John McKinley Pride Jr. Poetry & Art

"Your eyes tell me the truth" Waiting to take the youth waiting to taste a piece of the glory waiting to see if I can somehow get there if I can somehow taste it for the first time fed up with getting dirt kicked in my face Fed up with the silent treatment Fed up with the one word of cheek and tongue All I ask for is for others to look me in the eyes when they shake my hand all I ask for is for others to look me in the eyes when they talk to me Our eyes are our truths Our eyes are our fears Our eyes are our love Our eyes are our happiness I want to see what your eyes tell me By John M. Pride Jr. ©11/21/14

"The clock melts" What seems to be on your mind all the time? What speaks to you to do what you do? The voices in your head don't carry out words into the air unless the words are too heavy to carry for you. The words are rich and vibrant and full of life and wisdom. How do they make the gears in your mind turn? When the world around you just seems to burn, time seems to be made out of cloth and that Cloth is made out of time. When all we can do; is think about how to spend our time we try to learn how to kill our time as well. Like the flame of the candle light flickers and sputters turns and burns to the wax like our skin has melted away. By John M. Pride Jr. © 10/12/14

"Walking away" You have held my head to the chopping block for too many years. You have held your ax above your head. You waited for my last words I had none for you; until you dropped that heavy ax of burden upon me. Now you hold my head to the sky by the strands of my hair shouting out loud your own humble ways. Shouting out loud that you have one screaming like a heathen. Only to find that death is its own reward in this parade you built for yourself. By John M. Pride Jr. © 10/12/14 I know I have not posted in a long time but I hope to get it going again.

“Conspire to inspire thousands” Contrive to escape the knowledge of others means of self-destruction. They are excogitating, in finding ways to get into your mind. Fulfilling all their own desires to bring fire from the ones they control. Never wanting to mend the heart Never letting the white dove free from their grasp; breaking the olive branch. Sitting upon hills looking down laughing at the ignorant they have built. They sit upon a pedestal built by the blind. Conspire to inspire thousands Yet the ones with blood money will make you a pariah to those you try to lead. What words can you speak and will they change the world? What words can you write and will anyone read them? Will they change the world? What will they change if you do not speak out loud? What will it change if the words stay in your head? What would it change if they cannot hear you? What will it change if you don’t share your dreams with even the ones that you think don’t care for you? By John M. P...

(Yes I put this poem together while listening to RAMMSTEIN, I do not always do creepy poems like this but at times I try to switch things up a bit, so sorry for being creepy in this one.) "Ramming Stone" The clash of metal Fire red inferno The low growl and moan; a hunger unknown In the bellowing gut of a call so deep it turns men into sheep herds them to their death seventy at a time. Seep, seep, seep, into your mind you will fall asleep in time. An earwig fluttering in your head You will fall from your scarlet sky Crash into flames never knowing why What went wrong? Did you hear your mother whisper to you why she abandoned you? What went wrong? What went wrong? why so sad? Why so serious? I want this to go away; I want this to be removed from my head with a knife even if it bleeds me dry. What's wrong children did you hear the truth for the first time? Did it land you down in a bed of gravel? Did it rub you raw till you felt no more? The clash of metal, fire fed inferno...

"knives and tire tracks" I want to give my violence a face I want to look inside my heart for the lion I want to give my violence volume and fill up the space where my spine is missing I want to give my violence balance and out weigh my fears sometimes my violence puts me in a trance tired of standing on the fence I sleep in a fighters stance with my back to the wall don't give those around you the chance to put the knives any deeper don't let them twist their blades and run you through stand up and be you true we all fall short and it does not mean we just lay down and die It does not mean we go down without fighting I know I will die trying to keep the undertaker's hammer away from the nails don't be the one who puts me in the ground or I will come back and hunt you down not even six feet of ground can keep me down by John McKinley Pride Jr 2/26/12

This will be the 14th book I have had the honer in been a part of with Pattimari Sheets-Diamond and company it has been such a pleasure to be a part of such a wonderful experience. My Poems in "Desirea" 1. "The Day the Sea Swallowed the Sun", 2. “The Wolf’s Clothing” (How does Pan Ware you?), 3. “Hands Aflame”, 4. “Grey Matter” http://www.lulu.com/product/hardcover/desirea/17148327?showPreview

“Hands Aflame” (Revised) With my hands aflame, I push you away. You stand red faced, like a tyrant in shame caught in your acts. Bring your echo loud and clear. I push you away with my hands aflame; they have never burnt the same. You fear me because you know me; your echo stays loud and clear, Repeating your hiding fear that’s there inside of you. There is a fire that burns within my hands, and it consumes the air around me the same today as yesterday. My hands, charcoal black, smoldering and burning, Are a bright red like a black smith’s fire. I light the night with sparks clanging from my very heart that molds the fighter in me. There is no water that can cool this heart. There is no water that can put out this flame. It has become eternity and it has become golden. My hands aflame, I will push you away and you will see a different light in me. By John McKinley Pride Jr 8/8/11

“Grey Matter” This evil crosses your mind and twists your spine. Creates a demon in you; Creates a hate in you; Creates a part of you. A part of you lost; A part of you gained; A part of you that you no longer can ignore. No longer able to close your eyes to it. This evil crosses you. Crosses you out; Points you out; Breaths you in and exhales you out. This evil crosses your mind more than one time past the grey matter. Building up neurons of criminal hypocrisy. Unwinds, unwounds, uncoils from around your brain. Sinks deep within you; sinks past your gyrus, and into your sulcus; to react or not react has become your final deepest thought. This evil crosses your mind but you pass on it one more time. By John McKinley Pride Jr 8/18/11

“Let Me go Love” Please don’t cry to me love. Please don’t lie to me love. You know I must leave. You know I must go away. If I don’t go away, they will surly hang me high and then swing me low. They will put me six feet closer to hell I know. So please don’t cry to me love. You know I must go now. I love you so; I never wanted to let you go. Give a kiss to our boy for me. Tell my mother to not worry so. This has to be; it is what it is, and I have done what I must. Bleak as it seems. I will love you all my days. So, please don’t cry my love. My heart is too weak to let you go, and if I see tears I will never go. So don’t lie to me love. Just let me go love; just let me go. By John McKinley Pride Jr 8/8/11

“Hands Aflame” With my hands aflame I push you A way You stand red faced; like a tyrant in shame caught in your acts. Bring your echo loud and clear I push you away with my hands aflame; they have never burnt the same. You fear me because you know me; your echo stays loud and clear Repeating your hiding fear that’s there inside of you. There is a fire that burns with in my hands and it consumes the air around me the same today as yesterday. My hands a charcoal black smoldering and burning Bright red like a black smith’s fire I light the night with sparks clanging from my very heart that molds the fighter in me. There is no water that can cool this heart There is no water that can put out this flame It has become eternity and it has become golden My hands aflame I will push you away and you will see a different light in me. By John McKinley Pride Jr 8/8/11

Lost are we amongst 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; it only scars my pride and chains 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 ...

“The Warehouse” Here I remain Forgotten by the world Broken windows have released my soul My doors no longer open Chained heavily with no thought of future purpose I can still hear it inside me A humming like worker bees The cling clanging of Metal, forklifts and alive with flickering florescent love inside. By John McKinley Pride Jr 5/10/11

“The Lost” We feel lost I feel lost To be lost To never be found To be loved To never be found To never be loved To never be loved by another Confessors of the heart To feel blood flow freely again The lost feel nothing? The lost are lost cause they feel nothing? Am I a fool? If there be a heart beat in the lost; then they surely feel and if they feel; we can find them again; find them again with in the walls of a broken heart. Reaching out our hands saying we can love again. By John McKinley Pride Jr 12/30/10

“The Wolf’s Clothing” The wolf dresses in sheep’s clothing. The lawyer dresses like a shark. The government dresses like our big brother. Teachers dress like small gods and teen idols. Parents dress like their children and fear about how they will grow. Little girls dress like women and little boys dress like thugs. The media dresses like your friend till they find the rules they can bend. Businesses dress up like shiny new things to get you to buy them a wedding ring. We dress as we are told and never change a thing. By John McKinley Pride Jr 6/2/11

(This was a short poem made put together for a friends children's book that they are doing) Feathers light and dark, meshed together like night and day. Wings flutter and splash landing in a quiet lucidity upon golden ripples of liquidized glitter; like stars spreading in the sky on a cold crisp morn. The sun peeks over the hills welcoming warm delight to push the dark away and welcome a beautiful day. The trees sway back and forth like a giant church choir; with a slow breeze whistling through each branch that sings the song of a new day. By John McKinley Pride Jr. 5/24/11

There is this step we all must take to relies the truth; like a stair case leading to the sun in a tunnel of spinning questions. We are not slowing and our mind keeps flowing with indecision of rime who to befriend and believe in. It is a crime to leave it all locked up inside your head peeking out through the cracks of your brain. Yes there will be many in doubt and there will be many who will keep you down. If you look around you will find your rebirth in others you do not know. Those who flow like you Those who know who you are and believe in you. So do not slip up and tare apart your staircase board by board until you reach the top and touch the sun. By John McKinley Pride Jr. 5/6/11

"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 ...

I stood and watched as the sea swallowed the sun. My spirit sunk deep into sorrow. My bones felt light and hallow, my eyes weeping in pure sadness. My mouth was open in awe. Defenseless I felt clenching the skin of my arms in torment hoping to see the sun rise again. All I could do was stand there; all I could do was watch. I could not scream out for at the moment my voice was lost. I felt frozen in time for that moment of what felt like an eternity in someone else’s nightmare. I told myself to turn away but I could not; there was a hope in me that it would all be just an illusion. My mind was lost in the moment and not able to grasp the reality of what I was seeing. I thought to myself in disbelief, “Was this possible?” The sea creeping up across the sun diming its shimmering light, Diming its hope, Diming its love, Diming its life, Taking precious souls into its depths of unknown blackness, swelling and growing like a diseased madness. The sun bare with nothing left, leaving the bold...

A new spoken word poem on my Youtube account at riverboatsong. "I Walk With the Zebra" 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 ...