET TANGERINE 

i was drinking tea with Dali 
in an underworld cafe, 
arguing down his table 
on General Franco’s hand- 
when The Persistence Of Memory 
that melts my pocket watch 
made time less rigid- 
so i fell with names and numbers 
into old obsidian dreams- 
where your long legs pointed 
from six to twelve, 
then nine to three 
when you bent them- 
for me to play and pleasure 
each exotic segment 
of your velvet tangerine. 
Dali left the table 
to meet Picasso in Paris, 
while my benzedrine mind replaced- 
the soft and spent infinity of your face. 

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones INSIDE OUT 2009. All Rights Reserved.

Strider Marcus Jones's..Poem/Poetry Videos On YouTube
inside out back cover 2

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjnes1

http://www.wattpad.com/story/30815-15-poems-from-my-second-book-inside-out-by-strider

BOOTS OF HARLEY ~ Poem By Strider Marcus Jones from Book Wooded Windows

https://www.wattpad.com/3559761-14-poems-from-wooded-windows-by-strider-marcus

BOOTS OF HARLEY

this universe has no center

and you’re not there.

this sun is only sunny on the hood-

its light can’t bend more benter

to be fair

as time stops running rings in wood.

the floorboards creak

and pictures speak

when I stand in empty corners making room,

for ghosts that want to have my seat

when they come in from the street

after riding like Valhalla under sun and moon.

summer shoes,

with beards of barley

in their soley grooves-

still think they’re boots of Harley

on electro glide down highway avenues-

with a woman’s arms around my waist

singing Bob Marley

and promising me her taste.

foot down. legs braced-

rocking back the headboard on the bed and base

in the hanging of her breasts

where my head would rest,

her lips a vanished beauty of the past-

explode

unload

to this contrast-

that turns its empty pages in my head

unlit, as I lie in bed,

running out of Kerouac road-

i feel the beat

and go to sleep

with some more story told.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 14th November, 2010. Copyright And All Rights Reserved.

LOVE IS STRIPPED TO SHARING BREAD ~ Poem By Strider Marcus Jones

https://www.wattpad.com/3559608-14-poems-from-wooded-windows-by-strider-marcus

LOVE IS STRIPPED TO SHARING BREAD

we were kissing

and dancing

to a kitchen song,

talking with our wine

and smoking bong;

then you pushed your pierced pin

of forged fire

further in

the groove of my desire

with your tongue.

later,

up the creaking wooden escalator-

“let me do you” i said

peeling back your petals

with my voice:

love is stripped to sharing bread

abroad-in plain rooms-where Nora and Joyce

reject precious metals.

it brings to craggy green cliffs

that STILL talk-

of two minds, in the sea born mist

of one thought-

why should four legs walk

under clouds adrift.

glum damp rock moss cups

when we go to ground

under body musk

and pagan sound-

the meaning of the hour

when lit lusts flower

fills the air

everywhere

at last

and the future does not imitate the past.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 26th May, 2011. All Rights Reserved.

 

THE HEAD IN HIS FEDORA HAT by Strider Marcus Jones

https://www.wattpad.com/8500065-40-poems-from-pomegranate-flesh-by-strider-marcus

THE HEAD IN HIS FEDORA HAT

a lonely man,

cigarette,

rain

and music

is a poem

moving,

not knowing-

a caravan,

whose journey does not expect

to go back

and explain

how everyone’s ruts

have the same

blood and vein.

the head in his fedora hat

bows to no one’s grip,

brim tilted into the borderless

plain

so his outlaw wit

can confess

and remain

a storyteller,

that hobo fella

listening like a barfly

for a while

and slow-winged butterfly

whose smile

they can’t close the shutters on

or stop talking about

when he walks out

and is gone.

whisky and tequila

and a woman, who loves to feel ya

inside

and outside

her

when ya move

and live as one,

brings you closer

in simplistic

unmaterialistic

grooved

muse Babylon.

this is so,

when he stands with hopes head,

arms and legs

all aflow

in her Galadriel glow

with mithril breath kisses

condensing sensed wishes

of reality and dream

felt and seen

under that

fedora hat

inhaling smoke

as he sang and spoke

stranger fella

storyteller.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones, October 2012 from his book POMEGRANATE FLESH www.lulu.com All Rights Reserved.

IN THE TALK OF MY TOBACCO SMOKE – New Pagan Poem by Strider Marcus Jones

https://www.wattpad.com/32606740-40-poems-from-pomegranate-flesh-by-strider-marcus

IN THE TALK OF MY TOBACCO SMOKE

i have disconnected self

from the wire of the world

retreated to this unmade croft

of wild grass and savage stone

moored mountains

set in sea

blue black green grey

dyed all the colours of my mood

and liquid language-

to climb rocks

instead of rungs

living with them

moving around their settlements

of revolutionary random place

for simple solitary glory.

i am reduced again

to elements and matter

that barter her body for food

teasing and turning

her flesh to take words and plough.

rapid rain

slaps the skin

on honest hands

strongly gentle

while sowing seeds

the way i touch my lover

in the talk of my tobacco smoke:

now she knows

she tastes

like all the drops

of my dreams

falling on the forest

of our Lothlorien.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones 2012. From his book Pomegranate Flesh. All Rights Reserved.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/strider-marcus-jones/pomegranate-flesh/paperback/product-20444424.html

HE PLAYS HIS FLAMENCO GUITAR~Love Poem by Strider Marcus Jones 63K 317 92

https://www.wattpad.com/6539872-40-poems-from-pomegranate-flesh-by-strider-marcus

HE PLAYS HIS FLAMENCO GUITAR

he plays his flamenco guitar

knowing who you are,

seducing his singer

to bring her

from bleak harbour masts

to his contrasts.

he knows the equations

of her close flirtations

and doesn’t judge her glances

for wanting what romance is-

vibrating in voices and strings

of fornicating feelings.

her prose photosynthesis

illuminates his

shades that colour mountains

and drops of wishes in mosaic fountains-

she loves the Picasso from his pen

and horse smell like Andalucian men

her reversed body senses

inside his defences-

as her sea wind

billows in his revealing

Avalon through the mist,

sweet loved, firm kissed.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones, 11th October 2010. All Rights Reserved.

Wooded Windows by Strider Marcus Jones (Goodreads Author) it was amazing 5.00 · Rating details · 6 ratings · 3 reviews

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15762164-wooded-windows

Read 14/75 poems and reviews from this book free on wattpad http://www.wattpad.com/story/1031729-…

The poems in this book reflect on my journey through life, love, the Arab Spring and Occupy Movement. As a socialist and one of the 99%, this book is about love, social revolution and the
eternal struggle for equality and justice. In these poems, I look into and out of the wooded windows of the past, present and future and become romantic and erotic, political and spiritual. I am a pagan peasant in this poverty and paradise, chained to the same land in serfdom, but trying to climb the tree of life and reach the branches of freedom.

GET A COPY

Paperback, First Edition, 162 pages

Mavericks: Love & Other Poesms Kindle Edition by Mr Strider Marcus Jones (Author)

Essentially, these poems are about Man and Woman and Love. Romantic and sometimes intimate, they leave their own footsteps in the rural and industrial landscape of today which resonate our profound need to love and be loved, a need that transcends all attempts to homogenise us into one cultural identity. In these poems romance, chivalry and passion come to life. The Ranger’s mind enjoys its exile in the golden forest of Lothlorien wandering through the Pre Raphaelite images. His mythical and mystical ideals, fuse with our thirst for realism and the alienation of pod life in this matrix of Metropolis. Love is more than a singles bar at the end of a hard working week. It is real and tangible, and like life, it makes mistakes. In these poems of love remembered, love now and love to be, exile ends and life begins again.. Strider

WOODED WINDOWS by Strider Marcus Jones ~ Book ~ Poetry

  Image

Wooded Windows

Paperback, 162 Pages
    
The poems in this book reflect on my journey through life, love, the Arab Spring and Occupy Movement. As a socialist and one of the 99%, this book is about love, social revolution and the eternal struggle for equality and justice. In these poems, I look into and out of the wooded windows of the past, present and future and become romantic and erotic, political and spiritual. I am a pagan peasant in this poverty and paradise, chained to the same land in serfdom, but trying to climb the tree of life and reach the branches of freedom.

POMEGRANATE FLESH by Strider Marcus Jones ~ Book Poetry

http://www.lulu.com/shop/strider-marcus-jones/pomegranate-flesh/paperback/product-20444424.html

POMEGRANATE FLESH

Paperback, 128 Pages
    
IN THIS BOOK
i’ve set so many fires
in the deepest desires
on this road
and am close to what they hold-
the most for human love
and equal revolution
without the bloody fist and glove
of brutal evolution.
see, how the gold cartel caravan
and religions in corrupt polarity
have usurped the pagan
shrines of all humanity-
making us serfs again
in unframed Lothlorien,
in chains that were strings,
ciliced by mortifications mesh,
while our mind and limbs
long for love’s pomegranate flesh.
Strider Marcus Jones
 
“The Poems in this collection show Strider’s gift of being able to weave words into creative and surprising configurations. He manipulates words to do his will, taming them with his love for the sounds, rhythms and cadence of language. The result is poetry that is fresh, wild, sensual, and new. His poetry lulls the reader into hypnotic and sensual trances with imaginative renderings of lush landscapes of the mind, body, and nature. Pomegranate Flesh is a wonderful compilation of poems, resonating with a Poet’s passion for life, love, and language.”
By Connie Calomeni
Front cover photograph designed by Lauretta Pearson

Books are available at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjones1

©Strider Marcus Jones

MAVERICKS by Strider Marcus Jones ~ Book Poetry

MAVERICKS FRONT COVER FOR WATTPAD JPEG   FBE3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Essentially, these poems are about Man and Woman and Love. Romantic and sometimes intimate, they leave their own footsteps in the rural and industrial landscape of today which resonate our profound need to love and be loved, a need that transcends all attempts to homogenise us into one cultural identity. In these poems romance, chivalry and passion come to life. The Ranger’s mind enjoys its exile in the golden forest of Lothlorien wandering through the Pre Raphaelite images. His mythical and mystical ideals, fuse with our thirst for realism and the alienation of pod life in this matrix of Metropolis. Love is more than a singles bar at the end of a hard working week. It is real and tangible, and like life, it makes mistakes. In these poems of love remembered, love now and love to be, exile ends and life begins again.. ~ Strider ~

MAVERICKS (book)

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/mavericks/5524020?showPreview

Books are available at http://www.lulu.com Strider Marcus Jones Poetry Books.

©Strider Marcus Jones
 
 

 

INSIDE OUT by Strider Marcus Jones ~ Book Poetry

Strider Marcus Jones's..Poem/Poetry Videos On YouTube

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In these poems about love, life and human conflict, the world is seen from the Inside Out. We are mortal beads, acting on the strings of time. In moments of epiphany, all becomes transparent. Dublin’s likeable whores, swap wisdom’s with old philosophers, while poems about the Cold War, Gaza, CND and life question our spirituality with whispers from Shamen and the Sacred Feminine. Heroes, like JFK, Martin Luther King, Lenin and Che, meet death too soon and find their truths have been betrayed by a society which is now too compounded and complex, but they left us seeds of hope to use, if we don’t destroy their infant shoots. The Love poems here, are always romantic and real and sometimes erotic and mystical.They hold everything together with their gentle glueing of emotions. Each thought becomes a grain of sand, that joins its brothers and sisters on the beach, so the whole, makes us what we are, while the tides of time, take us where we are going..Strider.
Books are available http://www.lulu.com Strider Marcus Jones Poetry Books.

©Strider Marcus Jones