John McKinley Pride Jr. Poetry & Art

(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 ...

Art Work "Jean Genie" 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...

A new spoken word poem up and going at my Youtube account at "riverboatsong" "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...