Strider Marcus Jones's Blog: https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/, page 10
October 18, 2021
Really Chuffed to have my poem – I Follow You Into Night – published in Cajun Mutt Press. My thanks to wonderful editor James Dennis Casey IV.
Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 10/18/21October 18, 2021 James D. Casey IV
I FOLLOW YOU INTO NIGHT
i sense you in summer wind
and try to redefine
the Other ring
that binds us
in this tormenting
show of come and go.
in the sentence of a sound
i hear your pain
then turn its fate
to break the blame
mending happenings
and broken strings.
footfalls confide
shadows duet in our divide
on a bridge of dark persuasions
i follow you into night
through corridors uncurtained
dreams and surreal scenes.
time’s corrugated face
marks motions set to mimic
leaned upon the balcony of fate
where rites and runes evoked her scent
to hear the music in her ways
smile and quicken upon his gaze.
©2021 Strider Marcus Jones All rights reserved.
Strider Marcus JonesStrider 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. He is also the founder, editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/
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October 17, 2021
Thrilled to have my poem Clouds of Chaotic Crowds published on Mad Swirl Blog. My thanks to editor M H. Clay.
The Best of Mad Swirl : 10.16.21
CLOUDS OF CHAOTIC CROWDS by Strider Marcus Jones
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.
October 13, 2021
October 14, 2021
Delighted to have 5 poems featured in Fevers of the Mind. My thanks to Poet and Editor David O’Nan. Most appreciated.
Writing, Poetry, Short Stories, Reviews, Art Contests
HomePoetry Showcase by Strider Marcus Jones
Bio:
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 including: Dreich Magazine; The Racket Journal; Trouvaille Review; dyst Literary Journal; Impspired Magazine; Melbourne Culture Corner and Literary Yard Journal.
HOT ROD
fast and furiousarchangel in paint and chromebrings me home-purring megaphonious,combusting with sav and sapthat i glimpsepeeking into warm grill chintz-then she lifts her corset bonnetand lets me touch her glinting bonessecreting home spunpheromonesattracting, like moon and sun-mysteriousand mnemonicold senses,fallow and fencedsoon become drenchedquiller and squirterin that linguistic converter-glow mapping,overlapping,slowly blownin the metronome.OLD CAFEa rest, from swinging barand animals in the abattoir-to smoke in mental thinks spoken holding cooling drinks. counting out old coppers to be fedin the set squares of blue and redplastic tablecloth-just enough to break up bread in thick barley broth. Jesus is lateafter saying he was comingback to share the wealth and real estateof capitalist cunning. maybe. just maybe.put another song on the jukebox baby:no more heroes anymore.what are we fighting for- he's hiding in hymns and chants,in those Monty Python underpants,from this coalition of new McCarthy'sand its institutions of Moriarty's. some shepherd sheep will do this dancein hypothermic trance,for one pound an hour like a shamed flower- watched by sinister sentinels, while scratched tubular bells,summon all to Sunday servicewhere invisible myths exist- to a shamed flowerwith supernatural powercome the hour.POMEGRANATE FLESHask thosewho grow old-some fruits are nicerwhen they're riper.you dont stopthe clockon the one who choseyou to hold-her pomegranateis still your sonnetof sepia feelings and flesh,sensuously sweet and fresh.although the mirror never lies,it shows the beauty that livesas it diesand givesits own reflectionof your perfectionto methen and now,each memorytakenby the lensessomehow,preservedby your wordsand curvesin my senses.our dance,that thrilledin its intricatetango on the floor,is still filledwith time intimateromanceand more-talking rubicon of reason,in layer, upon layer of seasonso sedimentarysince you entered me-and i consumedyour silky meshof pink perfumedpomegranate fleshLOTHLORIENi'm come home againin your Lothloriento marinate my mindin your words,and stand behindgood tribes grown blind,trapped in old absurdregressive reasonsand selfish treasons.in this cast of strifethe Tree of Lifeembraces innocent ghosts,slain by Sauron's hosts-and their falling criesmake us wiseenough to riseup in a fellowship of friendsto oppose Mordor's endsand smote this evil strongerand longerfor each one of us that dies.i'm come home againin your Lothlorien,persuadingyellow snapdragonsto take wingand un-fang serpent krakens,while i bringall the racesto resumetheir bloomas equals in equal spacesby removingand mutingthe chorus of cricketswho cheat them from chambered thickets,hiding corruptions older than long grassthat still fag for favours asked.i'm come home againin your Lothlorienwhere corporate warfareand workfareon healthand welfareinfests our tribal bodiesand separate selfin political lobbies-so conscience can't careor shareworth and wealth:to rally dronesof walking bones,too tiredand uninspiredto think things throughand the powerless who see it true.red unites, blue divides,which one are youand what will you dowhen reason decides.I'M GETTING OLD NOWi'm getting old now-you know,like that tree in the yardwith those thick cracksin its skin barkthat tell youthe surface of its lived-in secrets.my eyes,have sunk too inwardin sleepless socketsto playback imagesof ghosts-so, make do with wordsand hear the soundsof my years in yourself.childhood-riding a rusty three-wheel biketo shelled-out houses bombed in the blitz,then zinging home zapped in mudto wolf down chicken soupover lumpy mashed potato for tea-with bare feet sticking on cold kitchen linoi shivered watching the candle burn downracing to finish a book i found in a bin-before Mam showed me her empty purseand robbed the gas meter-the twenty shillingsstained the red formica tablelike pieces of the man's brainssplattered all over the back seatof his symbolic limousineas i watched history brush out her silent secrets.More bio: 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. Check out the first 3 issues of the Lothlorien Journal see the website listed above for more & to order.
October 4, 2021
Thrilled to have five poems published in the excellent Ink Pantry Poetry Drawer online. My thanks to editor Deborah Edgeley.
Poetry Drawer: Mavericks: The Blood That Makes Us Black: In Maid’s Water: The Head in his Fedora Hat by Strider Marcus JonesPoetry Drawer: Mavericks: The Blood That Makes Us Black: In Maid’s Water: The Head in his Fedora Hat by Strider Marcus Jones
Posted on 4th October 2021 by Deborah Edgeley
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.
The Blood That Makes Us Black
imagine yourself,
in a photo-fit picture
with every nothing that’s new-
minus in health,
quoting icons and scripture
under the whole black and blue.
optimum dreams
turn out fake in the mirror
facing what’s been like fallen heroes-
in so many scenes
like a ghost who is giver
passing on wisdom, who knows-
the blood that makes us black
of two from one,
is schooled by fungus fortunes
and faiths old hat
to be sold on-
like tamed-trained gangs, making golden dunes.
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.
Minds and Musk
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.
The Head in his Fedora Hat
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 a flow
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 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 reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms. He is also the founder, editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal.
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.
You can find more of Strider’s work here on Ink Pantry.
September 24, 2021
Delighted to have 5 poems published in Literary Yard Journal online on July 6th, 2021. My thanks to the editors.
BY AUTHOR ON JULY 6, 2021 • ( LEAVE A COMMENT )
By: Strider Marcus Jones
I KNOW YOUR NOTES
sat with you,
reflections bond
over the pond
of summer solstice,
and Mr Blue
sky
with eggy eye
subliminally sends Otis
into ribbons and ripples
of hair and faces,
through sensual trickles
in hidden places
that glances bring
on summer wind.
i know your notes
tacking on water like paper boats,
and the rigging string
vibrating
through notches in the mast
so love and living last.
###
LIFE IS FLAMENCO
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.
###
NURTURING EACH NOTE
lying back into
you
i share a smoke
all sucked out and stroked
thick cummings swallowed
by you
followed
my drinking sips
from licks
of lips
and clit.
our closeness
breaks the darkness
open
and such things
in touchings
spoken
compose coupled music in the throat
nurturing each note.
in here we hide
under His sheet shroud
from the unsettled crowd
of happenings outside-
top down tycoons and bankers,
royalty and political cankers
seedy greedy opulence driving past
needy kettled poor pandemics
to banquets rustling markets cash
supporting famine and eugenics.
###
OLD CAFE
a rest, from swinging bar
and animals in the abattoir-
to smoke in mental thinks
spoken holding cooling drinks.
counting out old coppers to be fed
in the set squares of blue and red
plastic table cloth-
just enough to break up bread in thick barley broth.
Jesus is late
after saying he was coming
back to share the wealth and real estate
of capitalist cunning.
maybe. just maybe.
put another song on the jukebox baby:
no more heroes anymore.
what are we fighting for-
he’s hiding in hymns and chants,
in those Monty Python underpants,
from this coalition of new McCarthy’s
and it’s institutions of Moriarty’s.
some shepherds sheep will do this dance
in hypothermic trance,
for one pound an hour
like a shamed flower,
watched by sinister sentinels-
while scratched tubular bells,
summon all to sunday service
where invisible myths exist-
to a shamed flower
with supernatural power
come the hour.
###
NO ROADS
with no roads on our map of conversation,
we began
without plan,
and climbed, into the branches of imagination,
past the twigs and leaves-
those apothecaries
of lost libation,
into houred improvisation-
through its desert wanting rain
after years of stasis,
in a slow camel train
searching for that oasis-
with moving dunes
and negative runes
fending off the grey
in a charmed, nomadic way.
happen then, that this cold acoustic tune,
met your luteful lagoon
of mosaical notes-
and the baton moved,
as was proved
round the wheel with ambient spokes,
conducting without rules
our forgotten fools.
somehow,
go now,
through the eye of words,
to the heart of this rhythm
and the scion of its schism;
then home, like migrating birds
into separate nests-
for now, love rests.
###
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 the future does not imitate the past.
###
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 reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms. He is also the founder, editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal.
September 22, 2021
Thrilled to have my poem Does Her Far Beauty Know published at The Piker Press online. My thanks to Editor Sand Pilarski.
http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=8770
Does Her Far Beauty Knowdoes her
far beauty know
where my thoughts go
without her
when i walk
in lush rain lashing down —
squatting in enclosed fields
of remote wheat and barley
around told feudal cities and towns —
to talk
to fate and how it feels
to be emptied entirely
of hopes sounds —
these evolutions
fill rich men’s purses
and revolutions
are poor universes
that try to bend
the unequal
to be equal
without end.
does her
far beauty know
where my thoughts go
with her
when i walk
in lush rain lashing down —
soaked in moments come to this
paradise and precipice
belonging
bonding
thoughts
serendipitous
blowing into us —
gives shelter to the self
of us and other else —
unlike bare rooms we rent
to leave behind
when change moves us to fit
into it —
with only our echo and scent
of passion and mind.
Article © Strider Marcus Jones. All rights reserved.Published on 2021-09-06
Image(s) are public domain.
Delighted to have 3 poems published online in Poetry Life & Times. My thanks to Editor Robin Ouzman Hislop.
3 Poems by Strider Marcus Jones. CUBIST GHETTOS, et al.,September 22, 2021 by Robin Ouzman Hislop
(i)
CUBIST GHETTOS
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.
(ii)
CLOUDS OF CHAOTIC CROWDS
Smitten-
Bitten
Like Faustus-
Leave the house dust
With fool’s 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.
(iii)
DOES HER FAR BEAUTY KNOW
does her
far beauty know
where my thoughts go
without her
when i walk
in lush rain lashing down-
squatting in enclosed fields
of remote wheat and barley
around told feudal cities and towns-
to talk
to fate and how it feels
to be emptied entirely
of hopes sounds-
these evolutions
fill rich men’s purses
and revolutions
are poor universes
that try to bend
the unequal
to be equal
without end.
does her
far beauty know
where my thoughts go
with her
when i walk
in lush rain lashing down-
soaked in moments come to this
paradise and precipice
belonging
bonding
thoughts
serendipitous
blowing into us-
gives shelter to the self
of us and other else-
unlike bare rooms we rent
to leave behind
when change moves us to fit
into it-
with only our echo and scent
of passion and mind.
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. He is also the founder, editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/
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; A New Ulster; Impspired Magazine; Literary Yard Journal; Piker Press; oppy 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; & Poetry Life and Times,Artvilla.com.
https://www.artvilla.com/plt/3-poems-...
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)
August 1, 2021
Thrilled to have my poem The Two Saltimbanques (Picasso) published in Issue 11 of the excellent Melbourne Culture Corner Magazine. My thanks to Lead Editor Steven Pearman.
https://melbourneculturecorner.com/blog/
THE TWO SALTIMBANQUES (Pablo Picasso)
when words don’t come easy
they make do with silence
and find something in nothing
to say to each other
when the absinthe runs out.
his glass and ego
are bigger than hers,
his elbows sharper,
stabbing into the table
and the chambers of her heart
cobalt clown
without a smile.
she looks away
with his misery behind her eyes
and sadness on her lips,
back into her curves
and the orange grove
summer of her dress
worn and blown by sepia time
where she painted
her cockus giganticus
lying down
naked
for her brush and skin,
mingling intimate scents
undoing and doing each other.
for some of us,
living back then
is more going forward
than living in now
and sitting hereat this table,
with these glasses
standing empty of absinthe,
faces wanting hands
to be a bridge of words
and equal peace
as Guernica approaches.
Copyright Strider Marcus Jones
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
July 20, 2021
Lothlorien Poetry Journal Volume 1 – The Fellowship of the Pen. Edited by Strider Marcus Jones. Now Available to buy as a Printed Paperback Book and E-Book from
Lothlorien Poetry Journal’s first published volume of poetry and prose features the work of sixty- three internationally renowned poets and authors. Join us on our journey in The Fellowship of the Pen. Be moved and inspired by their individual poetic voices from every continent on Earth and discover that there is more to life that unites us than divides us.
Strider Marcus Jones – Editor
Contents – Poets
Editorial Poem by Strider Marcus Jones Pages
J S Watts
1. Bubblewitches 14-18
2. Craft
3. Two Crows
Steve Klepetar
1. On the Snowy Street 19-20
2. Unfinished House
3. Lazy Starling
Lauren Scharhag
1. Priestess 21-27
2 The Gilded Monk
3. Necromancy
4. Where Man Doth Not Inhabit
5. Orenda
John Drudge
1. A Hunger in Positano 28-31
2. At the Shore
3. Rage
4. Spout
5. The Pull of Stonehenge
Antonia Alexandra Klimenco
1. Irish Whisky 32-36
2. Pisces Rising or Why Mermaids Don’t Limp
3. If Ever
Gopal Lahiri
1. Reorder 37-39
2. Photo Frame
3. Unheard Echo
Adele Ogier Jones
1. Dragon mountain (i) 40-43
2. Dragon mountain (ii)
3. Dragon mountain (iii)
4. Growing earth
John Grey
1. Married Name 44-48
2. When the Other is Dreaming
3. Dan, the Naturalist
4. The Beach in Winter
Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon
1. Insomnia 49-53
2. Bonfire Night
3. His Mind Games
4. Devotion response to Trinity by Adelia Prado
5. Ardnamurchan Point
DAH
1. Existential trauma 54-59
2. Saying All There Is To Say
3. Invention Of A New Meaning
4. The Uncertainty Of Glass Locks
5. An Eye Is Seen, And Still Another
Louise Ceres
1. Count Voivode’s Valentine 60-63
2. Sacral Inner Space
3. The Black and Silver Realm
4. Insoluble Separation
Michael Minassian
1. Desire 63-67
2. Close Relatives
3. For The Rest Of Us
4. Light
5. Razor’s Dawn
Simra Sadaf
1. Wasted Youth 67-71
2. Autumns
3. Kite and Manjha
Moe Seager
1. November Western Pennsylvania 72-75
2. I October
3. Bird Talk
4. Valentine offering
Patricia Walsh
1. Asking for It 76-81
2. Praise of Zeitgeist
3. Pushing and Pulling Envelopes
4. Chocolate Soldier
5. Breaking Another Window
Scott Thomas Outlar
1. Masquerade 82-85
2. Of Frequencies Resplendent
3. Apples & Owls at Midnight (Space Wave Version)
Yuu Ikeda
1. Because, Although, But, I Love You 86-87
2. It Was My Life
J D Nelson
1. Why is there no world in the book? 88-89
2. Is that you humming?
3. Like smart a-macks that period o’ the text
Fotoula Reynolds
1. Harmony 90-91
2. Almost found
3. Language floats
Terry Wheeler things that splinter
1. Nomenclature 92-96
2. who
3. omelette
4. murakami
5. shadow play
Denise O’Hagan
1. Nature’s grand chandelier 97-100
2. Still the rain kept falling
Max Heinegg
1. Kidney Stone for Jeff Albertson 101-103
2. Stumper
3. The Groundhog of Gull Bay
4. Odd Man Out
5. Kindling
Attracta Fahy
1. The Blue Flower of Chernobyl 104-107
2. Tired of news
Stephen House
1. The Moo-Moo Café 108-112
2. Caroline
Lorraine Caputo
1. Iguana Dreams 112-115
2. Astray
3. Arica
4. Ghosts
Ryan Quinn Flanagan
1. Deck Chair 116-118
2. Apologies, Zephyr!
3. Hand’s On
4. Mustard Lip
5. Throwing the Game
Laily Mahoozi
1. Exile 119-122
2. Sterile Colour
3. Fixed
4. Revel
5. Diplomacy
Christopher Cadra
1. At Sea 123-124
2. Another
3. Omission
4. Maybe Zombies
Christine Tabaka
1. Darkness Unfolds 125-128
2. Dust to Dust
3. No Turning Back
4. Nursery Rhymes
G J Hart
1. How Things Begin 129-132
2. Morning Run
3. Washing Up
Lynda Tavakoli
1. Cold Tea 133-135
2. The Coldness of Crows
Prithvijeet Sinha
1. She Once Bloomed Like The Daisy 136-137
Elizabeth Mercurio
1. Elegy for Ophelia with the Sky Full 138-139
Robert ( Roibeard ) Shanahan
1. The Edenic Sequence 140-150
2. Mutualism
Christina Martin
1. The Gift 151-155
2. Paradise
3. Sea Haiku Sequence
4. Steamed Yellow
5. Sky Cow
Tim Heerdink
1. Final Flight as the Fog becomes Night 156-161
2. The Fourth Horseman
3. The Knottseau Well
4. TRAUM(A) for John Berryman
Isobel Granby
1. Tolkien Sonnet 1 162-163
2. Tolkien Sonnet 2
Poul Lynggaard Damgaard
1. The last human being 164-166
2. Notch
3. The distance of silence
Jeanna Ni Riordain
1. Beneath the Chimney 167-168
2. The city stirs to life
Tom Montag
1. From The Old Monk Poems 169-170
Susan Tepper
1. Withheld 171-172
John Patrick Robbins
1. Beyond The Deception 172-173
2. Death in Doses
3. New Poems In Old Shoes
Angel Edwards
1. Maybe Angel Wings 174-176
2. All of them Spirits
3. Bourbon
John W Sexton
1. Riding a Giraffe 177-178
Soodabeh Saeidnia
1. The Mansion She Inherited 178-181
2. Rootless
3. Garden of Memory
4. Micropoetry
Jonathan Butcher
1. A Swift Divide 182-185
2. Second Sight
3. Domestic Circus
4. The Opposite
Patricia Nelson
1. First Sailor 186-189
2. The Three Weird Sisters Speak to Macbeth
3. Macbeth
Michael Durack
1. Angel of Death 190-193
2. Venus And Madonna
3. A Key In The Lock
4. In The Forest of Language
Kathryn Crowley
1. Daisies In Jamjars 194-196
2. Ode To Crows
Roger Haydon
1. Our Privilege 197-199
2. Where I Walked as a Child
Sultana Raza
1. Keen on Tolkien 199-202
2. Epitaph
3. Orphic Crown
Januario Esteves
1. Caelum 203-204
2. Perseus
3. Libra
Margaret Kiernan
1. Flash Fiction 205-207
Grant Tarbard
1. Overture 208-209
2. Visit Your Blessings When You Exit The Gift Shop
Greg Patrick
1. Mirage and Horizon 210-215
2. Calling Orion
3. The Goblin King’s Sigh
Marie C Lecrivain
1. Thursday morning 216-217
2. Mare Australe
Steven Fortune
1. Miss Ganymede 218-219
2. Destiny’s Spadework
Iulia Gherghei
1. Late Winter Story 220
Arik Mitra
1. Perambulators 221-222
Lisa Reynolds
1. In Mourning (for Shannon) 222
Ken Gosse
1. A Sandalous Tale 223-224
Bruce Morton
1. Anecdote of the Bottle 225
Will Nuessle
1. Just Checking 226-227
https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/
Lothlorien Poetry Journal is a literary journal featuring free verse/rhyming/experimental poetry, short stories, flash fiction, video poems and occasional interviews with poets. Journey with us on the road to poems that linger and haunt. Discover poems of enchantment, fantasy, fairy tale, folklore, dreams, dystopian, flora and fauna, magical realism, romance, and anything hiding deep in-between the cracks.
Lothlorien Poetry Journal publishes periodically, 4-6 issues every year. Contributors to each issue ( selected from the best work published on the Journal’s Blog ) will be notified prior to publication and will receive a free PDF copy of the issue that features their work. A print and E-book version of each issue will be available to purchase from lulu.com and Amazon Books.
Lothlorien Poetry Journal nominates for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.
https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/
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