Oct 3 Eliot York
I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.
left my phone unlocked
on the taxis back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled down  the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand  
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
  no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"

to which I replied,

Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"

and with an equally, beaming smile continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was

Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...

  we parted ways
   each believing,
   each receiving
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
supreme taxi dispatcher
Arabic for ^"***/Allah willing" or "if ***/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim

^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months

true story, poetry is there for the taking
“Moby ****,”  Herman Melville


~for the lost at sea~

after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining

the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls

sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality

I’m called to depart my beach shoreline  unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming

***’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion,  nope,
*** a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties

my in-camera brain  eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles

walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?

puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others

perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered

Memorial Day 2018
 May 16 Eliot York
“please be *****”

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 ****,
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 *****”.
this poem is influenced by The 1975 instrumental song "please be *****". 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 14 Eliot York
 May 14 Eliot York
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 10 Eliot York
sitting here sweetly, today
yellow paint on my gums
but i'm smiling now, aren't i
the songbirds make love
outside my window as i stare
lost in my computer screen
in love with my reflection
in the black plastic and binary
smiles look nice on my face
so says my mother before
i let myself cry when she turns
away from the swimming pool
of mingled emotive thoughts
technicolor swimsuits in my
closet, i'm not in there anymore
i wish i was; i need the color's fun
to pretend that those songbirds
can sing away the sadness
painting a starry night in my eyes
while the sunlight filters in
splashing the shadows with yellow
the color of my gums as i seek
the elusive joy you spoke of
'eating yellow paint' refers to vincent van gogh's search for happiness,
painting your insides yellow to hide the sadness. i can relate.
 May 9 Eliot York

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
Why didn’t you lose when it was on the news
And hundreds of thousands of people accused  
you of scandal and incompetence?
You never revealed your conscience
or any remorse for your play boy antics
so far removed from your pedantic
stereotype as a political leader
more like a ****** wheeler dealer
pervy old ***** geezer
over cologned and greasy heavy breather,
machinating falsifier
misogynistic *******,
machiavellian Italian stallion;
Faccia brutta o sfacime no?

You prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga what a pest
she leaked your private fetish fest,
poor Silvio you did your best
to hide the bribes, the bets,
the ******, the drugs, the threats.
But you never really did care
what was right and what was fair.
You got all the attention, all the fame
and made the liberals look like philistines
by shrugging allegations that would define
and force any other politician to resign.
You waited until Italy was ****** dry;
for her wallet to exhale a defeated sigh
when you decided to resign.
How could the euro ever survive
with you wanting to prioritise
Your ******* *** drive?
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