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Wednesday, 27 October 2010

Strider's Retreat~Poetry And Prose By Strider Marcus Jones: MY BOOKS OF POETRY ~ BOOKS BY STRIDER MARCUS JONES...

Strider's Retreat~Poetry And Prose By Strider Marcus Jones: MY BOOKS OF POETRY ~ BOOKS BY STRIDER MARCUS JONES...: "MAVERICKS ~ By Strider Marcus Jones ~ Book Poetry ~ Publisher http://www.lulu.com/ http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/mavericks/552402..."

Strider's Retreat~Poetry And Prose By Strider Marcus Jones: POEMS FROM MY BOOKS ~ MAVERICKS by Strider Marcus ...

Strider's Retreat~Poetry And Prose By Strider Marcus Jones: POEMS FROM MY BOOKS ~ MAVERICKS by Strider Marcus ...: "MAVERICKS you taste of cinnamon and fish when you wish to be romantic- and the ciphers of our thoughts make ringlets with..."

Strider's Retreat~Poetry And Prose By Strider Marcus Jones: POEMS FROM MY BOOKS ~ ASPECTS OF LOVE by Strider M...

Strider's Retreat~Poetry And Prose By Strider Marcus Jones: POEMS FROM MY BOOKS ~ ASPECTS OF LOVE by Strider M...: "TRICKLING DOWN A BALTIC VINE I want you Says this universal sigh, To love you While your lips are like the skies Crimson sun..."

Strider's Retreat~Poetry And Prose By Strider Marcus Jones: MY POETRY VIDEOS ~ Strider Marcus Jones Reciting P...

Strider's Retreat~Poetry And Prose By Strider Marcus Jones: MY POETRY VIDEOS ~ Strider Marcus Jones Reciting P...

Sunday, 22 August 2010

IT'S SO QUIET ~ Poem By Strider Marcus Jones.Copyright And All Rights Reserved. 22nd August, 2010.

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



there's 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.







Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 22nd August, 2010. All Rights Reserved.


©Strider Marcus Jones and stridermarcusjones.lulu.com. 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Strider Marcus Jones and stridermarcusjones.lulu.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape


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

©Strider Marcus Jones

Thursday, 19 August 2010

IT'S SO QUIET

it's so quiet



our eloquent words dying on a diet



of midnight toast



with Orwell's ghost




Copyright Strider Marcus Jones 20th August, 2010. All Rights Reserved.


Friday, 13 August 2010

HERE I AM ~ New Poem Copyright By Strider Marcus Jones. All Rights Reserved

HERE I AM








here i am



in some lost



where i'll be looking for you later



in the frost



of your cyan



that was equator



fabulously been



with a dram and cloves of evergreen



aromatic branches



roaming through your thoughts ranches-



not to turn the pigments and phonetics



of it back



or absorb blank ammunitions hits



defending your attack



of made up words



from stunning me like wading birds



stuck in your muddy vellum



of cerubellum-



no not for that



but just to mean



the wound is clean



of abstract probabilities



adorning geometric cities







Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 13th August, 2010. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, 11 August 2010

ON SLIGHT IMPERFECT SILK ~ Poem By Strider Marcus Jones

ON SLIGHT IMPERFECT SILK



the poetry you painted on my ass


didn't have the gas


to pass


the flaws of time.


it was Jabberwocky language in a mask


sweet coffee in a flask


poured out in a line-


a dried out waterfall


of evaporated milk


sliding down a wall


on slight imperfect silk.


it happened


floated, then flattened


echoed out and down a well worn road


like a harvest cart pulling its load


of cut out memories


to fall and fade in muddied and greyed entries.


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

Tuesday, 10 August 2010

CALCULUS ~ Poem 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. 21st January, 2009. All Rights Reserved.

Monday, 9 August 2010

VELVET TANGERINE ~ Poem By Strider Marcus Jones




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 from INSIDE OUT 2009. All Rights Reserved.

MAVERICKS ~ Poem Copyright Strider Marcus Jones 2009 MAVERICKS. All Rights Reserved.

MAVERICKS




you taste of cinnamon and fish

when you wish

to be romantic-

and the ciphers of our thoughts

make ringlets with their noughts

immersed in magic-

like mithril mail around me

stove dark forest, pink flesh sea

touchings tantric-

make reality and myths

converge in elven riffs

of music, so we dance it-

symbols to the scenes

of conflict, mavericks in dreams

that now sit-

listening to these pots and kettles

blackening on the fire

of rhetoric and murderous mettles-

before we both retire

to our own script.



Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 9th September, 2009. MAVERICKS. All Rights Reserved.