Welcome

You are permitted to publish any of my original poems where ever you wish to publish them. I only ask that you do not modify them and you keep my name with the poem as the author. Plus, it would be kind to let me know where you have published the poem so I can list it in my bio! As of yet I have never had a poem published (I’ll remove this statement if it ever happens). Also, check out my art work at Marks Art.

3 Love Hate Shadormas


i.
Love hates hate
Its bland recipe
Feeding the
Feelings more
Hate makes bitter the vision
Love is a strong salt

ii.
Hate hates love
Sour mash spoiled
Sting on tongue
Stinging eyes
The tears flow from swollen ducts
Soul in empty pain

iii.
Make hate love
Bend your mind to will
Sun burns off
Foggy lake
Blinding light set upon sight
Tasty smile cast loose


M.D. Jordan, 2011

3 Shadow Shadormas

i.

The shadow
In tow its black mass
Followed me
Constant watch
With intrepid care complete
A friend bound on ground

ii.

Shadows grow
In topsy-turvy
Air gone by
Unchained not
Stuck in its own stale breath
Takes two to complete

iii.

It grows wide
To encompass paths
Bound by step
Loose on ground
What follows must someday lead
Shadows live for man



M. D. Jordan, 2011

Three Fate Shadormas

i.

Spinning life
We can think we are
Born to love
Born to hate
No matter what we create
Disregard blind fate


ii.

Leaves in cup
A bull made form once
Dismay struck
Was it good?
I shook the cup timidly
Fate would have control


iii.

Fate ran haste
The table set once
made empty
No one came
Granddad struck the sound of time
Quietly rewind


M. D. Jordan, 2011

confusion: (profitability & rebellion)



confusion of values
starts the rebellion.

citizens can be expected
to lay blame on the past.

or.

the elaborate new financial deceptions
of the corporate entity
(a fictional person).

but no culprits can be held
in the desire for old
testament justice.

it’s a long running degradation,
corporations too big to prosecute,
punishment too thin
to limit economic damage.

the morality of the market
defines crime as the price
rather than the punishment,
an amoral need to maximize
a thin veneer of responsibility.

villains cannot be located
by the system,
prosecutions are dropped,
the cash prize
at the end of the rainbow.

gone.

profitability of illegal activity
far exceeds the cost of penalty.

under a façade of enforcement,
personal liability is attached
to you & I.

criminal intent not established,
the disturbing spectacle
does not limit damage
but causes fallout & crimes
of torture, seen by
people on guided tours.

confusion over.

the deep conflict of values
starts the continuation
of the status quo,
no culprits to be held,
a rebellion for the bloodless.


M. D. Jordan, 2011

Mostly in Movies



we go to see what we aren’t.
movies are deceiving.

we are the object
the movie is watching.

the theater is in control,
giving us what we need
in tiny slices,
a temporary womb
for the senses.

for hours, dumbstruck
we are watched, stuck
in a life so different
we think it is real
& reality doesn’t exist.

when the show lets us,
we go home
mouths shut, minds agape
to sit on our little couches
& large asses.

waiting. staring.

we wait for the movie
to give us our lives.
but it all ends up
mundane.

life. stuck.

living is like watching
grass grow at a feverous pitch
& the dots never come
to indicate where the reel gets changed.



Mark David Jordan, 2011

(for those who remember when, there used to be large dots that would appear on a movie's right side to indicate to the projectionist when to begin the next reel of film so that to the viewer there would be no pause. Watch for this during old movies)

this: (the thing you do)

things are not this way
     or that.

things are what we
     make of them.

or.

what they make of us.

that thing you do
     is the same
as the thing I do
     just done differently.

when you are the one
     doing the thing
you are not the one
     examining it.

so the thing you do
     is not
the thing seen.

but the importance
     of the thing
is that it exists
     & not how it is viewed.

things are not this way
     or that.

things are.


Mark David Jordan, 2011
Speaking is overrated and sometimes even traumatic to me.  This is why I like poetry.  I am not a person who likes to speak a lot (very introverted), but with poetry I feel and hear the words more like sensations on the senses rather than a form of everyday verbal communication.  Poetry goes so much deeper. 

the shelves are empty: (cash is crap)



extortionist ass holes
crap out trillions
in hoarded cash,
a tax loop hole
as our infrastructure erodes.
this is knee deep &
the shelves are empty
of boots.

our government
if it is
plunges into debt,
the wealth being stripped away
in an unprovoked assault
on the working people
or the people who work.

we are starved for funds,
we are starved for equality,
we are in this
deepening economic inequality.
we are drowning
in piled valueless emotions.

wealth transfer
through corporate rollbacks
predatory lending
to daycare centers,
to senior citizen facilities.
extortionist policies of banks
show the destructive power
of corporate greed.

working harder
working more
earning less
erodes our families into
progressive social movements
forcing
political marginalization
of the majority.
No money for essential
human services.

it is the cusp
of a great movement
to stuff cash
under the mattress
to roll out the rotted cot
& cook over a fire
& watch our kids
play on the mountainous load,
hard amassing cash
released from the ass holes
of bygone extortionists.


Mark David Jordan, 2011

daisy: (a modern perception)


I took the poem "Daisy" by Francis Thompson and kept every other line. I then modified the poem slightly to read better and came up with this new modified poem. It came out pretty interesting and is on the verge of some deep meaning.

 

daisy: (a modern perception)
(From the original poem “Daisy” By Francis Thompson)

where the thistle lifts a purple crown
& the harebell shakes on the windy hill,
the hills look over on the South
in concert with the sea-breeze hand in hand.

where mid the gorse the raspberry grow
2 children did we stray & talk.
she listened with big-lipped surprise,
her skin like a grape with veins.

she knew not those sweet words she spoke,
but there was never a bird, so sweet a song.
oh, there were flowers in Storrington
but the sweetest flower here on Sussex hill.

her beauty smoothed earth's furrowed face.
a look, a word of her winsome mouth,
a berry red, a guileless look,
& yet they made my wild, wild heart calm.

for standing artless as the air,
she picked some berries with her hand,
the fairest things have fleetest end,
but the rose's scent is bitterness.

she looked a little wistfully,
the sea's eye had a mist on it,
she went her unremembering way,
the pang of all the partings gone.

she left me marveling at my soul
at all the sadness in the sweet,
still, still I seemed to see her, still
& take the berries from her hand.

nothing begins, & nothing ends,
for we are born in other's pain.

Copied & Modified by Mark David Jordan, 2011