the earth is
a pond. My tears
make a puddle so big

the fish can cuddle. They
roll as dice so fast
it scares the mice. I’ve a moat

around myself. You can see
dead bodies float as lily pads –

none can cross
but the albatross.

id let my life filter through your fingertips, leaving remnants of me on your palms.
ill kiss you the most beautiful of ways, letting our lips slowly touch and our tongues entangle gently.
ill hold your hands as if i was bonding my sweat with yours.
ill break you in the most angelic ways, making everything that was once stunning remind you of me.
and youll come crawling back to the storm that is my heart.

Inside you

is where I want to

be,

thrusting

within the folds

of your mind

penetrating

the sweet softness

of your soul,

throbbing

as I release my love

deep within you.
                                     Jon York   2019.

Snap, click, camera.
A moment captured in time.
A poem without any words,
picture with rhythm and rhyme.

Dear me,
Don't just sit
Rise, and pursue greatness.

Don't just watch
Go after what you want.

Don't just exist
Strive and start living.

Don't just dream
Work hard and aim for success.

Don't get tired
Keep hiking until you get to the peak.

Hope reigns
Injustice fades
Love remains
A brand new day

Testing

It works. I tried posting earlier, 2x, and received the message 502 Bad Gateway and for two days the poem
I posted had zero views. I was puzzled.
In fact I was saddened. In my view something not right with this site.

like the moon
I go through

phases

some of my
lights go out

and I become
dull and distant

give me time
they will come

back on

like the moon
I do not ask

for praise or
forgiveness

it is just a
phase

I am going through

sometimes i wonder what it's like
to be a star
to look down on the world
while it's asleep
to watch the lost souls
wander outside at night
and look up at the sky
and smile
i wish i could be a star

Because it always seeks eternity !

I am the deep, the sky in reverse
I have what you seek, for better or worse

I am the blue of infinite depth
I've swallowed the crews and cleared the decks

You are afraid or maybe intrigued
Of the place where you played and also was freed

Kiss me now like you did before
Give me your vow and the ocean is yours.

On a bearskin; white
As ****** snow;
Before an iron grate
Where embers glow,
With a tattoed sleeve
On both her arms,
And readied on
Her knees and palms.

They’d waited too long to say

“I love you”.

3 words. 3 syllables.

Yet they held millions of emotions unspoken.

and now that they’d done it, they wouldn’t,
couldn’t, stop

they told each other all the time. In the end of the argument and before the good news.

In the middle of the storm, even though it was hard to see, and after, when the raging winds had settled on a breeze

before the rising sun turned the sky pretty colors and after it flickered out and faded away into the dark

Underneath the stars that their love had been etched into

There was no love until death for them. Because it would never stop. Their love was beyond. It rose above any border that would dare to try and stop it. There was no finish line

because they were each other’s end game.  
-L.R

i wanted to believe you
with all my heart
i wanted it to be true
when you said there was no one else
but a part of me always knew
there was always someone else
standing between me and you

did you laugh in your sleep last night,
how do you suffocate the fear,
can a dream feel your smile,
do your eyes wake up with tears.

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

i have yet to decide
my favorite vice
they all taste like the same spices

I'd like to cut my heart open
to take you out
or maybe
to see you one more time

To this day,
your name
still hurts my tongue
but I still say it anyway.
Sometimes I like to
hear my soul
gently tear itself
apart.

There can never be a realisation,
The loss is too profound; too permanent.
They closed your eyes in front of me, you died 10 years ago, yet I always remember it as the year before last;
I fear I shall feel this loss all my mortal life.
Your devoted child X

In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
              you
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
      shook,
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.

It was destroying some
It brought failure to others
Soon it was discovered not a problem but a habit

The problem with you :
'WHY?' was not in your vocab
You were quick to point fingers
You never ask
You always had your own thoughts  -
           answers        to              any
      thing                          so
                            you
            concluded            every  
                             thing

That's the problem with you.

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

Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife,
drag race in the background,
my Samantha doll by my side.
This isn't loneliness anymore.
This is just life now.

I'm not very good with words anymore,
maybe I never was.
So little has changed and yet everything has.
I still long for love.
I still want to be wanted.
That might never change.

Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept,
come to love.
I may be my only friend here,
but that's one more than last year.

Nothing I create is good,
but I'm learning to create anyway.
I'm learning to share my bad art,
at least it's art.
Right?

I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door.
Someone outta shut him up.
I used to think that was an evil thought,
now I know there's no such thing.

I turn 21 in 2 days.
Math. Yuck.
I'm old,
getting older every second.
Whatever.
I will grow into this skin,
I'm sure of it.
Maybe.

I'm grateful.
More than anything I am grateful for it all.
The pain,
the pleasure,
the guilt,
the anger.

Pills,
family,
friends,
dolls.

No one reads these except me.
So this one is for her.
For you.
Anne,
my love,
my villain,
my biggest fear.

May this year be kind to you,
may you be kind to it.
May you listen to your spirit guides,
may you accept what you never could.

Growth is sticky and wet,
Knowledge is thick and grey.
May you be the light and the darkness,
the cut and the band aid.

More than anything,
be okay.
You're gross,
in a sort of beautiful way.
May you be okay with that.
Truly.




Bad art is still art.
Right?
I think so.
For now.