He'll Never Forget Me

As I walk through these misty rain drenched woods
Whispers of my ancestors haunt this place

Many times, I've passed their burial grounds
Ghosts of deer, rabbit, and squirrels are here

It's their trails that guide my eternal path
Years, I've spent at the base of this old tree

Raindrops pattering the wide leaves, my tune
The flicker of winged creatures catch the eye

Near the running stream, I pretend to drink
A cougar senses my ghostly presense

Once I strolled these paths, a troubled young girl
My confusion, slowly to melt away

I shared these trails with a shy, quiet young man
Our laughs and footsteps, still echo my mind

I remember those fine walks, in my dreams
Now the smell of damp earth, insects, and quiet

I lie beneath the ground now, near our path
I remember the day, he buried me

His secret thoughts, I'd never suspected
The day he raped me, finally killing

Dragging me to my final resting place
Marking me, with a large stone from the stream

I've felt his presence nearby, many times
Paying visits, ensuring, I’m still safe

I now walk these endless paths forever
Because, I know, he'll never forget me


© Copyright G. Jones 2006

Author's Note: The In to the Weird Series

Aerial Love

Two Eagles falling
In aerial intercourse
Before passion's scream

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

Author's Note: The Memory Photograph's Series

The Eye of God

The bright rays of morning sunshine
A lingering crystal shadow
Shimmering like powdered amber
Over a field of stately pines
Presents a tiny sparkling glimpse
Into the ghostly eye of God

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series

The Courier

Spinning spokes upon bustling narrow city streets
A two wheeled mouse amid prowling motorized cats
Plays games of timing and finely tuned awareness

Sudden bus stops, springing car doors, and jaywalkers
Each can be found within the dealer’s loaded deck
The sound of his coasting bicycle sings his song

Click...click...click...click.....

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Author's Notes: The Memory Photographs Series

But an Illusion

I 've seen many wondrous images

I've seen people rambling and spouting philosophy
They’re at the pinnacle and on the bare underside

None of that means much in the grand scope of our lives
I’m not looking for rewards and things held in hand
That’s not the highway my soul forever wanders

Tell me mister, what does that mean?

What I’m telling you, my good friend
Is to open your ears to hear
And watch the corner of your eye

It's not our reason for living, my dear brother
To attach ourselves to the material world
We're merely in a transient state of waiting

What surrounds us, is but an illusion

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

The Dragon's Pearl

Traveling from east to west, he looses a toe
Moving from west to east, he will certainly gain
Within his claw he clutches his most sacred pearl
Which his benevolence is dependent upon

Protecting with magical kindness life’s cycle
He, who tries to steal the dragon’s precious white orb
Transforms the protector to slayer by burning
The prize represents last in Pandora’s Box

The sacred pearl is the eternal gift of hope

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

Sharing My Days

We’ve been together so long my sweet friend
Our souls have mingled and they’ve grown far apart
Only to reunite, each to depend

Each year, our insanity increases
Our habits and tendencies isolate
But always renewing all our leases

I know you’re still sleeping as I peck away
My heart is aching at the very thought
Of living without you sharing my days

© Copyright G. Jones 2011

Wrigley Stretch

The smell of hot dogs, fresh grass, and stale beer
A constant dull drone from the Bleacher Bums
“Take Me out to the Ball Game”, sung aloud
Infield raking dust, by busy grounds crews

Seventh inning stretch at old Wrigley Field
Ivy covered walls, with a losing streak
Uniforms with faces of baby bears
The rival redbirds are taking the field

Cub fans begin to return to their seats
Fresh from a line to relief and last call
A solid round of boos from the bleachers
The batter warms in the on deck circle

At times, there is no better place to be
Chicago on a hot sunny day, free

© Copyrights G. Jones, 2008

Salem's Sonnet

To all my sisters

A runner sent down from the distant hill
To let them know the evil has now flashed
So they now may pray together and mill
The lazy brown lake their witches are dashed

Fine straw and dried wood piled and set ablaze
The screaming bonnets and melting red curl
Ashes melt to a fine smoldering haze
Flames a breeze as hanging dresses unfurl

Children and dogs wander the village mead
Women return to stove’s simmering pot
Idol standing mules await men to lead
Diggers shovel in a grass vacant lot

Christian justice has once again been found
As young innocent girls lie burned and bound

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

She Never Sleeps

Her days of sleeping have long passed
Now she walks the halls of my mind eternally
She stops at each painting along the corridors

She reaches to touch my pained face
The image seems familiar to her in some way
As her fingers falls away, her memory fails

Next frame, I am facing away
Again, she touches the back of my greying head
I stir in my restless sleep and breathe icey breath

She stops and remembers a song
From long ago, as a distant echo in time
A smile appears on her face as I stop breathing

A portrait of a man appears
She moves her face closer, looking into his eyes
Suddenly I waken in bed, gasping for breath

Sleep, she never sleeps

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

Leaving My Gardens

She offered me extensive use of her private verden
This was a very fine arrangement for me at the time
With vigor, I plowed and sowed my seeds in her lush Eden
Tilling through the afternoon until evening church chime

As months past, and I began to master over her plot
I began to wander in copious other fertile lanes
Soon, after much exploration, I found a fresh new lot
So, I cleaned and packed my plow for my newly acquired gain

While busily cultivating my new found lovely toy
I was notified in my prior effort, bloom had begun
Quickly creating a grand specimen of precious joy
Unfortunately, this produced an urge in me to run

While quietly heading out of town early before dawn
Leaving my gardens, left me with sweet memories to fawn 

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

The Hanging, It

The Teacher

He supposed the question was in the day
Just exactly as the subject is night
The gnawing hound of bothersome query
That troubles sleep and his daydreaming mind

The Veteran

The rustling dried leaves of the withered hand
Amber bottle in which its life is poured
Crouched ‘neath the wind flapped plastic lodge
Cold tears streaming amidst nightmare visions

The Cashier

She survives, passing dead items over electric eye
Her plastic ID badge displaying her saddened pale stare
As she mouths ignored identical greetings and goodbyes
Thinking of another lonely night without love, or dreams

The Student

The young boy sitting in the classroom, shying from himself
Has no eager ear, to bestow upon, his hopes and dreams
Dodging along the dangerous trail, leading to his cage
Sleeping, with a guarded diary of his shameful thoughts

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Remember to Live

I’ve grown drained of wondering why I am 
I stopped caring at fifty I believe

    Taking each day if it were my last
    Concerned not where I stand on the ladder

Looking about my material gains
Gathering dust for maid’s Friday dusting

    No real purpose have they served me these years
    Not to feed or provide me with much warmth

My prized possessions have no shape or form
They simply flutter about in my mind

    Friendships are nice, but are they really, real?
    I’m much too competitive for best friends

Food and a blanket is all I require
Perhaps something to make a cozy fire

    Being today’s civilized modern man
    In society with my fellow kind

The whole thing makes me laugh a little
While looking at my mirrored reflection

    I smile and turn away with a chuckle
    Just go baby, and remember to live

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012