Thrilled to have 4 poems published in The Marbled Sigh‘s first ever anthology on Political Poems. My thanks to the editors and congratulations to all the other contributors. https://themarbledsigh.com/

The Powder of Patriotism


The powder of patriotism,

allows us to be herded,

like worker ants, and soldier ants,

and royal ants, who we don’t know-

perpetuate the status quo.

The powder of patriotism,

divides us into states,

where leaders owned by billionaires-

tell us who to hate.

The powder of patriotism,

ridicules the idea,

that missiles on our doorsteps

intensifies our fear.

The powder of patriotism,

makes men go to war:

but only those who send them-

know what it was for.



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-

by suited gangs, making golden dunes.



So It Goes


when i look back

in a moment

of quiet acquired dignity

that comes to some

with age,

it is with patience,

for i was much the same

when everything seemed bigger

than it was

as uncertainty

wore the other shoe to confidence

and followed it step for step.

the energy of youth

that often acts

without respect and understanding-

to bluff and blag its way

in fashion and musical rebellion-

skips like stones

on the ponds of those who have it all

from Parliaments revolution-

but their ripples wane

through treacle trends

in this dumbed down democracy

soothed by drugs and drink.

apathy watches and laughs

at these new roundheads and royals-

jigging their booty

to tunes composed

by capitalist cavaliers-

wearing each despotic Emperor’s new clothes,

and a known assassins kiss of death

waits for anyone who questions-

so it goes.



On the Other Side of the Room’s Window


Dried coffee rings on the bedside table,

Where the martyr stubs his cigarette,

And disregards the opened volume

Of T.S. Eliot.

On the other side of the room’s window,

Buses shake past, but can’t be seen=

And when he calls for freedom,

The world spouts semen and war machines.

Cameras in the streets outside,

Watch this enemy within:

But how many Winston Smiths,

Are writing notes, and sneaking gin?


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. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.word... reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.
His poetry has been published in numerous publications including: The Huffington Post USA, The Stray Branch Literary Magazine, Crack The Spine Literary Magazine, The Lampeter Review and Dissident Voice.