May 2017 Eliot York
Nateive Son
Dedicated to Mr. York

Eliot's a BUM,
He chooses to work on a poetry website,
Instead of investing in Vanguard ETFs,
With the dollas from his coding job,
Take the hot dog from its bun,
And I'll dedicate my life,
To an art form that's constantly dying,
And being reborn,
Fer yoo.

Eliot's A BUM,
Which is why I always refer to him,
As "the gawd with no name,"
His soul is just as tattered as his jeans and,
He ain't no perfect person,
But his heart will not be served,
With spicy mustard.

You heard it here,
Just one man with compooter,
And probably some sort of arugula salad,
Next to his cat named Wimbletoe,
While he reads the emotions of scattered realities,
Over and over and over and over,
Putting the proverbial diaper back on again with HTML

captain's horn blows

Eliot's a bum,
And I love him.
No worries, Eliot:

Write more poetry, ya bum. Lemme see yer heart.
Eliot York May 2017
and a bell in its place
to some, no doubt,
a disgrace

it was to me, i must admit
but new light shines
in place of it

our front page is new,
brighter than ever
and now made by you

trending was all the rage
but (we all knew it) the algorithm
couldn't hold the stage

so now he'll do his part
to get your poem out in front
but that's just the start

next it's up to the community,
a repost, a heart or a plucky thumb
dare I say, it's up to you and me
The latest: new icons, yay, a hot new front page, now created by U, and thumbs up/down on poems.

Comments welcome. xx

Support Hey-yo Poet-tree, please.
  May 2017 Eliot York
L Seagull
It is
And it's changing
The wind into summer shower
Into mushrooms and birds mouth
From river to the sewer
It is and it's changing
From dark to light to dim with
Speckles of sun born by the
Mirror in you childlike hand
You are catching dust bunnies
Sneezing and laughing
And the dirt could be followed by magic
And the kiss isn't greased by the notion
Of sin and the sin is only a word from the book
Death and insanity
Are frightening and profound
Your world is built from
No buts but ands
And they flow into peace
Just as well as the film of oil
On the dirty puddle
Astonishes you with
An iridescent rainbow
Duality is born by fear
You split and separate so
Caught up in the survival game
To keep that face and partake
Of wealth and fame
Empty is locked in the dungeon
And the words interlock
In plain patterns
Yet alive as they produce sounds
And the smell of tangerines
On a tree by the coast of Sicily
Reminds you of the day
When you could still enjoy
The warmth of sun
It absorbed into its juicy flesh
And there's no need to run
No need to stay
No need to cut off the ties
When life offers you more
And the heat and cold are feelings
That gets names as they replace each other
As they flow unstoppable
Dripping reactions
Burning like acid and smooth like milk
All in one glass
And when you have no thoughts
Ask questions
And when you feel the pain
Stay present and consider humanity
  May 2017 Eliot York
i still say hello
to the tulips in
my kitchen,

speak to the
two sunflowers
in my garden

who grew
my absence

I've run out
of what little
patience I had

yell at people on
the road and tell
people to get out of
the way at the store

convinced I am
probably meant to
be alone by the way

I still say hello
to the tulips in
my kitchen,

softly touch the
two sunflowers
in my garden
and smile by
their gentle adversity
and the way they don't
respond at all.
(c) Brooke Otto 2017

what a fuckin year so far.
  Apr 2017 Eliot York
Sylvia Plath
Better that every fiber crack
and fury make head,
blood drenching vivid
couch, carpet, floor
and the snake-figured almanac
vouching you are
a million green counties from here,

than to sit mute, twitching so
under prickling stars,
with stare, with curse
blackening the time
goodbyes were said, trains let go,
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from
my one kingdom.
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