Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2019 · 179
50 mW
john Shelton Sep 2019
Lasers don't always hurt you when they touch your skin,
I learned that the other day,
A wave of light, pushed through a filter that dissects,
or atleast that's what Grace says.
john Shelton Aug 2019
I wake up and see the light of the world in my son,
tinged with golden waves of orange and amber,
caressed in the luck of nine lives,
I remember when you opened my world,
fierce hunter.
Aug 2019 · 206
Sylvia
john Shelton Aug 2019
starry eyed dew, amber chamomile,
a mixed american short hair trying to climb on our 111 inch wide window seal,
faint venation, opposite leaves,
we close the curtain, destroying everything we've seen.
john Shelton Aug 2019
Please, don't get too close to me.
I need at least 5 feet to breath,
I sway my arms way to wide,
I promise, it isn't a good time.

I hate to let people touch me,
every tip burns,
I want to love everything,
I just don't want to cry.

It's hard for me to accept,
how many people care about me,
how much I have meant to others,
especially when I put so much distance,
between one another.
Aug 2019 · 143
blegh, emotions
john Shelton Aug 2019
I'll drink tea with my feelings,
make a pie with my sadness,
invite over joy for a drink,
spend time crying with anger.

I'll fall in a pile of leaves with surprise,
wrap shock up in the night,
tell pain to have a wonderful day,
help loneliness with the groceries.

I love my whole self.
I hope you do too.
Aug 2019 · 127
Flourish
john Shelton Aug 2019
I find myself opening my arms to the sky,
for rain to come, I would surely hope,
an everlasting flow, the ground to swell.

And the ground would grow, puff it's chest,
the sounds of brown sugar crumbling away,
for the first leaves of seeds.

"I am not in the business of growing bare,
my surface to hard to let go.
Instead I want to flourish,
wrapping my leaves in everyone I love and know."
Aug 2019 · 138
I found pleasure
john Shelton Aug 2019
I am tired of finding pleasure,
in the cup of my hand,
in running away,
from an awful man.

I can't believe,
how much time has passed.
on my own finding pleasure,
I know it won't last.

I know what I want,
how to get there,
I have the drive,
but I can't last.

I don't what I need to do,
I am at an impasse.
I am just writing out my feelings here. if you do read any of my writings thank you!
Jun 2019 · 158
peachy
john Shelton Jun 2019
I was made of discarded peach pits that fall along the sides of garbage cans at gas stations,
made up of crying on the front door steps when I was 9 because my brother wasn't on the bus with me,
made up of the same swampy goo that creates the bogs and swamps and marshes I hope to spend the rest of my life,
made up or every **** moment I remember sleeping and waking up at 3 am and wondering why god.
this poem is about me
john Shelton Jun 2019
I used to hate waking up in the middle of the night,
the gentle glow of a snore resonating from two pipes,
would shake me as my eyes would close,
but now during the rest of the days, you know mon-thurs,
I find that my ears can't take it,
they are tired of being lonely,
scared of not being held by the gentle whisk of a growl,
sad that your half of the bed is being held up,
by 107 miles that separate my ears from you nose.
i am in a long distance relationship
Jun 2019 · 202
Serotiny
john Shelton Jun 2019
I feel trees come out of the base of each spinal column,
When I creek in the morning a thousand nesting birds sing for my arrival,
my vascular cambium fillls its lungs with life and breathes it out too,
my only hope is that fire comes and clears the understory for my seeds.
its kinda weird. idk how I feel about this yet. at first it seems like I wanna make a poem about the missing piece of ecology in my region. but the more I think about it, it feels like I have been more privileged than I originally thought.
Jun 2019 · 197
Content Nausea II
john Shelton Jun 2019
I'm tired of falling asleep with Bill Gates watching my every snore,
YouTube, Hulu, Netflix gluing my eyes open to often persistent demons,
to a constant glow where media seems to live and eminate.

I'm tired of dreaming of lebron James being as good as Michael Jordan,
of being shoved onto a train when my knees ache at the spokes of a bike wheel that I've had since I was was 18,
of being force fed Tyson when prairie chickens used to roam freely across Tennessee.

I used to dream at night,
the blue light filter nonexistant in the glow of a soft yellow,
to crawl next to next to my cats who sleep next to me,
my throat and wrists free of the wires that connect me to a gigabyte speed ethernet port,
I used to not be nauseous when I would wake up.
so I wrote this song because I have been spending too much time on YouTube. I have just been feeling like I need to take more responsibility for my uptake of information
Jun 2019 · 195
operation midnight
john Shelton Jun 2019
I gear up every night at 2pm,
for years I would strap myself in,
to rockets and robots and spaceships taking us far away from.

a sleeping bag surrounds me,
like a submarine,
only to be cracked open,
every night at 2pm.
I'm new to poetry!
May 2019 · 234
3 Cups of Milk
john Shelton May 2019
Anytime I go out for breakfast it makes me homesick,
nowhere I have lived, though,
Something that runs in my veins,
Tennessee just isn't wild enough for me.

We don't make gravy with Sausage,
My grandma didn't make it that way,
My mom didn't make it that way,
And me and brother don't either.

So when someone makes me biscuits and gravy,
I often don't like it,
It isn't anything wrong with the flour or fat or meat they put in,
oh wait, there is
Often times I get homesick, all it takes is 3 cups of milk to make that happen
May 2019 · 273
Black Lung
john Shelton May 2019
Our blood has always ran black,
some say it's the coal,
or the gunpowder,
I know it's both

Fierce men,
loving women,
passion, helmets, caves,
helicopters, tanks, graves

I was born to set flowers at the graves of people who tried to be good men.
to plant flowers at the aging yards or clearcuts,
to set seed in the hearts of a lost appalachia,
to lay in empty creeks and cry for the sedge grasses that once covered me.

— The End —