Delighted to have my poem – Love is Stripped to Sharing Bread published in Dreich Magazine’s superb Summer Anywhere anthology. Good to be with many of my favourite poets. Thank you to brilliant editor Jack Caradoc. .

Summer Anywhere anthology from @Dreich25197318. Grab a copy here: http://bit.ly/3BVJxUS

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 future does not imitate the past. 

Strider Marcus Jones

Delighted to have 2 poems – Salted Slug and Ever After Tomorrow published in Dreich Magazine’s themed chapbook Afterwards. Thank you to brilliant editor Jack Caradoc. .

https://hybriddreich.co.uk/dreich-themes/

.

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.

EVER AFTER TOMORROW

throw all your dreams
in a bottle of river-
so they can sink
and drag you down slow;
pick out their seams,
make them gone from the giver-
over the brink,
but dont let it show.
drowning, just drink-
you’re a spectral forgiver,
shades have the means
to laugh at each blow-
life is to think,
it is for the beginner,
but less than it seems
ever after tomorrow-
the cover of sleep screams
awake and gives her
love with body, scribed with ink
inside a rainbow.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones




.

.

Thrilled to have my poem Life Is Flamenco published on Poetry in Surrey Libraries blog on 17th January, 2021. My thanks to editors J M. Gale and Neil Richards.

https://npdsurrey.wordpress.com/2021/01/17/life-is-flamenco-by-strider-marcus-jones/

LIFE IS FLAMENCO by Strider Marcus Jones

Posted on January 17, 2021 by jmgale

Image by Lenny21 from Pixabay 

why can’t i walk as far
and smoke more tobacco,
or play my spanish guitar
like Paco,
putting rhythms and feelings
without old ceilings
you’ve never heard
before in a word.

life is flamenco,
to come and go
high and low
fast and slow-

she loves him,
he loves her
and their shades within
caress and spur
in a ride and dance
of tempestuous romance.

outback, in Andalucien ease,
i embrace you, like melted breeze
amongst ripe olive trees-
dark and different,
all manly scent
and mind unkempt.

like i do,
Picasso knew
everything about you
when he drew
your elongated arms and legs
around me, in this perpetual bed
of emotion
and motion
for these soft geometric angles
in my finger strokes
and exhaled smokes
of rhythmic bangles
to circle colour your Celtic skin
with primitive phthalo blue
pigment in wiccan tattoo
before entering
vibrating wings
through thrumming strings
of wild lucid moments
in eternal components.

i can walk as far
and smoke more tobacco,
and play my spanish guitar
like Paco.


Copyright 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. 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 3 poems published in Impspired Magazine, Issue 9 on 1st February, 2021 along with some great poets. My thanks to brilliant editor Steve Cawte on this amazing magazine.

SUMMER WIND

 you remind me of the rhythms in myself-
 no house to play to
 or the sound in someone else-
 that drives their dreams
 in simple scenes.
 
 your music, is the motion of the waves
 soul troubled too-
 by yesterdays,
 searching for a sigh that isn’t wrong
 to be its song.
 
 your meadow, is a harvest shimmering
 in light and hue,
 in summer wind,
 waiting, for a stranger passing through-
 to settle in its simmering.
 
 taste the rain
 and take it in you,
 long for it to come again-
 meanings grow when fates continue
 to reach for reasons, and remain.
 

WHEN THE ROAD FORKS

 soft scented ring
 on straightened bow,
 the joy you bring
 inside me now-
 
 the candle burning, slowly down,
 the mirror showing more of you-
 arched back and shoulders golden brown,
 hips rock, hair tumbling too-
 
 as hope and passion rise and fall
 in symmetry and space,
 the perfect beauty of it all,
 enraptures face and place-
 
 and be it now, or beyond this,
 with gentle hands and loves soft kiss-
 to trace your smile and touch your thoughts,
 still, after this, when the road forks.
 

ADUMBRATE LOVES SHALLOWS

 goddess of the moon
 fusion of light and shadow,
 come now, light my room-
 make darkness shrink and narrow.
 
 gravitate to me
 awake inside un-natural light,
 half written, half unknown i be
 eclipsed in doubt, but inward bright.
 
 bring your blooms to this fallow bed
 alone in fates sad stare,
 wrap me in your ethereal thread,
 to reset time and covet care.
 
 adumbrate loves shallows
 in my sanctum core,
 where the pastels fade and pallow
 without depth and shade on dwindling shore.

Copyright 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. 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, 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.
 
 

Lovely to have my poem Composers and Mistakes published in Nymphs Literary Journal on January 4th, 2020. My thanks to editor Julia Retkova.

https://nymphspublications.com/new-blog/composers-and-mistakes-by-strider-marcus-jones

NymphsPUBLICATIONSABOUTSUBMISSIONS

‘Composers and Mistakes’ by Strider Marcus Jones

when I see the evening,

with it’s ordinary sounds and shapes

so full of unbelieving

composers and mistakes

coming in-

something wakes,

and I begin.

what I can’t affect

is getting colder

as I grow older,

retreating inside-

I could be your wreck

if I was bolder

and called you over,

over this side-

through the honeysuckle arch of midnight,

moon like a lid bright

shield in the sky;

on the grass

where footsteps last

in this light-

making a cast

where you walked by.


665272_10151223197318189_405679816_o (1).jpg
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.

January 4, 2021

Thrilled to have my poem ‘I Want What Ordinary Others Want’ Published in dyst Literary Journal Issue 4 in December 2020. My thanks to editor Rosey Ravelston.

I WANT WHAT ORDINARY OTHERS WANT

i want

what others want-

synchronicity

and simplicity

in life of free will-

sharing some land

i can work with my hands

no more slave still-

time trapped.

lines tapped.

steps tagged.

voice gagged.

this elite mafia

of Orwell and Kafka

has built Metropolis

on old Acropolis-

reducing proles

to zombie roles

in constitutions

of constructed evolutions,

with blood to dust faiths

riding like dark wraiths

bullets shredding

bombing and beheading

the innocents

and dissidents

to steal their lot

and not share what you’ve got.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. All Rights Reserved.

Delighted to have 3 poems published in Dreich Magazine Extra 2 ‘Winter’ edition in December 2020. My thanks to editor Jack Caradoc.

THE PATH, THE FENCE, THE FIELDS

we walk by the river
talking inside ourselves,
like rhapsodies in two reflections-
different, but the same.

the path, the fence, the fields-
unknown obstacles that stare
through then, and now, beyond-
have heard love chime before.

ahead the river breaks
going separate ways,
but we stick to the same side
in the willow woods

and farms of flooded fields-
with ascension stroking
each reaction
phosphorous in the rain.

SO IT GOES


when i look back
in a moment
of quiet acquired dignity
that comes to some
with age,
it is with patience,
for i was much the same
when everything seemed bigger
than it was
as uncertainty
wore the other shoe to confidence
and followed it step for step.

the energy of youth
that often acts
without respect and understanding-
to bluff and blag its way
in fashion and musical rebellion-
skips like stones
on the ponds of those who have it all
from Parliaments revolution-
but their ripples wane
through treacled trends
in this dumbed down democracy
soothed by drugs and drink.

apathy watches and laughs
at these new roundheads and royals-
jigging their booty
to tunes composed
by capitalist cavaliers-
wearing each despotic Emperor’s new clothes,
and a known assassins kiss of death
waits for anyone who questions-

so it goes.

MEPHISTOPHELES IS NOT ABOUT

this coffee is hot-

but paradise is cold,

and Mephistopheles is not

about, tempting me with gold

and pouting pleasures of the flesh

with their alluring mesh-

so Morpheus to hold

in broken secrets being told.

this dreamer in his underwear,

parts from the bottle, and leaves it there-

some touched,

not much

with stale camembert-

no fun alone,

moving around inside, unknown-

disturbed from bed to chair.

it synchronizes well,

how past and present both compel

a sleep on understanding-

the beat of love with sand in

the texture of its taste,

trapped in silence,

waxed to waste-

with nothings nonsense

in its face.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. All Rights Reserved.

Delighted to have my poem Minds and Musk published in The Open Culture Collective Volume 2 – Identity. My thanks to the editors.

https://toccollective.wixsite.com/tocc/identity-tocc-download

Minds and Musk

poem by Strider Marcus Jones

so now
we both came
to this same
branch and bough-
no one else commutes
from different roots.
me carrying Celtic stones
with runes on skin over bones-
and you, in streams
on evicted land
trashed ancients panned-
our truth dreams
under star light crossing beams.
in here, there is no mask
of present building out the past
with gilded Shard’s of steel and glass
shutting out who shall not pass.
the tree of life breathes
a rebel destiny believes-
we are minds and musk
no more husks and dust.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. All Rights Reserved.

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 can be viewed at https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/

Delighted to have my poem Old Flowers published in Poppy Road Review (May 22nd, 2020)from my book Wooded Windows. https://poppyroadreview.blogspot.com/2020/05/old-flowers-by-strider-marcus-jones.html

OLD FLOWERS

old flowers

bloom in the after hours

trailing scent-

and their words still drawn

fill the night and dawn

the way they went.

new to ours,

coffee shops and church clock towers

remember those times spent

in warm

touchings born

out of movement.

tempting rain showers

in silent bane’s empty hours

shuffle and lament-

the thoughts swarm

and mind-bed warm

coupling of consent.

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 playing his saxophone in warm solitude. 

https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ 

Delighted to have 3 of my poems published in The Poet Magazine, Summer 2020 Anthology: On The Road Volume 2. My thanks to editor Robin Barratt and congratulations to all the other fine poets featured in this excellent anthology.

https://www.thepoetmagazine.org/our-collections

VISIGOTH ROVER


i went on the bus to Cordoba,
and tried to find the Moor’s
left over
in their excavated floors
and mosaic courtyards,
with hanging flowers brightly chamelion
against whitewashed walls
carrying calls
behind gated iron barsbut they were gone
leaving mosque arches
and carved stories
to God’s doors.
in those ancient streets
where everybody meets;
i saw the old successful men
with their younger women again,
sat in chrome slat chairs,
drinking coffee to cover
their vain love affairsand every breast,
was like the crest
of a soft ridge
as i peeped over
the castle wall and Roman bridge
like a Visigoth rover.
soft hand tapping on shoulder,
heavy hair
and beauty older,
the gypsy lady gave her clover
to borrowed breath,
embroidering it for death,
adding more to less
like the colours fading in her dress.
time and tune are too planned
to understand
her Trevi fountain of prediction,
or the dirty Bernini hand
shaping its description.


BOOTS OF HARLEY


this universe has no centre
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.


WORDING WITH A WISE OLD SHAMAN


i danced around the monolith
on the dark side of the moon –
and waited for the face to speak on Mars:
there was no one in on earth to share it with
in the gloomthey were going round in circles in their cars.
hiking out in Arizona.
sleeping underneath the stars;
got wording with a wise old shaman in a bar –
and he said: ‘we have lost who we are.’
who we are, and where we come from.
what to do, and where to go –
unite the crystal skulls of wisdom
for knowledge that we used to know.
back inside my human body,
all things here are still the same –
time to smoke and drink some coffee,
then a walk in the rain –
before I glide the astral plaine.

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.

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.

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.

– April 28, 2020Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest

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

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.

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

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

Love Poem-Eight Treasures Of Simple Pleasures by Strider Marcus Jones. Copyright Reserved..wmv

A sensual love poem about being yourself and not what others try to make you.

EIGHT TREASURES OF SIMPLE PLEASURES

a sensual spoken

strawberry cut open

thought

brought

me to your secret place

with my face.

in the altered mirage

that history presents,

your even visage

and words have sounds and scents

that repair

the despair

and remake vanity’s varnished vase

with plain consents

until the figures in the patterns and the glaze

reconfigure what has happened and are swayed

to be themself

and not the mould of someone else.

i come back to you

in the porcelein white and blue

of Ming and Xiantzi

rustic and romancy

bearing eight treasures

of simple pleasures:

heart’s love life’s soul

passions blood mind whole

and wisdom instead of blindness

to share a kingdom with unselfish kindness.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 1st June, 2012. All Rights Reserved.

FALLEN LINTELS~Love Poem by Strider Marcus Jones. Copyright & All Rights Reserved

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FALLEN LINTELS

it was summer time

with flowers colouring the pantomime

in feudal fields

as i walked on flat wheels

with your humming bird in my head

from the tropical warm of your bed-

where we bent the grass again

and made the rain

that doesn’t come from clouds

dampen skin rumpled shrouds.

i watched your beauty glisten sweetly

while i held you like Bernini

before you went to work

flaked in bark of silver birch

naked chalice south

and siren priestess mouth

of pagan church.

you were converting fussy ghosts

and their sullen hosts

from bribed tribes

walking past without guides-

some, so inverted and duped

like shades with every ethic stooped

labouring like quislings

under Darwinist siblings-

slowly drifting back to druid stones

that serve us more than glorious domes,

more equal in each equinox

of chaos turning natures clock.

i know, i ramble for reasons

to make sense of changing seasons-

and find none

where i am one-

only fallen lintels on the floor

like broken words that speak no more

at sunrise and sunset

remembering what we forget.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 14th April 2012. All Rights Reserved.

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

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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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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.

SELECTED POEMS from MAVERICKS by Strider Marcus Jones

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

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,

distill 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.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones MAVERICKS. 2010. All Rights Reserved.

THE FOREST OF FORGETS

i don’t do remembers, or regrets,

not knowing, i belong in what comes next-

without the edge and angle of pretext,

find me in the forest of forgets-

watching your perfections dance and breathe

in my fires flames then read out gypsy leaves;

imagining your whispers in the wind and trees-

before they fade, and fall, and leave.

back inside the house, picture rails

of love hang empty

from bent hooks, that promised plenty,

leaving frameless tales in musty trails-

to dusty cabinets of more

trinkets and traces-

whose duality displaces

sky and floor.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones from his book MAVERICKS. 4th August, 2009. All Rights Reserved.

SELECTED POEMS from MAVERICKS by Strider Marcus Jones

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SELECTED POEMS from INSIDE OUT by Strider Marcus Jones

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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.

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

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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.

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

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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.

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Paperback, First Edition, 162 pages

POMEGRANATE FLESH by Strider Marcus Jones ~ Book Poetry

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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

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©Strider Marcus Jones

MAVERICKS by Strider Marcus Jones ~ Book Poetry

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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)

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INSIDE OUT by Strider Marcus Jones ~ Book Poetry

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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.
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©Strider Marcus Jones

ASPECTS OF LOVE ~ Book ~ Poetry by Strider Marcus Jones

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I have published single poems before in anthologies, magazines and the poetry website, Secret Attic, as a competition finalist and prize winner.We all find love at some point on this life’s road. In these poems, I explore this complex journey of feelings, emotions and hopes lived out between two shared souls. Each poem is a cove on loves myriad path, inviting the reader to come in and share its succulent sweetness and dark despair. I have tried to touch that nerve in each of us, in a way that is romantic but real, traditional yet modern. Some of these poems are sensual and erotic, but they all try to convey honest meaning and understanding. This is a journey of love found, lived, lost and found again. From pleasures peak to the wilderness and back. Love is the door we keep open inside and hope will never close, for to love and be loved, means we are not alone. Welcome and well met ~Strider~Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination~Voltaire~

Aspects Of Love (book)

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©Strider Marcus Jones