Yo

A short piece.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

i’m the yo-yo dangling

Pulled up and down

by a string

tied to your finger

Phantom pain

A short piece.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

she’s heartbroken
and I feel it too
though it isn’t mine
I feel it too

warriors, wounded from wars that don’t belong to them experience phantom pains from missing appendages. fumbling along, still grasping at body parts that no longer belong to them.

one loss following another
and I feel it too.

for they know not

A short piece.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

i’m a sinner
by the way you define sin
the way you wash up
Or wash away
is a wack-a-mole
of spikes
smacked bare-handed
by the king of cups
splashing sacrifice
on your forked tongues
bleeding knees
pounding concrete
to the red spills
on the white robe
of the carnival prince

Keep digging

A short piece.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

reading poetry
is archeology
discovering
something beautiful
but there’s a lot of
fuckin’ dirt

When was the ship lost?

A short piece.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

head spinning
gasping for breath
between waves
clinging
from driftwood to barrel
from driftwood to anything
that floats
no sun
only clouds
the storm isn’t over
what did he forget?
the rigging
the sails
steering off course
the storm was too much
the ship is lost
only pieces left
to keep from drowning

I hid it

A short piece.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

buried
in a sunny spot
between the shade of two trees
a treasure

I hid it
you know where it is
I hid it
you know it is there

I never showed you
if I even knew
what there was
to show

I’m digging
between yesterday
and today
for that treasure

I always wanted
you to see it
but I’m only digging
and it’s no longer sunny

always something before and

A short piece.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

and I haven’t written in a while
haven’t even thought of it
and I’m stuck on coordinating conjunctions
as if continuing sentences running on and on
and I can’t see how the sentence began
and I know
and it’s on the tip of my tongue
and I know
but
another coordinating conjunction
it’s been too long

Falling water

Marcus Jonathan Chapman

And I go to sleep with white noise
it drowns out the leaking shower
and I remember when
you said we should fix it
when it was just a trickle
and now it’s a stream
and I go to sleep with white noise
because it drowns out the falling water

Filmed poem – The heart slaps along

A filmed version of a poem.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

A friend of mine and I were testing out his new camera rig, playing around with different shots at a park. He took the footage and made the below. What do you think?

“The Heart Slaps Along” Written by Marcus Jonathan Chapman. Filmed, edited and read by Patrick Garrett York.

Coffee black

A short poem.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

coffee
black
like my soul
and other
poorly written
poesy

what is the soul?
nothing

coffee
black
like my lungs

coffee
black
like my humor
like fingernails
like that smoke stain
on the back of my
front tooth

coffee
black
like gunk in the drain
like dog nails
like tires

coffee
black
like letters perched
on invisible wire
chirping of the soul
of nothing

Cajon and Vine

A short poem.

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

sit
under gray clouds
and burnt sky
under waving patriotism
tattered

sit
next to bubbling youth
and bike racks
under manicured palms
weeping

sit
in the shadow of god’s cage
and tides of cars
like rolling waves
disappearing

sit
on the rounded corner
of
Cajon
and
Vine