Strider Marcus Jones

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.

His poetry has been published in the USA, Canada, Australia, England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, 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 remind me of the rhythms in myself-
 no house to play to
 or the sound in someone else-
 that drives their dreams
 in simple scenes.
 your music, is the motion of the waves
 soul troubled too-
 by yesterdays,
 searching for a sigh that isn’t wrong
 to be its song.
 your meadow, is a harvest shimmering
 in light and hue,
 in summer wind,
 waiting, for a stranger passing through-
 to settle in its simmering.
 taste the rain
 and take it in you,
 long for it to come again-
 meanings grow when fates continue
 to reach for reasons, and remain. 


  soft scented ring
 on straightened bow,
 the joy you bring
 inside me now-
 the candle burning, slowly down,
 the mirror showing more of you-
 arched back and shoulders golden brown,
 hips rock, hair tumbling too-
 as hope and passion rise and fall
 in symmetry and space,
 the perfect beauty of it all,
 enraptures face and place-
 and be it now, or beyond this,
 with gentle hands and loves soft kiss-
 to trace your smile and touch your thoughts,
 still, after this, when the road forks. 


goddess of the moon
 fusion of light and shadow,
 come now, light my room-
 make darkness shrink and narrow.
 gravitate to me
 awake inside un-natural light,
 half written, half unknown i be
 eclipsed in doubt, but inward bright.
 bring your blooms to this fallow bed
 alone in fates sad stare,
 wrap me in your ethereal thread,
 to reset time and covet care.
 adumbrate loves shallows
 in my sanctum core,
 where the pastels fade and pallow
 without depth and shade on dwindling shore.

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