I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Of you
Of your voice
Of your lies
Of your fake smile
Of your fake love
And when I see you with her
After you called to say your flight was late
I know I’m tired
Of my love for you

Still believe in Fairy Tales
Dreams coming true with hard work and a little luck
Happy Endings
Old cartoons and new
Honesty, Truth, and Respect
Caring, Friendship, and Sharing
The Magic, My Dear is when I awake to your blue eyes

C@rainbowchaser2022

the nectar of love
only comes with
the poison of pain,
two
for the exorbitant price of one

standing
at the chasm
of life and death
destroyed by love
grief remains
as life’s sole friend

the memories of love
now
belong to time
and this aging body
to the five elements.

© 2019

When I look at you,
I don’t see darkness
I don’t see rain
I don’t see pain

When I speak to you,
I don’t feel sadness
I don’t feel neglect
You always show respect

When I think of you,
It gives me strength
Because you’re so bright
My brightest light

When I dream of you,
I find myself in your arms
Right where I belong
Right where I feel strong

When I fell in love with you,
I knew it was true
Because you drowned my sorrows
And now I can see tomorrow

Sometimes at night I can taste her
on my lips. Passion; strong coffee
and warm, soft kisses.

It fades quickly, like the lingering
of a delicate perfume in an  empty
room and I  miss it  when  it  goes,
but  I'm  just too tired  to  chase  it.

So elusive she is, so lovely, but the
quiet  madness of it  all leaves  me
breathless.

Enter  each  day expecting  that the
happenings of the day may contain
a clandestine message addressed to
you personally.
                                                                                          Jon York   2022

the night my life changed
i was wearing
a white dress
with blue and red
flowers

and you were wearing
well, actually
it doesn't
matter

the night my life changed
it was dark
and you were drunk
and somehow
it was my fault

Is the sun too bright
for the sky? Does it burn out
the azure like a moth trapped
in a light fixture till it dies?

Is the ocean too deep
for the land? Does it swallow
the green as it stands?

Is the nightingale too melodic
in her song? Singing all night
in the moonlight. Does her pitch throw
the switch on his wand?

Is the dandelion too strong
for his coiffured lawn? As he
cuts her down she rebounds, poking out
her head like a foot from under
the spread. He can’t shell her
like a prawn.

Dear death,

I have met life,
He wants me to fight,
But I'm so weak-
So can we meet?

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

"Can I go to the toilet please"
was the first sentence I was taught
After arriving from overseas
when my English equalled naught

Then I learned a few more sentences
like "She'll be right" and "G'Day mate"
meaning soon there were many instances
when I was forced to mum translate

Now my English is just so much better
though when I speak it still sounds funny
or when writing poems or a letter
especially while I'm in the dunny

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

I come
To you today
With yet another scheme
For a wild, foolish adventure.
Coming?

We don’t see the carrots to be cut,
We see the sharp knife that could cut us.

We don’t see the bridge,
We see the other side of the railings.

We don’t see painkillers,
We see medication we could drown ourselves in.

We don’t see the train,
We see the tracks we could lay on.

We don’t see the nice view,
We see the cliff's edge we could jump off.

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option

My heart is tabletop -
the rest of me is the filled-in border
of jigsaw pieces, hanging teeth
around a maw; the middle is missing.

I am also the beheading bluejay
slicing the tendons of greenery
that waver in the rain lens
imprinting on glass and shadow.

I wait on street corners
for specks of truth, beauty;
"That is all ye know on earth,
and all ye need to know" and all that.

But I have a quicksand heart -
step and drown.
Wreathes of blood shiver inside
in murderous curtains.

I vanish in front of you:
This world has no middle in it,
& what little remains is draining out,
teeth strewn in a garden.

My words became
knives.
A paragraph,
a sword.
And when I
made
my first speech,
the room
                was
                        hit
                             with
                                            a
                                                    grenade.

expecting a boom -
but it was only a whisper.
expecting a spectacle -
but it only got dimmer.
expecting praise -
when only deserving of pity.
just when you couldn’t finish the race
was the distance travelled all a waste?
fell too short, a disgrace
when the expectation wasn’t my fate.

When I say
that you are my Sun,
I don’t mean that you are
Luminous,
Brilliant,
Gilded,
Beautiful,
Bold,
Warm,
Or even the center of my universe.
I simply mean that
I cannot look at you
Without hurting

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.