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Anthony Mark Poem
Quietly now,
my serenading sky
you to me are!
almost radiant and high, facing the light
be about your plants of green
your strewn paths and needles
let rays tend the weeds that harbour gainst your hand
and trowel deep each foot that steps
they live as do I
mountains waiting ire
I watch and yearn the uprooting
the dislocation, the cast away,
each fibre stretched against the cotton
and the curl of sweat
separates...
Ventures a rivulet down your back,
you are the mystery my love
Knelt neath the shading of time
bowed, from the unforgiving branch,
how do I see you so
a dance
to the music in my heart
a dance
that wealds the tilling grasp,
the pain I feel , is white peaks screaming
curling to kiss the clouds
each bead pours from your diamonds stream
and settles on the rock
catching sunlight on your nape,
a nape I've kissed a thousand times
I live a'neath the bowing branch,
allowed my wallow time
in shadows looking down
timeless tunes a humming
little inconsequential notions
swept back, brushed away
a remembered time when ledges cowered,
in rockbeds so dry of love
like strangled flowers
that grow untended, like lies
reflecting summer sunsets under the
mountains of your
unforgiving eyes...
Copyright © Anthony Mark | Year Posted 2017
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Anthony Mark Poem
Ahh!
peering out,
never in
your words are whisper thin
like willow-silk spun
drying parched
on your skin
Ahh
but I read you very clear
every word every fear
indelibly etched
nose, mouth, eyes
words, words, words
Lies, lies, lies
blink once and I'll cease
or period
full stop
bleed
inside each crease,
it's your face, i see!
beautiful
it emasculates me
disempowers me
tirelessly
sees through me,
I have no words for you
my love...
they're gone... not a trace
I could save myself,
the agony of speech
and just peel them off your face
Copyright © Anthony Mark | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Anthony Mark Poem
The whittled worries and fears shred my nerves like ants on glass, sparkling red. I notice and bow to the glitterati in their fine silks and cuts of cloth because they pay my wages; they care little for the red-cheeked fellow in the silly hat, whose spring step is more right-right than left-right. I’ve become the cheesy blue veined odour curdling on the edge of the plate, readying the silver bone china scrape.
I don't belong at this party with my ill-fitting garb and my eyes mercilessly seduced by the bejeweled beauties beset with jouncy bouquets, spilling colours fountain-like, their exuberant price tags hanging down unembarrassed, soliciting the eye to not deny the wealth. The verdant green will see two-stepping tonight, to the tunes in my head. I am the entertainment, yet feel like the booby prize no one sees. Must I sing for my supper in my red striped specially selected boating hat, or should I croon like the scolded cat serenading the moon.
That's when I saw her slinking and jingling, a charade slipping its mooring, her face dreamy, floating on a tide of lilacs and honeysuckles, and like a brazen queen-worthy vessel, she parted the waves to meet me on the floor closely followed by a scrum of sweaty-faced boys that up-anchored and waddled in her wake. I sang a croon for her ears alone, to imagine dancing with me under the crescent of the moon, in our garden filled with cents and honey and songs to set the traps with money - but all that this did achieve, was nothing but the wish to be elsewhere, somewhere a little less funny.
Copyright © Anthony Mark | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Anthony Mark Poem
In your skin,
tones and sunsets pale
to
shades of grey
a passing lonely ship
sailing
away,
taking the
breeze the sun
and all that could have been,
could have begun,
with
a billowed sigh,
your eyes are
closing
like the ashes of regret
like stoney diamonds,
they cry... unset,
closing
like a large chest
filled with pillioned memories
and
conquests
now
trapping
everything inside
catching
the high tide
let it spill clear and true
all over me, over you
wrap your sails tight
opaque
it's not too late
for my breath to sail you high
close your diamonds
on the sky
and sway in your tones of grey
Copyright © Anthony Mark | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Anthony Mark Poem
Tears trickle
from the branch
to the ground
digesting
my love by the pound
leaves of sorrow
browsing at the sky
sad songs, stilled!
mourning the last
of autumns lullaby
I,
a lonely tree
bending at the
elbow and the knee
bending in the naked breeze
crying at reflections
only she could see,
naked and alone
the grey cast sky
is still as lonely as
tears on bone
Copyright © Anthony Mark | Year Posted 2017
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