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 May 2018 Eliot York
Jack
“please be naked”

she stands in her doorway wearing just a gown,
I walk in the house, dumbstruck by beauty,
up in her room undoing the bow, the shield simply slides down
caressing her curves, stroking down to the floor,
intertwined bodies craving the touch of the other,
joined as one in the gentle acts of love and lust,
romanticised ideals of perfection and soft rhythm,
delicate groans as two become one,
the broken poet, for the moment, is gone,
my drug addiction of you, just wanting more,
As my heart bleeds, love begins to pour.

“please be naked”.
this poem is influenced by The 1975 instrumental song "please be naked". i regularly think of this song as romanticising the act of *** and the trust required with it rather than what most songs make it today. despite having no lyrics the song speaks volumes to me and id definitely recommend it to anyone. stay safe and live well. JY x
 May 2018 Eliot York
Eryn
Yellow
 May 2018 Eliot York
Eryn
On the first day of school they asked for two random facts about myself. I come up blank, because I am to consumed by you to remember even my favorite color. I let myself revolve around you over the span of months as if you were the sun but really you where just a collection of Broken stars roaming around, searching for something you didn’t know you wanted, a solar system dedicated to you. I was so devoted to finding beautiful scents to fill your lungs I forgot how to breath and When I realized my lungs were malnourished It was too late. I look for myself I but all I find are reflections of you, the things that used to bring me joy are masked by the smile that convinced me it was all worth it. I feel broken but it does not matter, because at least you will be shiny and new for the next girl. The next girl. The girl who will put Daisy’s in her because you love Daisy’s, The girl who will undress for you, the girl who will cry over you, the girl who will breath only when you ask, the girl who will be a chew toy for when your mundane life is no longer enough, the girl who is enough. I am not that girl. I am this girl. This girl standing in front of a microphone scared out of her wits, this girl who doesn’t know if she is ready to say yes, this girl whose hands are perpetually shaking, this girl who is afraid of her reflection, this girl who is not dresses by herself but by her insecurities, this girl who loved you, this girl was not enough for you but surely must be enough for me. I finally remembered what my favorite color is. Yellow, not because you were once my sun, but because yellow is the color of sunflowers, and I really love sunflowers.
 May 2018 Eliot York
Skaidrum
xii.
 May 2018 Eliot York
Skaidrum

you weren't looking but
the universe unfolded
in your garden's bones.
Of the haiku series
xii. to: elizabeth; eden in the flesh

© Copywrite Skaidrum
 May 2018 Eliot York
Jamie Riley
Bunga Bunga everywhere,

a powerful man with silly hair
seduced a girl too young and scared,
was married too but didn’t care.
Corrupt and feared!

Bunga Bunga sounds like fun,

a swimming pool and saucy sun,
an Egyptian that was on the run
Or, under-aged Morocun
Who ****** the boss!

Bunga Bunga ***** and *****,

coffles of women to choose
and buy and grab and ride and use,
with confidence
and so much to lose,
but why didn’t he lose?

Why didn’t he lose when it was on the news
and hundreds of thousands of people accused  
him of scandal and incompetence?
He never revealed his conscience
or any remorse for play boy antics
so far removed from his pedantic
stereotype as a political leader,
more like a ****** wheeler dealer,
pervy old ***** geezer,
over cologned,
greasy,
heavy breather;
machinating falsifier;
misogynistic *******.

He prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga, what a pest...
she leaked his private fetish fest;
poor Silvio, he tried his best
to hide the bribes and bets
and ****** and drugs and threats
but never could care
what was right and
what was fair.
Could only care
about the colour of his
**** hair.
the sun drips
like
a
yellow yolk

oozes
down
the gold knots
of my spine
breathe the first of Spring days
the radio plays our favorite song

i see you backwards
quickly
all the times we had
vulnerable;
gone.

the sky is blue, the lake is blue
your eyes are blu
and they say i look like your
sister
oh gods. help me
i can’t feel anything
except you
and everything here is you
Edit: Thanks everybody! I didn’t realize this was a daily until later.
 Apr 2018 Eliot York
Nicky
Change
 Apr 2018 Eliot York
Nicky
Be the change you want to see
Try not to judge, let others be
The rain will stop, the storm shall pass
Pleasure is pleasing and love can last

Set up for sorrow, it's hard to see
Open your eyes, switch off your tv
Put down the remote and venture outside
Get out in to nature where healing resides

Turn off your phone, log off the net
You'll be surprised with the solace you get
Write a poem, cook a nice meal
Declare your love, see how it feels

Put away the plastic, stop doing your hair
Go back to basics, even though it's rare
Laugh at your troubles, hug it out
Why are you frowning, what's that all about
A sign of the times, the information age
Escape from the trap, break out of your cage

Tell me now, how do you feel
Please keep it up, do we have a deal
Memories last but gadgets do not
Live your life fully, run from the rot
 Mar 2018 Eliot York
Still Crazy
“A man is about as likely to ask for help for depression as to ask for directions, and for much the same reason,” said Real, who struggled with his own depression issues. “It's part of the male code, part of masculine culture.”

~~~

when they ask,

I say, parrying fast,
how you doing?

to the persisters, I mutter fine

which is 100% correct...



been fined for the accumulated

made-mistakes, wrong forks taken,

the weight invisible but the

body sags, nonetheless...



you know they know,

you know their thoughts,

why doesn't he snap out of it,

after all he is a man,

he has always been

what we needed,

why can't he

just go back to the person prior...



this code, is not law,

ten times worse,

genetic and culture passed,

double ******,

code so real, like the headaches,

the nightmares, that forbid equanimity...



not true,

we don't expect that of you,

thankful for all you have done,

but eyes betray,

a simpatico misunderstanding,

the instillers, can't take back

what they celebrated previous...



the signals everywhere, few ascertain,

cause the rule is never complain,

don't go near windows,

lest the sunlight diffused, offers no cheer,

but escape temptation ever on offer...



forgive yourself, someone intones,

but what infects my bones,

is non-responsive to the forget antibiotic,

which does not come in pill format



ask me for directions,

I will talk/walk you to your destination,

but when I'm lost,

I'm just a lost man,

who needs to do better,

forgetting is not in my DNA,

but lost is...choking on expectations

of being everyone's savior,

with no one to save you from yourself...
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