Friday, December 31, 2010

I Walk With the Zebra : a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Why can’t life be seen as the way we see the zebra?

Black and white and you know what you have in front of you; it’s not a horse and you already know that.

It does not lie to you and it does not try to be what it is not; between the black lines are white lines and between the white lines are black lines.

There they are in front of you; it looks like a horse, it runs like a horse and it lives in herds like a horse.

Yet it is not a horse; it does not lie to you, you see the truth it’s there in front of you it does not hide facts.

Here I am in front of you; you see my white lies and you see the black of my demise.

I do not travel in herds; I can do all my miss leadings on my own.

So as you can see there are fine lines to read between just the printings on the wall to tell you that it is all over.

Like tattooed zebras we slurry our lies on our skin and strut as no one knows nothing about them.

But deep in the heart of even a beast we know our faults and our wrongs; going to the grave with them locked up in our chest like a festering soul bound for the darkness of burning eternity.

Blessed are the zebras who show you who they are and hide nothing at all.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
©12/31/10

Simpleton Majesty: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

I'm just a simpleton, with a simple way of life.

I live in a simple house, with a simple spouse.

Simple as I may be, simple is all I can see,
I'm just a simpleton watching monkeys fly
from a blue moon and the curling top hat
from a snowman’s head feeling the pupil of
my eye with buttermilk dreams and fantasy schemes.

Just a simpleton with a simple way a life,
simple as I may be all I can see is simple
this and simple that.

It's a simple little tragedy to be the
simpleton majesty.


By John McKinley Pride Jr.
©7/12/97

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

So you’re a poet: a thought By John McKinley Pride Jr

Posted on poet pages.com Dec 29, 2010

So you’re a poet you say to all those around and they look at you and say well lets hear something then Mr. Poe. I am of course just kidding that never seems to happen to me for some reason after I tell some one that I have had poetry published or that I am a poet they always loose interest and just walk away with out a word to say; see I told you I was a poet. Anyhow it seems that in the resent years past there are more people becoming authors and poets more than ever before “why is this do you think?” well not to be a Debbie Downer but I really think that now more then ever before people are looking for the easy way out; hoping to make millions off the knowledge or wisdom they can bestow upon us in a leather bound book of hope to get on Oprah. I heard once in a movie “if she just farts on a book it makes millions” sorry for the potty humor but that’s what they said……… honest they said that.

So you might be asking well what the heck is his point; well my point is this you can’t just become an author or poet over night not every one can do this; I really think it takes a certain person. Number one someone that is not bland and boring or just trying to get shock value out of the system; I think that we, us and you as authors and poets have to have some kind of wit of course but I think the one thing that will separate the authors and poets from those who are just pleading for some type of attention to there egos is the solid fact that if we have a deep imagination and how we use it in our works. Now I am no one special I have no right to judge any ones work at all innless asked to of course is what I truly believe with all my heart.

I truly believe that if you eat some humble pie from time to time you will start to learn how to use your resources that are around you and look deeper into what you are trying to accomplish in your works. From music, Art and other authors we get our inspiration; how ever…when it comes to our imagination it is entirely up to us to hurdle all the road blocks ahead that await us so to hurdle those road blocks we need to be fast and ready to go the distance.

Willy Wonka - “We are the music makers... and we are the dreamers of dreams”

One of the best ways to describe an artist I think in what ever field of art you are in. So we need to stay real to our selves in our work be it a hobby or a life long passion to change the world. If you love it keep doing it, if it makes you happy keep doing it but if it becomes about greed and just trying to stay afloat then move on it was not for you. Poetry is like a woman she loves the fact that you surprise her with words that sway and move her, she loves it when your charm pours out and caresses her curves and all the lines that swerve towards curiosity of what will happen next.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

A Moment Lost But Not Forgotten: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"A Moment Lost But Not Forgotten"

There are silent words that pass from each glance back and forth;
a second look, a third to see if it is real and not just a mistaking graze upon the very tips of your hormones.

Right there, right then and there you realize it is not a mistake; that the very thing you hoped for was true and there been not just a glance but like windows open for a peeping tom you stare into each other seeing a second, seeing a moment and seeing an infinitesimally of lust.

Then some where in the back ground a glass drops to the floor crashing, breaking the strong hold upon the eyes.

The moment lost, never talked about, never shared and never acted out again; just a glance that never leaves the memory.

Just an amazing moment that is frozen in time wondering the outskirts of the mind and never leaving the dreams that now destroy your sleep.

You think to your self if I could just get one more chance to gaze; just a glance, just one final innocent moment to not forget.

By John M. Pride Jr
©2/11/96

The Comfort of Orange Lights: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Comfort of Orange Lights"

The orange lights, they must have some meaning, life is there and life seems to be every where.

These lights they shine like stars in a savior’s sky bright like fire flies bringing tears to my eyes.

I remember this place, when I was young and out of place among the walking; it was not such a grand sight then to me as it is now.

When I see them now it is like glory and a piece of my heart is put back in its place where it belongs.

The fissure that once shadowed my very being is open and over spilling with happiness of wanting to be no where but there in its midst.

Home, I miss you so and I hope to come back to live with you again amongst your glorious orange lights that bring me comfort again and again.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
11/19/05

Monday, December 27, 2010

Two Halves: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Word count: 48
Views: 0

What a love I have found in my son; what a love I found in my wife

The two add up to me, two halves of a heart that I have never possessed inside this old tomb known as me.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
1/14/09

Saturday, December 25, 2010

My Addiction to Conviction: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"My Addiction to Conviction"

Conviction has become my addiction and my addiction has become me; I can not lie or steal.

Feel this love inside of me is it ok?

What have we learned so far and how have we gone from here?

Must I think of these things and is it ok?

Where does the heart fall and how big of a hole is left if it is taking from us?

If we fall how deep is it from here where it seems like hell has frozen over; would you spit in my face?

I guess we will find out; push your hand towards mine and I will see the look upon your face.

Be it ice or fire I will love you without end; I will always be here for you but I can not lie for you forever.

Oh what to do?

When you have some type of pain everyday in your mind; a constant tragic life were magic becomes your night.

To have and hold a solid foundation just to let it fall into a puzzle of problems on your desk of questions not yet answered it never seems to put it’s self together.

You are always missing a piece and if you look down at the riddle you have created your self; you miss the truth every time and you put your thumb down on the pieces that make your life; never seeing the picture in the end because of so many empty spaces never to be filled.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
12/24/08

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Desert Sands: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Desert Sands"

I see the truth in your eyes
I see the truth and so I despise
Take me away and turn me blue
Uncovered is the deceit that lies with in you.

A flicker of hope did arise upon sight of your out stretched hands
Yet the smile has faded blown away like desert sands.

Your eyes turn red and you can see through me
The truth turns into a lie, the smile to disgust
I wonder who you are

Just blow me a kiss goodbye and do not miss, I know you will try to

You will turn away again
You will walk away again
And I will be left standing there again
In wonder of what is between to warm bodies
Knowing there is no chance for me
No love to receive but so much to give.

I have seen the truth in your eyes
I have seen something that despises me
I have become indigo in the uncovering of your deceit and the flicker of hope I once saw in your out stretched hands has been blown away by the desert sands.

By John M. Pride Jr.
6/21/’94

Monday, December 13, 2010

Honest John (Bio Style): a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Honest John" (Bio Style)

Yes I some times speak the truth even though no one wants to hear it.
Some people say look there goes honest John;
I hope he keeps walking on.

Some say there is a young helpful chap he will help me in a snap; he’s not good with a map but he will keep you out of a trap.

Some clap there hands in joy after I speak, while others there hands turn in to fists and I wish I would not have said a peep.

Honest John I am, that’s the way I am; no sham, no scam and you get the real me for who I am.

My words short or long, sharp or sweet, rimed or disorganized, it’s all discreet I assure you of that a pat on the shoulder a tip of the cap is all I ask for like a treat.

Yes I some times speak out of turn but that’s because I know I am right; it some times gets others wanting to fight.

So lets agree to disagree and we can leave it at that and I can give you a charming wink of the eye a snap of the fingers with a cheesy smile and say see that’s how I handle that.

The last or the first word it truly is all the same to me I will get all of them beginning or end you will see.

I am who I am and that’s all that I am; I am honest John just talk to me and you will see you will want to hang me by the nearest tree.

But what’s the big deal when you can get all your answers for free directly from me.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
4/10/2009

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Ant - Archy: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Ant - Archy"

(I wrote this on a whim, a girlfriend of mine at the time bet me I could not make a poem about ants up off the top of my head over the phone to her so I got a pen and pad and this is what I came up with not that brilliant but just fun which is what poetry is about enjoying your self.)

They came in to my house six legs and all; taking over my yard they are rude is what my friends say coming over every day.

They carried my dog away, they carried my car away and my parents too I call this Ant-Archy you would too if it happened to you.

Why don’t they just leave me be, just go away ill even pay; I step on them but they just multiply.

There in my refrigerator, there in my closet I’ve just about lost it; my girl came over to help but they just carried her away too.

I’ve been attacked by Ant-Archy; I woke in the morning and in my cereal there they stood everywhere.

What can I do and were can I go?

Here I am surrounded by Ant-Archy; why can’t they just leave?

What in the world do they want with me?

I talked to the Queen trying to make peace; but they just picked me up and carried me away.

All the media acts like they don’t know where I went and the FBI sure knows what happened to me but they won’t believe a word of the herd of witnesses that saw the whole thing unfold.

Now off in a straightjacket I go to a soft padded room of white; why can’t they just believe me I was attacked by Ant-Archy.

By John McKinely Pride Jr.
7/30/95

Thursday, December 9, 2010

My Son, Here I Stand from a Far and Watch you: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"My Son, Here I Stand from a Far and Watch you"

I see something through my son I never ever saw through my own eyes before.

I see a beauty
I see a trust
I see a love
I see an interest in the things I never did.

I see ethics and morals, I see hard work and pride in the home I once left as a childe.

My kin loving him so as they did me when I was in his shoes; we only have one chance to grab it; only one chance to love those around us before they leave us in this world.

By John M. Pride Jr
12/28/08

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

The Moon on the Pier: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Moon on the Pier"

My eyes begin to burn while I look at the sun; why am I so intrigued?

Soon to go blind; how can something so beautiful burn so bad?

I would ask my father; again he is intrigued by the moon on the pier.

My eyes have been open for all the years of my youth and there is no sight of a tear that did not fall more than once; there is a sharp pain the size of a black hole buried with in me; my father put it there engulfing my soul.

He was always some one to fear; sitting under these trees that grow rotted fruits of distrust; I would stand there waiting for them to fall in my basket of blame.

I could wait forever for that though; he will just leave me out to freeze with a cold shoulder to my childlike mind.

I have the sun to keep me company; he gives me all the love I need.

My father only yelled back at me; you will die on your own; you came here alone you will leave here alone.

I yelled back in a fury I have the sun and I need nothing more; with a simper on his face he said, what do you need love for?

As he tore my heart out and through it in to his furious sea of antagonism; yelling let me be! Let me be! Or come with me, to watch the moon on the pier fallow me to the slow boat I call my own the one I take when I know I need to flee, to run away from my troubles and never look back.

So, come with me if you wish, this is the last time you will see me and never will I speak to you again.

Don’t you understand you are one of the problems I want to forget, one of the problems that will not let me forget who I have become.

So, what is it you choose to do?

Drown here in this pity you call your self or come with me to run away again?

I will stay here alone because I came here alone, I will find love here alone because I found it on my own.

I will leave here with a remembrance of the love I found and know I will not die alone.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
5/16/’96

Monday, December 6, 2010

The Nothing: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Nothing"

The clouds have covered up my dead sun; the blue has gone away, but lingers some how within me.

Shaking, pacing waiting for the nothing to take what I can’t hide; inside sheep-like it wonders.

A cowered of what I could be, some how these clouds hide all of that and what could be me; all that I see is some how beyond the nothing that is trying to protrude it’s self with in the walls of my heart.

Looking with in its self it is quickly starting to die; finding my purpose I no longer hide from the nothing.

My sun comes alive with in me, bursts in to prism cutting diamonds; you have found me what will you do with me?

The nothing does not respond, standing up tall above the shadow which it hides and the nothing challenges me to give it my life.

The challenge is not there; this one time I will see it my way and this one time I will take back what is mine.

This one time I will fight to the death and this one time you will flee back to your darkness from which you came.

The nothing shows it’s self to me, the nothing shows his teeth, the nothing shows his claws.

Its blackness could over shadow the universe; but like a lone star in the night sky I burst in to radiance, in to a glow, in to a flame, in to a firestorm of courage.

This one time, this one lonely moment I will stand against you; when others have feared you; I will stand, I will stand my ground you will not shiver nor will you be moved but I will die no cowered of you.

Suicide, madness, cancer, and disease you will no longer bring me to my knees with my face soaked with tears deep with in my hands.

You have brought me to my end but I will bring you with me and I will descend again into the light with in me.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
11/13/08

Sunday, December 5, 2010

The Ice Melts Away: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Ice Melts Away"

I didn’t know better, for what it was worth and the time it was worth more than your smile; that half a leer that you thought fooled a thousand did not fool the one in the crowed that believed your lies.

I assemble myself here I know your game the one you play to get your fame, the violin that sounds so sweet while its playing for the ones who love you so.

These ears hear nothing when you say the slightest thing; it’s so easy to break the ear drums of those who fallow you in to the dark.

The darkness hides nothing from the ones who carry a light in there heart; a light so big it burns a hole through the silky covered sky; ripples the clouds away and dries up the rain, the light comes through and picks me up, lifts me like a sun flower reaching for the warmth of the radiant sun.

Today your whispers of deviant disarray will fall upon deaf ears; they fall short from your cold lips in to the very air you breathe.

The words you used hang upon the fist that bloodies your face; there on the snowy ground were you lay, were I will leave you reaching out thinking you can fool me again.

No longer am I willing to walk on the thin ice you stumble upon dragging others behind you to there death.

No longer will I follow.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
©8/14/08

Saturday, December 4, 2010

These Imperfections: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"These Imperfections"

Damn, these imperfections; I cannot stand them they make me stutter
They make me fall, they make me misspell and that is not all.

When I’m down they kick me around; I wish I could sound proof my mind to keep them quiet but they just won’t go away.

Damn these imperfections clinging to my back like a tick on an old broken dog, waiting for my legs to give away.

So many imperfections in my days; the snaps of whips
the smiling faces and the laughter of hate.

The echoing voices of smite that scream out loudly; irate and unbalanced to my heart.

I drowned in this and I’ve awakened in this; they have hardened my heart these imperfections in me.

They help me see the perfections in you and it shines true in you.


By John McKinley Pride Jr
©11/25/07

Friday, December 3, 2010

No Longer the Victim: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"No Longer the Victim"

What shale I do when it all falls apart and I loose what I have won; dose my back turn yellow and I just walk away?

A hanging head is the sure sign of defeat and I have never seen the floor so close up before.

The lines in the carpet resemble some kind of thought that creeps in to my mind like a fog over grassy noels.

Creeping my way towards this real tragic love affair, what shale I do tuck my tail and hold on to you?

I am not the aggressive one nor am I the motivator of destruction and if I seem like the cowered in this situation please do not let your guard down for you will never see me coming.

You will wish you would have never underestimated me, this elution tricks many and brings many to there knees.

Oh, like an angle of light I appear to some but too many who know me I am the son of no one you have known in your life time.

Fall backwards with all your trust into my arms of loathing despair and see the angle of death face to face for the first time.

By John M. Pride Jr.
©3/14/06

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Puzzled: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Puzzled"

I look into this corner blind folded with my hands tide behind my back.

Pieces of my soul like boulders in my hands; with my head and thoughts up against the wall.

It is so hard to choose rite from wrong; when there’s so much more wrong than rite and there is too much time wasted playing games with life and counting how many tears have hit the floor.

So I send pieces of my self up to you hopping you know what to do with it; hopping you could put it back together; hopping that the pieces of my self can come back together again.

Pieces of my soul gathered up and thrown into the sky plucked from out of the clouds by angles.

Put back together by truth never to descend again what once was a puzzle now is a new life.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
©11/16/’96

Monday, November 29, 2010

Staircase of Forlorn Sunshine a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Staircase of Forlorn Sunshine"
Push the button kill the man
Pull the trigger kill the man
Pull the string kill the man

That’s why I look up to you there’s no one left but you; so I look to you.
There’s no one here but you; all the lonely people passing by my stair way; all the forlorn people wishing for another day.

I don’t want to become some broken record on the turn table of life.
Out on the street I lye wanting to pick my self up off the ground wanting and only wanting what I can’t have because it has all gone away with time as its reaper.

That’s why I look up to you
That’s why I depend on you
I watch the sunset and then stare at the moon knowing there is a dark side there.
I watch the sun set but I talk to the moon.
There must be a reason why we are here
There must be a reason to have no fear to die a peaceful death to die in a beautiful way is all I want.

To live a happy life and say I am alright
I am not part of the forlorn and I am no longer a passer by the stare case you offer me
But I will take each step in awe; feeling the loneliness flee my body and now here I have found my answer.

By John M. Pride Jr.
©8/31/08

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Yesterday Is Today a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

I know a weakness, I know a fear, I know discouragement and I know a tear.

Hope waits at the door today; yet I lock it and turn away letting someone down today.

The more I run, the more I'm blinded by the light of day creeping up like yesterday.

The fear comes just like today, just one glimpse and I feel the need to look back.

My soul becomes unknown to me; I'm scorched like a rose in the sun, burn, burn, burn before yesterday.

So again I awake surrounded by the same light; the second chance in life to see yesterday as today.

My hand upon the door feeling the urge to open to see what has fallowed me; a pain or fear I can not see for I thought it was living inside me.

My heart in conflagration I want to know more as the door knob glows I poll away there is never a yesterday there is only today.

The windows to my soul there is none; I am blind with frustration and hostility with what fervor I have left in me is dried up like dead leaves in the fall.

I am strength and if you know me then you know no fear, I am encouragement and I will wipe away the tears.

I am the hope that waits at your door today and yesterday, my door is never locked and I will never turn away or let you down yesterday or today.

You can run as much as you like; we will meet sooner or later, in the middle or in the end and I know your soul I am your light.

I am your chance to see today as today to forget about yesterday it was just another day; open the door and never look back they are now gone all of your yesterdays have faded away.

By John McKinley Pride Jr/Matthew Ryan McKay
©1994

Friday, November 26, 2010

Frail Phase: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Word count: 110
Views: 1

This phase of life seems so frail to touch, a crushing wait that smothers some, but helps others breathe again.

It all comes together or it all falls apart, each day different from the start.

Kind hands that help scared buy past abuse, yet the ones who are unmasked wont waste there time.

A phase in your mind, but it’s something that happens on occasion.

A crushed heart, a tattered soul and skin bruised by a malevolent fist of hate.

This phase, just like the next, is to forget about and always hope that they would regret all that they have done.

By John McKinley Pride, Jr.
©5/2/’02

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Cutting the Lions Mane: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Word count: 139
Views: 25

This throne of thorns how long have I sat here and bled torment that seems to never leave me.

I’ll pretend that I even care and walk away from it for a day only to seek it again for the love of a friend to find my way back tripping on a crack of hatefulness and jealousy that flows from those who try to take the heart out of every thing I do.

My heart is big and full of life scared maybe but strong; stitched back together by seeing the work of those who are selfish and full of them selves.

Oh, I wish I could bring the lion out of me some times but it always ends up been a cub of fear and the tears of a crocodile.

By John M. Pride Jr.
©9/2/08

Inner Blues: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Word count: 130
Views: 14

Tired, broken, some how falling, some how never stopping, never knowing, what was next.

How can I stay under this rock?

This thumb that has no print, talking to my self and saying why don’t you move?

Why don’t you shake away these inner blues, you call your personal hell?

I quietly adjust my own ears so that I don’t hear my self say you can do better.

Some must push on, some must stay happy with what they have, some don’t have to do anything and some must die trying.

That’s my must in life, to spend the long days ahead, making up for all the things I didn’t do. Even then I’ll find my self, talking about these inner blues.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
©2/8/’05

Monday, November 22, 2010

Forgive the Forgotten: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Word count: 152
Views: 1

I’ve forgotten you, help me remember you, I have forgotten the past and the memories that I shared with you.

So please don’t forget me, I have forgotten the bad things you did, I have forgotten the tears of my yesteryears; they all belong to you.

What can I do?

When your so far away and I forget you; so tainted is our past with the spilled alcohol and drugs, the blood that runs so thick through our families veins runs through mine as well.

I was pushed away with my mouth taped shut like I had nothing to say.

I just wanted to run far away; now I’m grown and I've forgotten the past; along with the wounds; so I have forgotten, let our troubles go, go far down the drain of the past, lets forget all the hurt; between you and I.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
©7/30/’97

Sunday, November 21, 2010

The Arc: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Word count: 147
Views: 14
(I know this is a bit dark but I like to mix things up once in a while with a little darkness put in my poems)


I am the arc
I am the spark
I am the power grid that feeds your hate.

The flame that burns your love, the heat that dissipates the very breath you take; the fear that breeds your tears and poles the teeth from your smile.

Glowing eyes I have none, horns and a tale I am not a trick or a treat; I am your failure.

I am deep down inside you, the part of you that you won’t let out; the parts of you that you can’t let go or forget about.

But I am here, I am always here and I am waiting for you to let me free.

By John M. Pride Jr.
©11/6/08

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Voices a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Word count: 95
Views: 2

I can hear it, these voices in my head. They seem close but I hear them far pounding, a grinding, and a tear ripping through my mind.

I try to forget these sights, but they have become mine, imbedded in my deepest soul thrashing my morality till I can no longer walk the talk that I speak to others.

My flesh speaking to my heart again saying in a whisper lie down and die, lay down and die weak child don’t even try just lie down and die.

By John M. Pride Jr.
©11/22/’05

A Glistening Through the Elongated Silhouettes of the Cemetery Trees: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Word count: 215
Views: 1

Glistening sun light creeping through the silhouettes of these amazing elongated trees over the horizon of a day just born; every day seems to start the same; with a perfect sunrise that seems to be flawless to the human eye.

It will all get better is what we say when in awe of such a sight; these things are what keep us rational when we have gone awry.

Even the sunrise sooner or later becomes difficult to look upon when there seems to be more on the mind then invited.

Glistening sun light seeping through the silhouettes of these amazing elongated trees; reaching up further than I can see; melting like ceiling wax in to the clouds of a childes imagination of dragons that roar and make pirates shiver lowering there flags.

I wish I could see further than this; I wish I could see past the cemetery trees; past the darkened lines and blackened mood landscape.

I believe I will one day see past all this bleakness and straight in to the heavens past the coldness of this world; straight in to the heart of the sun; to see like a child again and know that there is something out there much bigger than I am.

By John M. Pride Jr
©11/20/06

Friday, November 19, 2010

This is what it is: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"This is what it is"

This is what it is, life at a grand pace; the slow motion of a beautiful face mouthing the words that fill the empty space in your heart; thoughts of an angle make you tremble but the expression you see sinks your ambition.

This is what it is, the spinning of the world that makes you go round the sound of tear drops that hit the ground, rising up in to trees of loneliness shedding the bark of isolation to show the bear real you. You are the center of all this and more, are you there? In heart and in spirit or is this all a mask to suppress your demons to the mass, to keep you from been the one who every one points the finger too.

This is what it is, life at a faster pace more stress on the grace you once had as a child. Said are your skies bleeding clouds dry leaving worldly winds of whys? On the other side of the world I can hear you like a muse to my soul pounding deep with in myself finding the words I could not say but blurt out so rapidly when in thought of you.

Keep this in mind that when you think of any two things together think of you and me and nothing else, because this is what it is life at a grand pace with a lost love some were in this race.


By John M. Pride Jr.
3/3/06

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Dong-tian Taoci: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Dong-tian Taoci"

She was like winter ceramics; like porcelain to the touch; a poem about romance and love.

Truly my angle from above; my dong-tian taoci; I’ll always need you; so promise me you will never let me go.

Among the flowers and the trees; you are dear to me; so lost with out you.

You brought new life to me opened my eyes so I could see; then you brought me to my single knee; could you forever love only me; my dong-tian taoci.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
4/25/’05

Monday, November 15, 2010

Traffic Sign: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Traffic Sign"
Again these bad thoughts come to me like a nightmare with vengeance, holding back nothing but kindness; words flow from my mouth like a short vocabulary for thoughts who know not what they say when they say it out loud.

How is it that we never really think before we say something vulgar and rude?

Is it what this cruel world has taught us; words that flow with no meaning but the obscurity that releases them.

From racist to hatred words they can come in any shape or form like a bomb or a dozen roses of death with peddles that are bleak words that flow but mean nothing, yet hurt those around us.

So, as I sit in this chaos and hear nothing but the loud mumbles of those on the outside, I will try to keep my calm and drive on by not saying a word.

By John M. Pride Jr.
3/13/05

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Snow Queen: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Snow Queen"

Thursday faces; they come and go; but they melt in the snow by the end of the week.

Down by the creek we go; Thursday faces in the snow, on white flowers are where they grow, beautiful and pale is her face; smiling with wonderful grace.

Is this were I kiss her red bright lips?

Her icy blue eye’s send me on trips and pierces my heart as she starring into my eyes given off eternal sighs.

Crying snowflakes into a puddle of thoughts; turning them in to ice; leaving a reflection of her face but not a trace of her body.

I can’t hold her, I can’t touch her, I see her and it hurts so bad not to be able to reach her, to hold her in my arms and kiss her red lips is all I need.

Her breath feels cold as she whispers in my ear that she loves me, but, I still can’t hold her near, my snow queens faces in the snow.

I just have to let her go, her Thursday faces in the snow.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
7/26/’06

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Where is The Thickness in Our Blood Line?: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Where is The Thickness in Our Blood Line?"

The lovingness
The morality
It all seems to sink
In through the cracks of each generation; seeming to disappear with each blood line.

The book seems to become thicker and the end seems to always be the same each chapter sad or sadder than the last.

As the book grows the blood becomes water and it seems to dry up on the tools of the yester years with every birth forgotten.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
1/1/09

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Shot Gun Cupid: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Shot Gun Cupid"

I am pail, you are cerulean and it looks like your going to drown.

Why the long frown?

Is this stupid?

To bad I’m not cupid, then you couldn’t hate me, for my poem would be a hit.

I’m the bullet in your gun, I’m the light in your refrigerator and I’m the one hiding in your shadows.

There’s nothing to be scared of, trust me I’m not the only one with a gun.

No I’m not the only one, the only one with a gun; I’ll pull the trigger of silence, then you will see my love.

Don’t stare at the lights to long at the end of this tunnel you might go blind or to your surprise a train full of love might run you down.

Where I hide you can not find, I’m the one in your shadows and there’s nothing to be scared of, trust me, I’m not the only one, the only one with a gun.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
4/10/’96

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

The Grandfather Clock: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Grandfather Clock"

My heart is flooded with tears, no one to drain this ache I hide; no one has died again and here I sit on the out side to watch it all from my side.

Listen to the old clock tick as I slowly get sick; watch theme all fade away; so fast and it just seemed like yesterday they were so young and free.

The sent of death is in the air, this time life seems so unfair and to the old man sitting in his rocking chair.

His memories fade away, but after his gone the love will out last demise and forget the past it’s the future that never lasts and it will all go by so fast.

The grandfather clock is set, time has begun at the stage of one and I am the reaper and here I sit waiting for you watching the great grand father clock.

The bell tolls for every man who lives

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
1/2/’96

Monday, November 8, 2010

Saga of Obscurity: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Saga of Obscurity"

My love, you’re flying paste the moon and the stars, what’s there to fear but fear it’s self and what will be of you will be no more.

The stars shoot past you like rays of light, the moon shining like a sphere of dreams in this long awaited space of nothingness.

The stars like a swarm of fireflies in a jar of obscurity, knowing there is no safe place here, no shield of love or protection to seal tightly your thoughts of what this space really is to you.

Neither I, nor any one else can take it from you; it’s your own to keep and hold to cherish forever this space between you, between me, between every one and It’s become a saga of rimes.

You can’t leave this up to me, I could never bring you the sun light or the clouds of white that you so desire.

Do you think of me? Do you think of any one at all?

Your face so blank like a porcelain mask of still emotion; it’s a saga of shadows how you became like this.

I do not actually understand this space between us that never really was there in the first place; knowing that I was the one who put it here among us, now seeing that I was the reason for all the obscurity in are lives.

All is fading fast now and the unfortunate has happened; the space between us has fallen dark.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
3/7/’05

Sunday, November 7, 2010

The Absolute: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Absolute"

The absolute of the end is coming, catching up to what was necessary to life’s end to bring it’s beginning to start life’s wonderful trend. Falling from these sparks that burn in to the sky brighter than the stars on a molasses colored night. Slowly the darkness drips from around the moon; blue skies breaking through sunlight freeing me again; my wings blossom and I leave the ground. For that moment I am some one for that moment no one can be me, for that moment is every thing in my heart.

By John M. Pride JR.
11/22/’05

The Fall: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Fall"

These leaves fall down twisting and twirling through the air of a yesteryear breeze; covering the ground of a youth past.

There is a peace found in the aluminous sun set on high; during the fall; is time for all; raped in a shawl; walking through the woods; all the colors match some grand blueprint of the imagination.

Only in fall will she visit at all; only while the leaves are turning burning thoughts of our past.

Feeling her kiss like dew upon the wet grass; carving are names in trees; feeling moor in love thane ever before; hoping the fall will never end. If it does, then I will remember the time I spent with her in the fall.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
12/30/’96

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Moon Light: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Moon Light"

Moon Light come on down, moon light come all around and come on down to me.

Hear the bloody sound oh moon light, never hear a sound, moon light look at it all around and the stars seem so bright.

The night becomes day, the day becomes night, and then you will see it; yes the moon light.

Oh moon light, glowing, beaming bright and I just can’t help it anymore its beauty throws me off guard turning every thing I see so beautifully blue.

The light comes down; down to face and you begin to fear the sight of day.

Fall in love with the sight of night bring me this glowing beaming bright light and share it with me; frightened no more I can see it all around me this moon; moon light.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
11/29/’95

Friday, November 5, 2010

The Untouchable Creatures (A Look from a Psychologists’ Chair with a Killer): a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Untouchable Creatures"
The mind.
A simple cage for some.
You can fill it with whatever creature you want.

What happens when that cage
is filled with something full of rage?

When the creature in that cage is teased, and when the creature in that cage
becomes not just a creature, do you dare open it?

Do you dare figure out how to tame it, and do you dare try to find what makes it tick?

What of your mind?

It is but a simple cage as well.

What happens when their cage is sat down next to yours?
Will the creature start to mimic the other? Will the creature become docile,
or will the creature in your cage go insane?

What are we to become in this world, full of aberrant nature that thrives off
sinful lifestyles of others?

It is true you cannot touch the untouchables, but however they can touch you ,
not only through the physical aspects of life, but through the sites that are thrown in your face on a daily measured scale, thrashing your mind in a blender of tormented visions, equaling to the very fear they feed off, thrive off and devour with a sick delight.

In this world, it takes all types; but, it only takes one to make that final decision
to pick the cage up and rattle it till the creature inside that cage is pushed
to the point of even killing itself.

Be careful on how you rattle the cage; it just might be your last.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/15/10

To Find the Insane (The Look into a Killers Mind): a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"To Find the Insane"
Where does the mind start to die?

Where does the mind start to unfold like a book of memories unwanted?

Where does it start to take shape?

Where does the mold break into pieces?

Every mind differs in every way, a plethora of labyrinth guided truths and falsehoods.

Where does ones reality become psychopathic fantasy?
Where does the change take its course within them?
Are they without any reality at all?

The path of one mind opens to you,
not able to see all the moves that betray your common sense of morality.

The challenge of carnage lies in front of you;
your mind will deceive you, and leave you flustered in a cluster of doubts.

What is your reality?

What is your fantasy?

Who is to say that the mentally insane are sick,
and not the ones who think they have it together?

Who treats those who treat the insane or are the insane treating them?

By John McKinley Pride Jr
7/27/10

The Fine Line between Madness (Bio Poem of a Detective): a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Fine Line between Madness"
The sight in my head will not leave my psyche.
All my dreams are meshed into long nightmares.

I have seen things that only morticians can stomach,
and pictures, pictures, thousands of pictures I have taken of things that only
animals are capable of doing.

Blood; I have seen my share of others blood my friend;
thanking God that it is not my own or my loved ones.

To sleep without waking, to somehow put a curtain over the wall of faces in my mind, would only mask the reason why I am here.

To come face to face with the monsters
is the hardest part to feel some kind of sanity,
while you are behind the looking glass
into their tirades and moments of complete dead silence.
Some how, I must tame the dark side inside myself from becoming like them.

It is what separates us from each other, that line, that fine thin line between madness and the cliff into our own burning hell.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/11/10

The Accent of Death (The Voice that Talks to a Killer Inside His Head): a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Accent of Death"
The mind bridges the gap between the sane and the insane.
What eats the brain into submission that takes over its transgressions,
cutting off the transmissions which raises the questions?

What makes friction between the skull and the spine, makes the picture clearer inside, deep where things hide a shatter of diamonds, a prism of thoughts, and a tunnel of hallucinations that clamber times walls?

Bridges between realities.

Bridges between ones fantasies.

Bridges burnt down by pure insanity.

Bridges from right to left to let them tell you who you are.

Is there a bridge to clarity?

Is there a color for every mood?

Don’t be the one who creates the gap; be the bridge to clarity.
Show them all who you really are. Toil with them; leave them clues.

You are immortal; no one can stop you.
There will be no one before you, and there will be no one after you
who can cheat death like you do.

Go ahead; take the hand of demise, and watch your numbers grow.
It does not mater who; you are the king of deaths thrown.
You wear a crown of bones, watch them scream, and cry for help; your strength just grows.

They will beg and plead for you not to do harm, but you choose their fate now.
Show them who you are; show them what you can do; show them their own fear,
and devour it like a life line to your murky soul.

You are invincible.
You stand alone against all who do not understand you.
You are the God of death.

You stand alone against this world

By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/13/10

Thursday, November 4, 2010

The Two Sides of Me: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Two Sides of Me"

An Ode to this day, not like any other;
But separate from so many before it, the
gliding rain turns to snow with out a
warning. The silent drips of dew fall into
the river were the leaves flow amongst the
ripples of the mirror image of this rising
day.

A sword of my imagination lifts up from
the reflection of this woman dressed in
white that I once saw at a funeral for my
arrogance. It could be my death that she
is handing me or it could be my victory that
makes me whole again. Which fate is it that
I am reaching for? Shale I become king or
shale I drowned in my own pride.

Victory can be my demon or it can be my angle, which
shale it be asked my reflection. Humility
and my sanity could never hold the guilt
forever in my mind and heart; they would
throw me amongst the sword of humbleness.


By John McKinley Pride Jr.
2000

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Turning of the Leaves: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Turning of the Leaves"

These leaves of change they turn me every time, change the color of my mood, change the thought of my mind. My heart out rates me and the blood is not as thick as it once was, but it out does me every time.

This excitement sleeps inside of me but my actions out rate me and these leaves have turned, falling from silhouettes of weeping trees in the sunset of disarray.

Disillusioned by this smile again and disarmed buy my own thoughts, I turn like leaves through the many changing seasons of mood swings.

Embraced by the logical things to love again the turning of the leaves

By John M. pride Jr.
11/23/05

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

The Mushroom: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Mushroom"

If the dark drives you mad’
Then you could never be a mushroom.

If secrets drive you crazy
Then you could never be a mushroom.

If you don’t like been fed muck by those who are above you,
Then you could never be a mushroom.

If you could never stand been stepped on you could
Never be a mushroom.

America we are mushrooms.

By John M. Pride Jr.
11/9/08

Monday, November 1, 2010

My Small Silver Spinning Planet 8: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"My Small Silver Spinning Planet 8"

A small silver spinning planet enough room for one; no one else is allowed here; just me, my self and I. It is so crowded here on this planet of mine; where the sun always shines because the rain misses every time. A rime in the blustery weather as the music falls from the trees. Seas of lilac crash against the metallic mountains; I see an expression in the water and it is not my own; is this the lake of fire were souls come to rest and speaking of souls; were has mine gone? Some wear lost in the glowing green clouds above. Falling rain drops of love, hit my unfamiliar face as I fly like a dove soaring with wings of gold on this little spinning planet of mine. These eyes see miles of nothingness no one to love and no one to hate on my small silver spinning planet 8.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
11/18/’96

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Roots: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Roots"

The earth begins to shake away; the ground breaks in two. The waves begin to separate; the child sleeps so deep in the roots. Awaiting for another day; seeking for another day another day to break free from the roots.

I can’t save you,
I can’t take you,
I can’t be there,
I can’t say when,
I can’t say were,

The child soon moves around breaking through the hallow ground of yesterday; the roots still attached; pains the only thing the child feels now.

You can’t save me,
You can’t love me,
You can’t kill me,

I am deep with in your roots; you can’t see me you can’t break free from the roots

You can’t save me,
You can’t take me,
You can’t say when,
You can’t say were,

The pain will soon go away and all there will be left is the roots.

By John M. Pride Jr.
4/30/96

Friday, October 29, 2010

My Lonely Disgrace: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"My Lonely Disgrace"

My tears grasp part of me that never feels and they will never let me go. This is it, this is where my head begins to spin and my defense falls like a plague. Oh, your beauty let it shine upon my face again and keep me bound upon my knees forever. This heart can be warm again, it can grow again and these veins that run cold can flow with true love again. Shine your beauty upon me like before, like vines my arms reach for you; like flowers my eyes open to you and like a gentle wind you speak to me. Grow with in my heart and grow with in me; find this way to never loose me, find this way to find the words I need to say that will never leave my lips again only to fall from me and never reach you. These tears they roll on and down my face descendant in grace I fall, fall, fall from my lonely disgrace.

By John M. Pride Jr.
1/2/06

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Forty Winks: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Forty Winks"

Down My head goes, tightly my eyes close, to dream away and never come back to the awakening world. When I sleep, I can be in my own fantasy, when I sleep I can fly through the sky and when I sleep I can fall in love, in my dreams stars don’t fall from above but rain falls back to the sky. The people don’t walk forward they walk backwards; there’s no evil just pure good and the ugly people are considered pretty. The obese is considered skinny, there is nothing cruel about my dreams and yet it seems no one is screaming. I let the angles sing and the clouds roam; I walk through what most people don’t believe but have never known it to be and yet if they would fall fast asleep they would not be deceived by the forty winks they do not acquire during there weeks of restlessness.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
4/28/’05

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Ocean Colored Me: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Ocean Colored Me"

Under the ocean it gets kind of cold, but not tonight; your ocean colored me. What were you looking for? Someone to hold you tonight? Your ocean colored me again, wave after wave, drowning me again and again. Feel these wet kisses through the slight breezes giving by the sea. Your ocean all around me; pull me under deeper and deeper, till I find the treasures of you to mean more than gold to me. I will fall into your aquatic love, to believe forever in your waves of adoration and then fall slowly asleep in this abyss of loneliness.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
2/28/’05

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Jaded Ivy: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Jaded Ivy"

The words spill out on to the page, but they don’t seem to go anywhere.
No eyes or mouths can figure them out, brains of those who read it burn and fizzle trying to knead it in to there own ideas of what the words should be.

Were does this go?

How does this fit?

No, no, no the words are all wrong, this should be here and that should go there.
Trying to find some mathematical problem deeply imbedded somewhere in the words I bleed.

It is not science nor is it a puzzle to figure out why we are here; it is words put to paper to shout out loud and clear to the whole world I am here.

To see that the soul has nothing to fear, to peek out of your heart at the demons that have built up inside of you and say here I am bearing it all; all for you to see my love, my fears, my happiness and my loathing.

Wait, wait a hush for just a moment; I will shut my mouth or do I shudder when I think silence must become me because of the words that come from you, thinking it to be wisdom past on to some one who had nothing and made something even more grand than life offered.

The paper my body, the pen my spirit and the ink my blood; surly you think these words come from a mad man; well my friend such is my writing, such is my work.

So I slowly remove the jaded ivy around my head and I think to my self a peaceful thought and I walk away knowing that you know nothing about me at all.

By John M. Pride Jr.
8/15/08

You Shine: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"You Shine"

You shine; yes you shine like the sun as I gaze at you
In adoration I see the sky blazing blue.
You shine true, crazy love shock to my flat line,
You never bring me down, you keep me high and steel in my mind.
Shaking in my soul I never stood alone, you sink in to me
And sooth my dry skin; like treatment upon my burnt tattered heart you bring me through.
You shine, you shine and I’ll make you mine sky and all; I’ll fly into you and never descend again.
Your love shines, shines for all times.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
4/20/’01

Monday, October 25, 2010

Naked Sleep: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Naked Sleep"

She said she thought of me and I told her the same, pictures would flash in my head of her and I in bed. Thoughts wouldn’t go away; it wasn’t watching the sun set it was dreams of naked sleep. I would hold her tight and think of her like an angle; naked sleep it won’t leave my memory, making love to her through the night hoping I was doing every thing just right. Naked sleep it has me and it will not let me go; it’s just her that I want, no one else she had my mind going and my temperature rising with my heart racing on fire. I thought I was going to explode I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t rest, I could only think of her and naked sleep. I didn’t know if I should weep or feel like a creep because all I could think of was naked sleep. With her on my mind and naked sleep all the time all I really wanted was her all this time.

By John M. Pride Jr.
5/2/96- 3:06am

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Death Gently Smiles a Poem by John McKinley Pride Jr

"Death Gently Smiles"

I do not have the time to listen to you spade yourself; these feelings are alive with hate.

Let us stand here for a while; let us think about this for a while; did you know we die?

We really die. Think about it while I gently smile; stand up to a knowledge, a thought in your head; yes, it might slow you down some. A little change might take away some of the pain; Every time you do, I would look in the mirror at my ghost.

I am still with out peace; I see it in the death of you.

You are truly paralyzed by the heap of lies you have piled upon my back; you’re standing at what feels like the factual beginning; which in truth, death gently is smiling upon you, like you smiled upon me, in my end.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
4/25/’96

Saturday, October 23, 2010

The Feet of a King (Fødderne af en konge): a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Feet of a King"

Your feet felt the love of a mothers touch; your feet felt the waves of a raging sea.
How can I follow in your steps when your feet felt the touch of a broken sinner’s tears and the brush of her hair?

Your feet felt the stairway to Pilot’s judgment; oh Lord, how do I follow?
Your feet felt the rocky trail to Calvary and the nail of my sin; oh Lord, how can you love me so?

When my feet have felt nothing but the soft soles of my own shoes, a promise from me to you oh Lord is that the day I see you; your feet will feel a kiss from my lips only worthy for the feet of a king.

By John M. Pride Jr.
8/6/08
_____________________________________________________________________________________

(This is for my Danish Friends/Dette er for mine danske venner)

Fødderne af en konge


Dine fødder følte kærlighed til en mødre touch; fødderne følte bølger med en rasende hav.

Hvordan kan jeg følge i dine skridt, når dine fødder følte et tryk på en brækket synders tårer og børste hendes hår?

Dine fødder følte trappe til Pilot's dom, åh Herre, hvordan jeg følge?

Dine fødder følte stenede sti til Golgata og søm min synd, åh Gud, hvordan kan du elske mig så?

Når mine fødder har følt noget, men de bløde såler af mine egne sko, et løfte fra mig til dig oh Lord, er, at den dag jeg ser dig, dine fødder vil føle et kys fra min læber kun værdig til fødderne af en konge.

Af John M. Pride Jr.
8/6/08

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Knowing Splendor, Has No Time: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Knowing Splendor, Has No Time"

There’s a crack in the sun; no time to look back in splendor. We’ve always been on the wrong track with the dreams to see and the dreams to put away.

For all the days, you were far, far away, climbing a bean stock high in the sky never to look back.

You’ve found a name like any other name, but don’t let it flee your mind.

Keep these names no one else wants; charm the clouds in all their curiosity on this bird that flies south for the winter.

Make sure you’re in the center of these timeless sands that pass through your hands; these memories will fall like the leaves from a winter oak; you’re finding that life goes at a fast inhuman pace.

The rain can take away all the splendor of this world, but it doesn’t keep secrets from tomorrow or what could be wrong with today; only to know it was there yesterday, when you asked yourself, “What’s time like no time at all?”

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
3/2/’05

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

The Answer To Time and Trouble: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Answer To Time and Trouble"

Sway like the tree, sway and feel free; sing
like the Blue Jay and enjoy the day. Do not
fret over the little things; there is sure
to be bigger things ahead. Enjoy the day and
do not borrow tomorrow’s troubles; do not
save them up in a bank of problems. Your
numbers would just add up to worry; for you
have your whole life to be scared of what
could be and what could not be. We are not
promised the next day or even today; they
do not even exist; only in the mind or in
the dreams of a child where everyday is a
greater adventure than the last. So, I say
enjoy the day to its fullest and know that
the sun is not your enemy and time stands
still for no one.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
2007

Monday, October 18, 2010

Sincere and Motioning: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Sincere and Motioning"

There's this slow downhill motioning
it's keeping me trembling while this
leprechaun keeps riddling, fiddling,
spindling and playing his violin.
These fast cars are motioning, settling
in my parking lot mind.
There's a girl speaking and the words she
uses are sincere.
I watch the people out on the street, words seem
mean, but he's down on his knees this time
motioning and sincere.
This sincere motioning, keeps me trembling,
riddling, fiddling, spindling.
As fast cars go around the words he uses
seem sincere and the words she uses are
moving.
Watch the people go down, sincere and
motioning.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
4/4/'97

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

To My Only: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"To My Only"

To my only friend, to my love; you are true
to me; as I am a lie to you. You are all to
me, where I am only half to you and you are
my day as I am your night. You are the
sunlight so warm and grand; I am the moon
light no feeling at all, cold and bland.
You are my everything, my float, my rock
and my heart when I need it. You are my
rainbow so full of color and delight, to
where I am a black and white T.V. that never
seems to change. Yes, you are my life
support and my crutch when I need some one
to lean on. You are every beat of my heart;
with out you I cannot even breath or think;
life would be oh, such a bore without my
beautiful wife who helps me soar.

By John McKinley Pride Jr

Sunday, October 3, 2010

To Love Again (#1 and #2): a poem By John McKinley Pride jR

“To Love Again #1”

A pure love is what I ask for; an innocents unknown.

A pure love that stands true to the stories told to me as a child;

A pure love that is able to outlast time; outlast the turns of the earth and brings its worth;

A pure love that stands tall up past the heavens; the beats of the heart that cannot be counted;

A pure love not grown but created by the warmth of blood that runs red through the veins that were once sealed shut;

A pure love that stretches out past eternity stretches past who I am;

Reaches my soul, and feels my void; this hollowness with in my chest that only echoes those words from far away.

Only mouthed by the lips that I long to kiss, again and again teasing my mind vibrating chills deep with in my spine.

Melts me down and builds a fire with in me that lifts the weight off my back, tears me apart and brings me to my knees.

Conceives waterfalls in my eyes and brings me to the truth.

Oh to love again is all I ask for; all I ask for is a pure love.

By John McKinley Pride, Jr.
9/28/10



“To Love Again #2”

A pure love is what we all ask for; an innocents unknown.

A pure love that stands true to the stories told to us as children;

A pure love that is able to outlast time; outlast the turns of the earth and brings its worth;

A pure love that stands tall up past the heavens; the beats of the heart that cannot be counted;

A pure love not grown but created by the warmth of blood that runs red through the veins that were once sealed shut;

A pure love that stretches out past eternity stretches past who we are;

Reaches our soul, and feels our void; this hollowness with in our chest that only echoes those words from far away.

Only mouthed by the lips that we long to kiss, again and again teasing our mind vibrating chills deep with in our spine.

Melts us down and builds a fire with in us that lifts the weight off our back, tears us apart and brings us to our knees.

Conceives waterfalls in our eyes and brings us to the truth.

Oh to love again is all we ask for; all we ask for is a pure love.

By John McKinley Pride, Jr.
9/28/10

Friday, September 24, 2010

Looking for the Cause Unknown Rains Evenly: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jry

"Looking for the Cause Unknown Rains Evenly"
Sometimes when this darkness sets its claws deep within me,
love cannot find a way to fit itself
within this lifeless coffin I have become.

I lose all hope.
I lose all I once was.
I lose every sense to live.

When this darkness sets in deeply,
I come to realize I am withering away into this abyss of heaviness,
nothing to stop the fall of the sure end that perceives me.

I sometimes think happy thoughts to stop the fear of death that grows like the roots of a Ficus tree inside my twisted veins, which raises up the foundation of what once was a stable life I could call my own.

The thought of sunshine upon me and the smell of greenery, the laughter of children playing and old folks talking of their golden years, all brings a smile to my muted face and caresses me with color again.

Some how unwillingly, the darkness creeps back up into my heart from under the rock I smashed it with, bringing me back down to reality that my life has been smeared upon the pages of others lives.

The cause for my search is like rain that spreads evenly across infertile land, where nothing will cultivate but bleak spirits of madness that wallow in sadness, like ghosts that are lost without meaning in the poison that spreads through me.

My will brings back the light of hope that burns in me, the one true flame that burns like an antidote within my vary soul, the one truth that stays burning in me to never let it be doused by another of who I have become.

Even though this darkness may hold me, it can never keep me bound in its ugly grasp of mental decay which rains evenly across this land of the cause unknown.


By John McKinley Pride Jr
9/20/2010

(This is for a new book that is coming out soon pleas stay tuned. This poem is about AIDS please tell me if you see the secret msg in the poem.)

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

My Tiled Soul: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"My Til

Parts of me scattered here and there, with
a soul of black and blue. The floor is where
I lye, the truth is what I hide. Parts of me
are missing and parts of me are hiding
across the room and back. My tiled soul lay,
stepped on today and tomorrow with no sorrow
or thought of the next. I have myself in a
corner and I can't get out. Forgetting this
wall that I was against, because I've been
here so long, I can't even remember my name.
Lying here through night and day, parts of
me scattered here and there with no care.
A soul of black and blue, everything is
starting to look truer, as my tiled soul
lays through out the days.


John McKinley Pride Jr.

Monday, August 16, 2010

The Accent of Death, The Fine Line between Madness, To Find the Insane and The Untouchable Creatures

“The Accent of Death”
(The Voice that Talks to a Killer Inside His Head)

The mind bridges the gap between the sane and the insane.
What eats the brain into submission that takes over its transgressions,
cutting off the transmissions which raises the questions?

What makes friction between the skull and the spine, makes the picture clearer inside, deep where things hide a shatter of diamonds, a prism of thoughts, and a tunnel of hallucinations that clamber times walls?

Bridges between realities.

Bridges between ones fantasies.

Bridges burnt down by pure insanity.

Bridges from right to left to let them tell you who you are.

Is there a bridge to clarity?

Is there a color for every mood?

Don’t be the one who creates the gap; be the bridge to clarity.
Show them all who you really are. Toil with them; leave them clues.

You are immortal; no one can stop you.
There will be no one before you, and there will be no one after you
who can cheat death like you do.

Go ahead; take the hand of demise, and watch your numbers grow.
It does not mater who; you are the king of deaths thrown.
You wear a crown of bones, watch them scream, and cry for help; your strength just grows.

They will beg and plead for you not to do harm, but you choose their fate now.
Show them who you are; show them what you can do; show them their own fear,
and devour it like a life line to your murky soul.

You are invincible.
You stand alone against all who do not understand you.
You are the God of death.

You stand alone against this world

By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/13/10


“The Fine Line between Madness”
(Bio Poem of a Detective)


The sight in my head will not leave my psyche.
All my dreams are meshed into long nightmares.

I have seen things that only morticians can stomach,
and pictures, pictures, thousands of pictures I have taken of things that only
animals are capable of doing.

Blood; I have seen my share of others blood my friend;
thanking God that it is not my own or my loved ones.

To sleep without waking, to somehow put a curtain over the wall of faces in my mind, would only mask the reason why I am here.

To come face to face with the monsters
is the hardest part to feel some kind of sanity,
while you are behind the looking glass
into their tirades and moments of complete dead silence.
Some how, I must tame the dark side inside myself from becoming like them.

It is what separates us from each other, that line, that fine thin line between madness and the cliff into our own burning hell.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/11/10


“To Find the Insane”
(The Look into a Killers Mind)

Where does the mind start to die?

Where does the mind start to unfold like a book of memories unwanted?

Where does it start to take shape?

Where does the mold break into pieces?

Every mind differs in every way, a plethora of labyrinth guided truths and falsehoods.

Where does ones reality become psychopathic fantasy?
Where does the change take its course within them?
Are they without any reality at all?

The path of one mind opens to you,
not able to see all the moves that betray your common sense of morality.

The challenge of carnage lies in front of you;
your mind will deceive you, and leave you flustered in a cluster of doubts.

What is your reality?

What is your fantasy?

Who is to say that the mentally insane are sick,
and not the ones who think they have it together?

Who treats those who treat the insane or are the insane treating them?

By John McKinley Pride Jr
7/27/10


“The Untouchable Creatures”
(A Look from a Psychologists’ Chair with a Killer)

The mind.
A simple cage for some.
You can fill it with whatever creature you want.

What happens when that cage
is filled with something full of rage?

When the creature in that cage is teased, and when the creature in that cage
becomes not just a creature, do you dare open it?

Do you dare figure out how to tame it, and do you dare try to find what makes it tick?

What of your mind?

It is but a simple cage as well.

What happens when their cage is sat down next to yours?
Will the creature start to mimic the other? Will the creature become docile,
or will the creature in your cage go insane?

What are we to become in this world, full of aberrant nature that thrives off
sinful lifestyles of others?

It is true you cannot touch the untouchables, but however they can touch you ,
not only through the physical aspects of life, but through the sites that are thrown in your face on a daily measured scale, thrashing your mind in a blender of tormented visions, equaling to the very fear they feed off, thrive off and devour with a sick delight.

In this world, it takes all types; but, it only takes one to make that final decision
to pick the cage up and rattle it till the creature inside that cage is pushed
to the point of even killing itself.

Be careful on how you rattle the cage; it just might be your last.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/15/10

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Princes Of Main And King's Of New England a poem by John McKinley Pride Jr

"Princes Of Main And King's Of New England"

We will rule the world some day you
and I, thick as thieves we some times can
be. But you and I will grow up to be princes
and Kings with Main in our hearts and New England as
are throne. They soon will see the poor boys of
this country rise and never fall face first for no man
unless He be God Him self. So rise with me my brothers,
Let us be giants in our minds no longer, for when we
speak leaders shall listen and solders shell fallow like
herds of Buffalo; We will be poor no more.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Cold Weather: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Cold Weather"

I've been sleeping for a thousand years,
while you were throwing away all of your
essence. You seem to give a lot of pressure,
put together by pure messier. A heart to
treasure blown away by the cold weather;
freezing as it may be your love still
floats like a snowflake in the chilled wind.
No matter how heavy the burden, you stay
behind the curtain, certain in your place
in life traveling forever in your mind,
for what was a dream to others. A conniving
seed of mockery that they had put on you,
flattery of another kind, playing with your
passion, throwing away all of your essence.
Given away by pressure, put together by
messier, a heart to treasure, blown away
by the cold weather.


By John McKinley Pride Jr
4/12/97

Friday, July 9, 2010

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Who Will You Be?: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Word count: 328
Views: 4
It takes some one to know some one, to be some one in this world.
Your alive and here today, your more then just some one to me. I know there’s people who bring you down they bring me down too. But you know who they are and you know who you want to be, if you go down, we’ll go down together with the world on fire, every one would have known who we were, what we could have been then they will feel ashamed of the scandalous pranks they played on us. They will see it takes two to start a war and one to finish it. Alone in a stand off with my back turned they shot with out shame and with out blame they will never hang there heads, but raze there fists in victory of a death that will make them famous for years to come. They yell out there is no heart in us, our veins run an icy blue. Till they part from this world there will always be some one next in line behind theme to start it all over again, who will it be the demons, the devil or me. We are not all the ones to blame, not all of us are insane we try to find a light in this world so dim only to find those who lie; leaving the writings on the walls for those who wear barbwire as a blindfold; beg for mercy from those who cradle there money like if it were there soul. This world it will bring you down, this world it will tear you apart and this world has no heart. You must be more than this world makes you, you must be the first to shout out loud so they all will hear you; you must be you that’s who you should be.

So, I ask you, who will you be?

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
@12/13/’03

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Your Ghosts Lead You Astray: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Your Ghosts Lead You Astray"

Tell the truth before your ghosts come back to haunt you; but I could nearly see my self letting go of you. It’s true, it’s how you lie to your self and it’s how you scar your self; but yet you’re still the one I’m looking for. You are still looking; looking for truth; but it’s how this day ends that bothers you. It’s how you bother your self and you know it’s true; it’s always about you. Look in your closet they are waiting there for you; look how they bother you, look how your falsehoods come true and look what your deceptions do to you. I’ll wait for you; I’ll see your ghosts come threw, but what a thing to do; when your wishes don’t come true.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
11/18/’00

Monday, June 14, 2010

Roaming Souls and Broken Hearts: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Roaming Souls and Broken Hearts"
Lost are we among the multitude of roaming souls and broken hearts.

Searching ghosts are we pondering the graveyards of our past glory years

Broken are we searching for someone to mend it like a hermetic peace of machinery

What are we to become but dust and granulated feelings of anther's lust for power.

Like a traumatized victim left in the middle of the road of a population overload.

Have I tried hard enough?
Have I giving the blood?
Have I giving the sweat?
Have I giving the tears?

No, I have had them scraped from the slate of my very being.

Ripped off my skin like badges of merit that will never leave my mind; only scar my pride and chain down my spirit.

You've burned it all down; all that I was and what I left behind in hope that you would fallow.

But it was not enough; it was never enough put this on my tombstone and never forget how I never forgot about you and the pain I felt in my overworked hands was callused over with the love I had for you.

By John McKinley Pride Jr
5/6/10

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

King of the White Lion (Bio Style): a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"King of the White Lion"
Fear is not in me.
It is not of me.
I can see it in my enemies’ eyes.

I have lost all; so I am without fear.
There is neither beast nor man who can stand against me.

I am strength for the weak.
I am skill for the meek.
I am justice for the defenseless.
I am honesty for those who cannot stand on their own.

If you are for me, then you have safe haven.
If you are against me, then I pray your gods have mercy upon you.
I will have none for your sorry soul.

Hope our confrontation ends quickly as it started.
And if you walk away alive, you will surely have lost something in our duel.
For I am the King of the White Lion, and I am tamed by no man who stands before me.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
6/8/10

This is a Bio Style Poem about Sir Ivan who is called "The King of the White Lion" you can find him in the book.

Valley of the Yellow Stones By Pattimari Sheets Diamond
(can be found on LuLu.com)

A Knight’s Last Stance: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"A Knight’s Last Stance"
Heavy my steed walks upon bloody ground;

My shield in hand holding tight to my reigns;

So deep into the beasts’ tundra where no sunlight gleams;

The fear begins to make its way,
Trembling in my once steady war scarred hands,
I can feel the heat upon my armor;
I can smell the beasts’ very breath.

It is the stench of death rotted into the walls.
The sound of my heart echoes in my head.

Then before me a glowing of eyes appear in the pitch of darkness
That glooms in front of me.
My torch, as my life, slowly burns out.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
6/1/10

Sunday, June 6, 2010

The Fear of Hate: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Fear of Hate"

We find this way of making sense of all are wrongs by blaming others only to put are self’s at the mercy of are own hate. This tragic drama we call life is short, long, tragic and beautiful; but more often then anything diminutive it will always be. We fallow the straight and the winding roads too our own happiness some times to bump in to others on the way there never thinking of them on are way. Hoping there road is away from life’s disappointment and dismay; I have lived my life and seen many come and go; only to shake the dust of them off my boots as I shut the door behind me on the lies they tried on me. I am not afraid to walk alone in this life from right to left; back to my right only to sway slowly to my left again; what you see in this life might be calm but yet cruel and some times wild but tame, in the end I wish we all could be the same.


By John McKinley Pride Jr

9/11/08

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Silent Violent: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Silent Violent"

Silent violent course of destruction, your assumptions of knowing the end; what could be, would be, but not the course of knowledge and pain to the brain.



If not awake, then asleep to fallow clouds only to fall from the sky with wings on fire to fall in to ash; to hit the ground with soft thoughts in there heads.



You like the blank sights in your head it gives you time to think about nothing.



Fall in to the blank, fall in to this vermillion sky; the drugs won’t keep you high they will only bring you down embracing your frown.



Sing in your head your melody of silent violent; you brain dead fool sing your soul to sleep while your children cry and weep for the comfort of you to see them again in your arms and not under your feet.



By John M. Pride Jr.

10/26/08

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Cutting the Lions Mane: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Cutting the Lions Mane"

This throne of thorns how long have I sat here and bled torment that seems to never leave me.

I’ll pretend that I even care and walk away from it for a day only to seek it again for the love of a friend to find my way back tripping on a crack of hatefulness and jealousy that flows from those who try to take the heart out of every thing I do.

My heart is big and full of life scared maybe but strong; stitched back together by seeing the work of those who are selfish and full of them selves.

Oh, I wish I could bring the lion out of me some times but it always ends up been a cub of fear and the tears of a crocodile.

By John M. Pride Jr.
9/2/08

Sunday, May 2, 2010

The Charm of Merlin (The Charm of Me) (Bio-Poem) : a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Charm of Merlin"
I am a dream to some
A nightmare to others

Even the greatest of writers cannot decide who I truly am, and if I told you myself, could you believe such a mad man as me? History cannot hold my greatness or tell you the truths of where I have been or who I have loved or what amazing things I have seen along my journeys.

So come; let me tell you who I truly am. I am like the dragon; I am everywhere at once and I am everything around you.

I am fiction and nonfiction, but who am I to you?

I warned kings of bad blood and wrong maidens to be; I tamed the dragon to breathe a bridge to mad love across a raging sea.

I was the son of a royal nun, the offspring of the Diafol.

I am angel and demon;
I am light and darkness.
The Wildman of the woods and the boy that charmed the white and red dragon,
Prophet of disasters to come, friend and tutor to a young king of a great land.

My only love trapped me in stone and left me to rot while the only one she loved took her life.
Yes, love is blind as well as deaf.

You see, I need not be anywhere; here nor there or anywhere to get my revenge so sweet.
It all falls into place like bones being rolled to tell you some future of someone’s deceit.

Life, what is it to you? I have given it to knights who have seen their last days, and I have taken it
away from those who could not even see it being taken from them.

Life, none of you really know life till you have lived mine.

I have spoken to giants and created Stonehenge rock by living rock
You picture me as some old man or crazed wizard.
But the truth is I am all of this and much more.

Be him wizard or bard; be him wild or tamed; there is no one of me.
I am dreams, I am love, I am loyal, I am old, I am young, I am gray, I am a friend, I am a foe .
Greatness is me and I am greatness; you will find no one like me in history or time.

I am not of this world; I am no ordinary man you will find; you will never stand toe to toe with me. So let my story rest and let me be.

My love and life lay in a stone; this is where I am for all eternity.
Sure of all I was and was to be, my heart here for all to see.

By John McKinley Pride Jr (5/1/10 11:04PM)

Sunday, April 25, 2010

The Candy Cain Tree: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Candy Cain Tree"

With sand in my eyes; I try to stay sane as I head for the door; my knees buckle below me. I feel like a fool’ no turning back as my time flies by with flower scented grace. My face falls off into the mirror on the floor and I need to open my eyes once again. I hear my voice say out loud grief will find you; don’t lay still your not under the candy Cain tree. The taste of peppermint is in the air; my eyes going blurry; my mind goes blank; they have truly left me behind again. To swallow my own

Pride; my feet are back on the ground and nothing will stop me now; I’ll never forget the candy Cain tree; were they left me.



By John McKinley Pride Jr.

4/27/’05

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Brother: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Brother"
Brother
It never happened this way, not enough time in the day to make it right, not enough time to write the words I want to say they fell from my tong before the time ran out. Yet I wait and wait for a simpler day to come. I know there are more people in this world than just I. It sounds selfish, I guess when things don’t go right, I curse and fight with the clock just trying to get things straight, it’s never worth the wait. Deciding if this will be your fait or your third wind, you get in the black out of this stress ridding pain staking free fall. Some might say in this world there is less pain then tragedy, if I could rip the very heart that beats in my chest out and show it to the world what would they say?

Would they say lay down and die?

Would they say that the blood dripping from my hands was not enough for them?

What would be there verdict for me?

How would they judge the truths versus the lies others have taunted me so well with through my life?

Less will always be more to me; but the world will go on pushing, chewing at the bit to get a piece of my heart, chewing away at the side that rivals me in the time of me seeing all red.

Push

Shove

Snarl

Silence!

We have become them, can’t you see the ones we despise, the ones we hate, we.... have become the image of what hurts and kills, it is too late we have gone a wry.

Brother has killed brother again and now the blood upon my hands is not my own.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.
5/10/’01

Sunday, March 28, 2010

If You're Head Should Explode: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"If You're Head Should Explode"

For these are the days we see, in blue white
lights of tattered silver steeds and dead men
talking. Upon the sea, across this desert
night this fire burns for you; yet you can
not hear the flames of my lust rising. Take
forth your own youth and your own broken
heart and let it lie still; for what you
know of love will never reach you. Still
the clouds may stay in your eyes, like a
painting in Mozart’s dreams of old times,
they have shattered as I dream of new blood
like youth lost in the pictures of our past.
Gray has become a friend of mine and a two
wheeled steed glides me to my place of rest.



John McKinley Pride Jr.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

A Soldier Whispers to God:a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"A Soldier Whispers to God"
Mirror, mirrors all around and no reflection to be found and shadows seem to come and go with no intuition.

Affliction rises through the steam felt mist like a hateful fist; the blow something I have not felt in years.

Left in the tall cold wet grass with a ringing in my head fuzzy blurred vision, blood streaming down my arm in to a drip off my elbow and I keep telling my self the pain will pass

a broken nose and pride what more could I hide.

Wait just leave me here I whisper out to God, just leave me here I whisper it to Him again.

As the tears swell up in my eyes I know this is the end; so I whisper to Him again

let me think for a while

let me rest for a while.

Let me think for awhile about what has become of me,

I think and the world seems still bullets passing over me in seemingly slow motion.

My brothers falling and some running by,

I whisper to God again let me lie here and think of what I once had;

let me lie here bleeding my emotions out to you in the rain and mud.

I whisper even softer this time,

I know it's over, I know it's done and I have no feeling in me I can obtain.

No movement to the gears of my libs

I lie here a statue of this worlds brutal ambition of material things.

A chemically unevenness man that thought people cared about the same things I did; So I whisper to God one last time.

May I just lay here bleeding, I have no reason to get back up and fight not even the most deepest part of my mind can I find a reason or a will.

I slowly close my eyes and this will all be over, Amen.

By John M. Pride Jr.
12/23/08

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Somewhere Between the Pages and the Words I Fell in Love: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Somewhere Between the Pages and the Words I Fell in Love"
I have been here before

Somewhere between the paper and the pen,

Between the sentences and the paragraphs,

Between the dotting of the i’s and the crossing of the t’s,

Between the cousins of the G and the Q.

Somewhere between the empty pages, words will start to appear and flow like a wonder in love with expressing the scribbles I compress upon this paper of a pad forgotten.

Now remembering with every loop and line what we fell in love with as a child; somewhere between the silver chair and Max the "Wild Thing King".



I fell in love with the words of others; somewhere between the numbers of fifteen and thirty-two I found a frost upon the pages of an old poetry book.



Melting upon the tips of my fingers; outlining the very soul of my finger prints slowly drip, drip, and dripping down the side of my pen;

roll, roll, and rolling across the paper and leisurely soaking into the pages of the binder that held my words that I loved so dear.



Somewhere between my thoughts, my heart, my mind and the child that has become the man I am today, the passion has grown with me for the words of others who came before me.



To share my words somewhere between the pages; hoping someone will fall in love with the words I write as well.





By John M. Pride Jr.

11/20/08

Sunday, March 7, 2010

A Burning Thought: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"A Burning Thought"

Sin,

it’s the fuel of the world,

sin becomes strong,

sin becomes beautiful,

sin becomes right and righteous becomes wrong.

Fuel for the world, fuel for the people who walk in the dark blinded by the covering hands of Old Nick him self.

He lights the world on fire and watches all the spiritsburn,

a fuel that weakens the mind andtakes the pure away from the heart.

Sin, burns like a hot blue light in the night sky feeding off the impuissant's of those who flock to it like moths to a flame, it has no feelings and no regards for young life, just your soul kindle to the flames of this world.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

My Second Book That is on line

Public
rank 2524 (-110)
word count 10440
date submitted 02.06.2009
date updated 24.12.2009
genres: Fantasy, Young Adult, Biography, Po...
classification: universal
complete
Mother, God only knows my splendor
John McKinley Pride Jr

We poets try to separate our selves from the pack not all of us write the same thing or in the same way

Poetry, life, love, my workThis is my second project it was called The Day Dreamer Among Us but for the same reason that I changed the names of my other books I changed this one as well it was part of a string of books I wanted to put together of all my poetry but had to change it to try and put some meaning to it (I know, I know you are saying to your self great another poet) We poets try to separate our selves from the pack not all of us write the same thing or in the same manor for that fact.

One of my complete books that is steel being edited

Public
rank 841 (-52)
word count 10593
date submitted 28.05.2009
date updated 10.08.2009
genres: Other
classification: universal
complete
The Bear, The Devil and The Invisible Sun
John McKinley Pride Jr.

I have put my heart in to much of what I call a love for something very invisible to those around me, its poetry

This book was called The Day Dreamers Diary at one time but I changed it due to the harsh fact of reality that every one had a book with that name along with blogs and every thing els in the world you could think of. So any way for many years I have put my heart in to much of what I call a love for something very invisible to those around me; since about the Fifth grade I have built up a tower of pads and note books with my thoughts. Some hit home and some fizzle out; I have always been scared to put my poems on line or even share them for that fact. I believe I have lost out by putting my work on some web sights that I will not even say the name only to come to a wall of wasted time, so if you take the time to read any of my poetry thank you for taking the time and my spelling is not that great so please forgive me.