I think To shrink The distance Of resistance Inside self To all else- Knowing Showing Vulnerability In the mystery Leaves what is closed Openly exposed- To explanation Under examination When there isn’t one That hasn’t gone Until roof floor and sky door Are no more- Only roulette rubbles Of drone troubles Imprisoning Reasoning In cubist ghettos Wearing jazz stilettos- Flashing flamingo legs To pink paradise harlem heads While new trees grow up mute And ripen with strange fruit Some whites too this time A drowned boy me and mine.
CLOUDS OF CHAOTIC CROWDS
Smitten- Bitten Like Faustus- Leave the house dust With fools gold Unsold. This conveyor belt lair A castle in the air For Dante’s dreams of doubt To wander about In, with voices that pretend To be a different friend- Oh my, what a frame, Too big to blame And beyond a simple say To save and stay- So, close the dungeon door To be what you were before And walk away Into the clouds Of chaotic crowds Falling as rain On sterile plain.
Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.
His poetry has been published in over 200 publications worldwide including: Trouvaille Review; dyst Literary Journal; Literary Yard Journal; Rye Whiskey Review; The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine and Dissident Voice.