The Short Stories and Poetry of Jonathan Jones Jonathan Jones is a twenty six year old English writer. In 1999 he graduated from Bath Spa University College with his MA in Creative Writing. Jonathan's favourite writers are F. Scott Fitzgerald, Dorothy Parker and Dr. Seuss. In addition to writing, hobbies are football, long distance running, reading and music.
Click for the Jonathan Jones Short Story, "Monster"
Poetry
.... by Jonathan Jones
Suburbia The year I first mislaid my looks
along with twenty cigarettes,
I made a curse for better days
and thought of all the different
ways I could invite the vampires
in. Because I knew by day they
walked as girls with deadly
perfect skin and teeth as sharp
as they were clean.A thousand years behind their eyes
to hypnotise and soon forget
for memory brings the killers home
where half dismembered twilight
shows, each one night stand
and room to let, that served
as their eternity.Yet how I miss those femme fatales
who wiped their kiss with kitchen knifes
and always smiled the same to greet
the paramedic in the street by name,
each pair of painless lips as neat
as cyanide, to leave no lasting stain.
An evening with 'Withnail and I' It's only a suggestion, but maybe
we could meet up this weekend.
Let's not let a little thing like your
boyfriend and a total lack of morals
get in the way.Nothing complicated. A sofa and
a video and a packet of Marlborough
lights. A film starring Richard E Grant
to make us laugh, you know the one
I mean.Why don't we just forget the fact
that no one is meant to be totally
happy in life. We could quote our
favourite lines over the finest wines.
Chain smoke and eat some cake.
Missing God (for want of a better word)
is that part of your smile nothing there
to remember, where my world goes
missing, comes back with so much
sadness of a salt and whiskey afternoon
when you call and I don't want
to speak to you, at all.
First and Last Lines WILMOT Absent from thee, I languish still
SYMONS The feverish room and that white bed
MACNEICE Time was away and somewhere else
SWINBURNE Lying asleep between the strokes of night
YEATS Eternity is passion, girl or boy
YEATS A sudden blow; the great wings beating still
NERUDA Tonight I can write the saddest lines
CUMMINGS It may not always be so; and I sayBYRON There be none of Beautys daughters
BYRON with a magic like thee;
HOPE Now the heart sings with all its thousand voices
AUDEN Dear, though the night is gone
ANON Stay, O sweet, and do not rise
KEATS O soft embalmer of the still midnight
BERRYMAN Keep your eyes open when you kiss
WILMOT All my past life is mine no more
PARKER This I say and this I knowJ JONES We lie in every line both first and last.
Refrain
Is it April now the leaves are
on the ground? I waited on each
phone call for a word or catch of
breath. The music from your tiny
room, that filled my lungs with water
note by note, till April came with
her harlequin mask to steal my song.
Listen, can you hear it now, this
seashell page you hold up to your ear.
My stained glass subterranea
that jangles with a far refrain.
'Vox Populi', get started! Send in your comments and critique on
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