MARK JOHN JUNOR : Writing

up the graveyard road

up the graveyard road

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


fragile heart she lay ruptured in my lounge chairgrey faced i mumble a few parting words over herbefore i lay out the finest bone chinaall the makings..
paint by number lovers

paint by number lovers

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


her paint by number love affairwas planned down to his kisses was everything she expected it to bewasn't long before truth showedit was a love like a ..
this noisy head i live in

this noisy head i live in

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


this noisy head i live init just never quiets downtheres some motherf#@ker screaming at two amabout some unpaid bills or parking ticketsand some other..
her delighted mind

her delighted mind

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


she seems like a saint in my dark momentsas she graces me with her gentle smilebecause her nomadic heart came to rest fora butterfly's moment within m..
blatant lust

blatant lust

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


a woman's lust is as carnal as any man's but has desires of the heart to matchnecessary as breathing to have both....the soft line of her body speaks ..
heavens lawn chairs

heavens lawn chairs

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


grey and wornthe lawn chair has dead leaves stuck to itits one bent arm an expression of pained indifferencemud clings to its feetand a single vine li..
silent and numb

silent and numb

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


black and white butterfly's pasted to the cold glass windowpane against the grainy image of cloudsbut to the butterfly's they are forever sailing the ..
morning book

morning book

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


she reads her morning bookin the autumn sunlightand within our conversation she smiles radiantlygives glimpse of hearts truthnatural beauty rendered o..
hold my hand

hold my hand

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


if i could just plug my life inget it under controlget something happy on a regular basisget some kind of sense out it allbut its all to weirdits all ..
her singsong voice

her singsong voice

A Poem by MARK JOHN JUNOR


tight the eager eyeon the promise of what could bebright with summer dayfaded now with autumn's touchthe quick natural boys run fast in the the shadow..