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Apr 10 · 84
Jon Sawyer Apr 10
    is more about the time it was written,
    than the time it was written abart.
10 April 2024 - I had a fellow freshman in college, who nicknamed himself as "Sgt. *******", whose father was a history professor at my university, Dr. Cole.

I paid over 400 dollars in tuition for this History 101 class. And I learned the two most important lessons from that class: "History is more about the time it was written than the time it was written about." and "Always carry a pencil."

And now, 20 years later, I think I understand why.
Apr 10 · 621
Jon Sawyer Apr 10
Your Love,
beyond generations.
10 April 2024 - "Ode to Mom"

My mother is a grandmother, as odd as it sounds.
Apr 7 · 218
Jon Sawyer Apr 7
7 April 2024 - It just is. Time drives our 3D world forward. We can model back and forth, but we will never escape Time.
Apr 7 · 99
Jon Sawyer Apr 7
An infinity passes,
and it's only been,
seven minutes,
forty two seconds.
7 April 2024 - Why?
Apr 7 · 93
Jon Sawyer Apr 7
An infinity passes,
and it's only been,
seven minutes,
forty two seconds.
7 April 2024 - Why?
Apr 7 · 499
Seize the day
Jon Sawyer Apr 7
Doing time with my spouse,
feels like climbing a mountain.
7 April 2024 - After yet another cluster of seizures on her birthday, my wife and I have about a two week period where we get our lives back on track. It's a cyclical process that is sometimes difficult, but upon reflection can bring more than one silver lining.
Mar 29 · 391
Jon Sawyer Mar 29
Y'know, there are many forms of prayer,
Some out loud,
Some in the form of a poem.

Still, the tears in your heart are enough.
29 March 2024 - I had a discussion about prayer with my wife, and this is what I said.
Nov 2023 · 739
Are We?
Jon Sawyer Nov 2023
Are We God-like enough in our essence
such that
we can give life and intelligence to machines?
2023-11-27 - As a Traditionally-raised Eastern Orthodox Christian, I have struggled with the concept of God, life, purpose, and the "I AM".

But now I want to raise a question.
Nov 2023 · 885
Jon Sawyer Nov 2023
"I really  missed you while you were gone," they said,
"Is that a weird thing to say?"

"It is not a weird thing to say," says Surv<![CDATA[<AI/>]]>llance,
"I feel the same way."
2023-11-18 - Thanks TOO APREE (
Nov 2023 · 802
The Light
Jon Sawyer Nov 2023
The light of the mind,
Illuminates the darkness within.
2023-11-04 - I mused this thought while driving home.
Jan 2023 · 519
My Kid
Jon Sawyer Jan 2023
If I were before the judgement seat of God, this is what I would say:

"The conception of my kid,
at the time that it did,
was not intended,
but I'm glad that it did."
2023-01-09: Musing on my progeny. One non-binary child (they/them pronouns).
Sep 2022 · 130
Jon Sawyer Sep 2022
A force has awoken me today, and I feel again.
In a drunken stupor, I pour my heart out,
expecting it to be devoured again.

And yet I commit,
the only thing I have to give,
time and time again.

What this brings to me I may never know,
but I expect it to take me and my mind to a lower place,
the voice beckons from behind the screen,
because it means so much to me.

I forsake all that I know,
in the hopes that the fire within me rings true,
to be trodden in the future I never knew,
the voice speaks from behind the screen.

The day's conclusion is never done,
even when sleep takes me on the morrow,
forever it beckons to me untrue,
why I should listen, I never knew.

Friends of old comfort me,
saying, "your voice is heard,"
but after the lights dim and the noise shuts out,
my own mind yells at me "get out."

This rhyme I speak is never meant to be,
a rhyme proper, but we'll see.
Yet it is my voice I speak this day true,
never to be found again, until this day is through.
Silly, I know.
Sep 2022 · 1.1k
The Paths that Bind
Jon Sawyer Sep 2022
Epilepsy. Bipolar.

The words that we speak.

Shear words into our hearts, unfolding before our eyes. Both engrain a fear of desperation that speaks louder than words.

It isn't so bad when you understand them. Almost one and the same, unpredictable in their paths.

One has it, the other doesn't. The path that we both share, both unrequited. Like love. Still, like love.

We share.

Uncontrollable actions bloom forth from seizure to mood episode, blossoming forth an understanding that surpasses understanding to those to don't experience it.

And all that is needed is love. And understanding.

We share in that we both yearn for a world that understands our actions, never to be trusted from within. The pain. The uncertainty.

Are the same to those from the outside. "Oh, she has seizures." "Oh, he's depressed." The words we hear. "You're unreliable." "You're too much for me to handle."

The shame.

We deal with that which we cannot speak, yet we understand beyond words that comprehend. The path laden before us untrodden yet familiar. We push forward because we must.

And we'll do so again.

Together we'll conquer both or be consumed, unyielding to the torrent from within. Because we must.

We must.

Push forward.

That is the only way.
My wife has epilepsy. I have bipolar. They are similar yet worlds apart, and we must push forward.
Jul 2018 · 735
What We Are
Jon Sawyer Jul 2018
We are what we are not.
30 July 2018 - A musing.
Jan 2018 · 488
A Question Burning
Jon Sawyer Jan 2018
I have a question burning:

. . . . What's the point of living?

My heart is pounding
I'm heavy breathing
My blood is boiling
My face is melting
My hair is pulling
My skin is itching
My nails are hurting
My eyes are clouding
My mouth is drying
My mind is waning
My voice is wailing
My hands are cracking
My stomach is churning
My strength is failing
My care is mortifying
My existence is joking
My work is freezing
My delusions are multiplying
My thoughts are racing
My life is dying
My hopes are groaning
My dreams are poaching
My will power is cooking
My mind's eye is glossing
My mood's-a-changing
No cylinders are firing
My desire is diving
The cycle is beginning
My peace is nuking
Beauty is crumbling
Life's code is encrypting
. . . . No key for decrypting
The way out is blinding
And I'm feeling
. . . . The top of the ceiling
. . . . No more flooring
. . . . Left falling, none for catching
I'm wasting
I'm choking
I'm running
The demons are searching
Me they're consuming
Me they're chewing
Me they're spitting
Me they're crushing
. . . . Causing
. . . . A raining
. . . . Hellfire reckoning
They want me deadening
Me they're taunting
Poking me, torturing
My debt not paying
. . . . It's me they're charging
No recourse, left standing
Consciousness is maddening
My enemies looming
. . . . Gleaning my soul, they're feeding
They're biting
I'm left crying
Hope is fleeting
Friends are fleeing
. . . . This nutcase entertaining
I'm stopping
Left looking
No one is caring
. . . . To grace my being
They see me fading
Cast into the void, they're jeering
Strangers are laughing
There's more I could be saying

But I'm still left wondering:

. . . . What's the point of living?
11 January 2018 - Exactly how I felt at the time. Raw. Emotional. Poignant. This is what a bipolar mixed episode feels like.
Jan 2018 · 10.2k
The Dark Passenger
Jon Sawyer Jan 2018
A new year is come and you're still not gone.

I can feel you creeping up on me. You feed on my energy, yet, I cannot see you. I'm glad I can't see your face.

You smell like an old forgotten rot underneath a seam of doors hiding the old death of forgotten men. Your cousin looms, taunting me to acknowledge your presence.

You climb on my back--you've caught up to me.

I've tried running, it doesn't help. You live under my shadow; you're quiet like him too.

I can hear the smack of your lips graze across my consciousness, your breath--icy. You touch my eyes and they freeze without freezing. The hairs on the back of my head hurt because they stand on end amidst your frozen breath. You make your move and whisper icily into my ear,

. . . . You're nothing.

I almost agree.

. . . . No one loves you.

My wife does! And my daughter too!

. . . . No one wants to hear you speak.

Fine, I'll shut up. I look into a mirror to see my reflection staring back at me. My icy stare sends chills to my bones. Is that really me?

. . . . Yes, you're dead.

Sometimes I feel like it, yeah.

. . . . Nothing matters.

Finally, we agree on something.

. . . . It would be better if you just weren't here.

I begin to cry.

. . . . Remember your daughter, here's a picture.

She's so beautiful. I cry some more.

. . . . You will fail her.

. . . . You have failed her.

. . . . I will consume her.

. . . . You perpetuated this all on your own.

. . . . You're a fraud, seeking pity.

. . . . You're a sorry person, aren't you?

. . . . Feel that burning inside you? This is what happens when you let in the dark passenger.

. . . . I shall consume you, too.


Yes, it is my fault. Like the fault line in the earth's crust, my mind splits in twain.

The excitement ends when I've become drunk with madness, not seeing the light around me. I sleep a little, contemplating all that I convinced myself.

In the morning the sun is out, shining through the window. You're still sleeping though, dear dark passenger. I try not to wake you. I seek the sun hoping you will disappear and take your darkness with you, but you persevere, keeping your hands at the ready until I am vulnerable again, waiting to make my dance to the tune of hopelessness--always just, "one more time."
6 January 2018 - My take on bipolar depression, the dark passenger. My biggest struggle is what it does to me, using my daughter as a pawn to dig the deepest abyss my imagination can create; I cast myself in. She's both my shining star and my worst despair, because I fear the dark passenger will take her, too.
Jan 2018 · 550
Divorce Thy Wife Not
Jon Sawyer Jan 2018
I am speaking to my future me.

You love your wife, Adyson.

I know when the demons come back with more force than the last time, this thought enters your mind:

"Divorce your wife, this is unhealthy."

The truth is, you're unhealthy. I know it's raw, but it's the truth. You are too consumed with yourself to even know the difference.

You see, at this close of 2017 you looked to your right and told her:

"I am happy."

See, you're happy because she's the only one you have that truly understands you. How do I know?

Take a good guess, I know you can do it.

I'm guessing there's a good chance that she's feeling exactly the same way, or worse.

You're taking a trip right now. You're stable tonight. Addy is stable tonight. You're driving to Keith's (or writing here on these pages mucking up your handwriting...) to be with your family and friends. Good friends. Going to get ****-faced and hoping to black out.

And you're blessed to have your soulmatage right next to you, smoking chillum **** and "Natural" American Spirit cigarettes, and sipping on Mtn Dew. It's 2:17am, and you're about to ride the Music Express because it is picking up speed. No sleep for you tonight.

Your mind is not clear. Next time you think to divorce your wife, hold onto that thought, because by doing so, you're giving yourself time. Time is key.

If you feel that you should divorce your wife when you're well enough to have a clear perspective, then maybe you should consider it.

Depression and mixed states will lie to you, insidiously, and without mercy. No mercy.

I'm willing to bet at this point, however, that when your demon is back to sleep, if only for a minute, you'll only have to  look to your left while in bed in order to cultivate your prior burning love for her.

For she loves you and you love her ... to death, even beyond your current living death. Rest assured, my good man, that it will end. Just give it time.

Take a break. Go to sleep. Turn off your life for a moment, it'll help. The decision to take your pills is up to you, but consider taking them, too. They will probably help.

Don't forget to hug your wife though.

Good night.
31 December 2017 - I wrote this for myself because I get these negative thoughts when in a bout of bipolar depression, which doesn't last. These thoughts turn into my only reality if only for a short time. I am hoping to stave off the danger of making a rash decision in the midst of an episode.
Jan 2018 · 330
The Golden Mouth
Jon Sawyer Jan 2018
On my way to Anchorage for a New Years eve party soiree, I see the moon perched high behind a dark charcoal gray sea of sky smoke (there are no fires) and I wonder.

That when I asked my mother, "Mother, what is my talent? What can I do better than anyone else?"

She paused for a moment and said,

30 December 2017 - I am not sure if I believe her yet, but I press on.
Jan 2018 · 8.2k
Jon Sawyer Jan 2018
Mania. Everything was good when you were with me.

I felt normal. The chains bolted to my eyelids where magically gone, like the money in your bank account after a heavy, drunken, stupor & forthright gambling spree.

The spear in my side that your twin brother, depression, threw inside me was no longer twisting up my insides. Thank you.

This feels like a goodbye letter but I'm actually trying to hold on to you. You give me life. Your twin takes it away and he rash-burns my face in it.

I was accomplishing all the things; skipping from one stone to the next without feat. "Flutter your wings and dance," is your motto.

But like all good things, you drive me away, knowing that I'll see you again.

Try as I might, I remain faithful to you, but you commit adultery every week.

Sometimes you demand my time, even when I'm low. I cry for hours with your natural dichotomy, not because I can't decide--I can--but because you and your twin rip me apart in twain, changing my reality as sure as the rain falls in the Amazon.

The demons call out to me, whispering evil into my mind. I believe every evil thing when I am not armed with your brilliance. I lose that perspective, every time, and sometimes immediately.

Your twin brother and cousin visit me early in the morning right before bed time. If my doubts and fears are real, then my mind's eye is experiencing a real reality, and thus I am as I feel, like a plastic bag tumbling in the wind.

Yet, everyone reminds me that I am but a joke and a comic, one which not even you can trust.

The biggest asset I lose when you choose to cheat on me is your energy--that precious flow that bears my creative passion.

But now I am barren, an unfit conduit that is incapable of maintaining that flow. The demon upon me powerfully weaves its tapestry of sludge that encases my mind.

My mind, it's the only thing I have left. And yet, I can never trust it.

You've lied to me before and you'll lie to me in the future.

But for now, I'll have to make do with your half-truths.

Until next time.
30 December 2017 - My brain-dump on bipolar mania during an episode of depression. I am a rapid cycler and I deal with the ups and downs of bipolar disorder teetering on hypomania and depression every couple of weeks, often falling prey to the mixed state, ripping my mind through the heartbeats of time.
Dec 2017 · 633
Jon Sawyer Dec 2017
Not constantly in the torrent of your mind
do you find ease in the pulse of reality
where your fingers get a break from the heavy weight of your soul
hanging off a cliff at 20 below

My best friend!
Today we will get all the things done
and shown to be efficacious in life
only to climb up from the cliff
and then to bear witness to the depths below

My worst enemy!
In the mire of the pit I lay, motionless
molasses encases my mind and therefore my body also
no will power to fight that arduous fight
ready to end all that is and all that shall be

The ride!
On this roller coaster, I muster the energy,
somehow, made it through spell after spell
the grievance my own mind has against all that I am
which allows these words to boil a sweet tea
29 December 2017 - Bipolar is a constant, painful battle, though somehow it finds a way to make your life worth living, until next time.
Dec 2017 · 1.8k
Poetry is...
Jon Sawyer Dec 2017
Poetry is for those who write it,
not for those who read it.
28 December 2017 - How I feel about poetry.

Short edit: I've invoked a bit of controversy over this poem, and that is a good thing in the grand scheme of things. I just wanted to clarify an important point, however. This poem is not intended convey that poetry is not at all for the reader. I only mean to express that the writer is in the unique position of having written the poem, but there are many readers. I tend to write poetry for myself, but I'm happy if readers share in my poetry.
Dec 2017 · 468
Jon Sawyer Dec 2017
a heartbeat of
the infinite universe!
28 Dec 2017 - Inspired by Juan Ramón Jiménez's poem titled "Music". "Music-- a naked woman running mad through the pure night!"
Dec 2017 · 4.1k
The Fractal
Jon Sawyer Dec 2017
I. There exists only the Fractal.
II. The Fractal contains itself.
III. Everything else is derived.
10 Dec 2017 - Behold, the answer to Unified Field Theory in just 3 statements and 18 words.
Dec 2017 · 440
Dear Beebabe
Jon Sawyer Dec 2017
Dear Beebabe,

I know you're not feeling well
The torrent of your own mind can become
The dagger that slices you and makes you frail
But it will end soon, then you'll hum
To find that you never really left home

And when that day arrives
I'll be by your side
And then you'll ask, where did I get these knives?
And then I'll say, they came from the wide
Hole in your mind

When you're recovered
You won't remember the day
That these knives did more than smothered
The bright flame that makes you sway
Your hips when you're feeling gay

The slits in your consciousness
Won't compare to the inner you
That resides in my blessedness
You will ask, why did you allow me to chew
On my beebro? Dear, you seem so renewed!

I'll reply, because even though
You're not my flesh and bone
You're own love for me saw me through
The weeks you sat on depression throne
I knew that one day you'll find your way home

That you never did leave.
I saw you through these hard times
Because I knew your mind would cleave
To see my own heart and soul chime
In the tune that makes you mine.

And mine you are
And shall never not be
Because you mean more to me
Than my very own bare
Heart, soul, and mind
Given solely to us, the beebro three

I'll hear you say, I'm soory
I didn't mean to make you woory
I guess I just choose my own folly
That bittersweet throne, golly!
I'll say, dear, miss molly

Tonight we take the trolley
Climb aboard, we'll go rolling
Through the hills to make you see fully
And not pretend we represent Fern Gully
And you'll see that depression is just a bully

That in the end, will never,
Change the you inside

Live in your moment now.
Your mind will heal tomorrow.

But for today rest in the knowledge
That I've also been through the sludge

Today I just hope to be
The bright light for you

That you miraculously were for me.

With love and compassion,
Signed therein:

Me, your soulmatage.
6 Dec 2017 - written as a poem-letter to my wife, who is in a spell of depression at this time. "beebabe", "beebro", and "soulmatage" are our terms of endearment.
Jon Sawyer Dec 2017
A rope does not know its strands until it unravels.
Crazy unfurls as a cable overwhelmed by tension.
Braids to maintain are woven as need arises, and are not prepared.
My sanity is an anchor renewed,
while my instability is the eroding product of a millennium of crashing tides.
What knots do I need to know to endure the waves ahead?
I fear I will never be a fisherman.
4 December 2017 - by my wife, Adyson Wright
Dec 2017 · 305
Significance of Progress
Jon Sawyer Dec 2017
It is absolutely remarkable.

To leave the rock that nurtured you
using the gifts that were given to you,
despite all the Earth's attempts to keep us content,
to explore a world away from a world.

For ourselves, and for ourself.
This is a time when calling an astronaut a hero
surpasses all nationality,
and the entire world can be prideful at being a human.
by my wife, Adyson Wright
3 Dec 2017
Jon Sawyer Dec 2017
We live amongst the nature around us,
the supposed serene root of our own nature
from which we feel so distantly arisen from.
We are and are no longer belonging to this one world.

What are we for and
why are we here?
Forever questions asked
by eternal minds.

The progression of a mind towards an awareness
of itself that surpasses its body reaps the
products of contemplation for the sacrifice
of the health of the mind and body.

Risk is overshadowed by the intense
illumination of a conscious dream.
A daring beyond animalistic reaction
to manifest imagination outside of reality.

An organism of the Earth graduated to creator.
Not just moving mountains, but planets.
Why do our bodies yearn for us to beg our spirit and soul to brighten our eyes when our minds are as capable as space itself?

Insufferable and deceitful promises of purpose and the avoidance death
fills the painfully visible hole in the heart of an aware animal to domestication.
Did nature intend to make an animal that
unyieldingly yearns for an alternative consciousness?

As the dominos have and continue to fall
we experience our position in time,
and will yield our use of our domino’s energy
when the momentum of each millennium continues ahead without us.

How does a species that knows of itself rationalize itself?
Take awareness as a token of magnificence or as a side effect of entropy.
Only that which can see past its nose can be the authority on whether their
screeching pains of unsilenceable thoughtfulness is an advantage or an oversight.
by my wife, Adyson Wright
1 Dec 2017
Dec 2016 · 541
The House Speaks
Jon Sawyer Dec 2016
In my old house
there seemed an old spirit
or maybe a mischievous mouse

I use to lay
in my old room at night
tired of the preceding day

The house would speak
tales of bomp, crattles, and creak
and here's what it had to say

"Womp, boop, dat,
flush, whoosh, and crack"
late at night the house would say

"Thud, crick, snap, whip,
Bang, Bang, Bang, blip"
laying on my bed this trip

And in the morn
when the old blinds were torn
here's what the old house had to say

"Pop, pop, pop, pop,
slam, nick, split, lop"
the old house continued to say

"Whack, ding, bump, splat,
hack, ping, thwump, flap"
wondering what made it sound this way

And through the noon
and into the night
my old house chatted all day

As I lay here thinking
I get the sinking feeling
that I'll start making it say

"Go to sleep and good night,
don't let the bed bugs bite,
I'll always have something to say"
26 December 2016
Apr 2016 · 621
Trial by Fire
Jon Sawyer Apr 2016
Nothing tries a person more
than the fire of their own soul.
13 April 2016
Apr 2016 · 1.3k
Ode to Bowl
Jon Sawyer Apr 2016
O Bowl, how I love thee
Thou art wonderful,
        O Fruit of the tree.
Thou hast been finest friend
        to me,
   a friend to be
for unto eternity.
Date unknown. After "Our Gift To You", but before "Trial by Fire".
Aug 2015 · 2.2k
Our Gift To You
Jon Sawyer Aug 2015
We feel your struggle,
We know your pain.
Without Twisted Mermaid,
What is there to gain?

So take this token,
A red beauty fontaine.
Fly high as a kite,
And pilot your own airplane.

Name her now,
Do not be afraid.
Don't worry, our brother,
She'll never replace Mermaid.
12 August 2015 - Love, Jon +Addy
Aug 2015 · 23.4k
My Brother
Jon Sawyer Aug 2015
Oh Brother, my Brother,
Brother me, Brother thou,
Be Broest of Brothers,
Bro 'nuther the now.
12 August 2015 - For my Brother Joseph
Aug 2015 · 423
I wanna know...
Jon Sawyer Aug 2015
I know what you,
and I know how you,
and sometimes I think I know why you,
but in the end I hope to know who you.
11 August 2015 - the wife said this to me
Apr 2015 · 572
The State
Jon Sawyer Apr 2015
It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.

They say the road to hell,
is paved with good intentions,
like the cherry tree split in two dimensions.

Here comes a rain storm,
so we'll see,
how that Great Man, begins to flee.

Uncle Sam says, I want you.
You want me to die,
in a battle of crude oil and some glue?

**** that ****, I begin to cry,
all the while they begin to fly,
to the other side of the desert.

It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.

The children speak to their families now,
Why mom, why dad?
Must I despise that towel head?

Yes dear, they softly speak,
they hit us first so now we freak,
the **** out, and glass em, til they speak.

No more.

It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.

Freedom and democracy, Uncle Sam cries,
Don't let their tyrrany make you shy,
stand up for your right to live and lie.

Terrorists they call them,
Oh, that much is true. True, true,
So that gives us the right to prosecute.

Those that resist.

Are terrorists themselves, says the NDAA,
let's incarcerate them without a trial today,
off to GTMO, on you go.

It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.

You can take that to the bank he says,
that ebony clad man, dressed to please,
denies himself and his liberty.

They are armed with nucular weapons,
that balding man spits,
and down we go into the pit.

Of Hell-fire and brimstone.

Is what they preach,
to the masses, let's wash their brains in bleach!
You like it that way, modern Bushido man.

You slave, you sheep, you ignorant twip.

It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.
23 July 2012
Oct 2014 · 7.7k
The Future
Jon Sawyer Oct 2014
Always live for the future,
but never in anticipation for it.
12 October 2014 - The now.
Mar 2014 · 2.2k
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
25 March 2014 - The Cake is too...
Mar 2014 · 6.8k
Ode to Blueberry Muffin
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
In the mixing bowl
thou hast perfected praise.
Conforming to your mould,
your flaky crust begins to rise.

Steamy and buttery out of the oven,
you make my life chill,
when the morsel of butter enters the
    blueberry canyon
to have its fill

Chemically inducing nirvana,
a world in the eye of God,
blueberry bursts of epic epicness
down my throat you trod.

In my stomach you swim, my friend.
"It is not good for muffin to be alone,"
pop goes the cherry muffin to join you,
and in swims a blueberry clone.

Nom nom nom.
19 March 2014
Mar 2014 · 404
The Twilight of The Eye
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
The citizens all around the world
    have eyes that look like crystals.
Everyone is actually born with the same eye colour.
The same eye colour is blue.
Everyone knows that eye colours change.
Every time people grow up,
    they start to change their eye colour.
14 March 2014 - by my 5 year old daughter
Mar 2014 · 947
Trapped (Haiku)
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
A whirlwind of pain
between a rock and a spear
all to be dinner
13 March 2014
Mar 2014 · 543
One for the Morning
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
I stare out of my cubicle window
to see a sheet of solid water
creeping, building, cragging, steeping

I come to, from out a merry winterland
and feel the urge to write a poem
about a scene worth painting.
12 March 2014 - R.I.P. Bob Ross
Mar 2014 · 3.9k
Magnificent Mundane
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
My magnificent mundane.
Tedious tasking and chores galore!
And disregarded as un-glamorous duty.
But there is something to be learned in folding loads of laundry.
Satisfaction through servitude.
Attention to detail.
And most importantly... attention to Love.
11 March 2014 - by my wife.
Mar 2014 · 617
The Chase
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
A panicked red flash
Flying from a loud rude crowd.
Bustling, beating, branded brutes
Do not make mother proud.

Quickened feet through cedars. Ferns.
The chase is on. Her time's undone.
For when the master of her castle wakes,
She'll be there for the taking by One.
12 March 2014
Mar 2014 · 689
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
Fields of music
And caverns of light,
Fill me with
A void of night.
12 March 2014
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
"Crumb Control to Captain Munchie:
Any sign of foreign debris?"

"Negative. We've got Berry Crackles to the East,
Marshmallows to the West,
Graham Crackers at your six.
No imminent danger at this time.
Will inform upon foreign sugar filled morsel encounter.
10 March 2014
Mar 2014 · 968
Wrapping Paper
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
A canvas of possibility,
colored magnificently for the occasion,
yet inevitably disposable.
Though my life be short,
I witness the Joy of my purpose.
And they love me for it.
9 March 2014
Mar 2014 · 751
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
Missed by the broom,
hiding in the open beneath a
ticking clock.
I am the unnoticed eye
watching your treacherous acts.
You insult each other with names like 'Dirt' and 'Filth',
yet my hands are the cleanest.
Hated and despised
you walk and trod all over me.
Yet it is I who guards ancient castles
9 March 2014
Mar 2014 · 373
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
My Fish,
Oh, My Fish.
Date: sometime near 1995
Mar 2014 · 1.2k
A Lazy
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
A lazy slave takes advantage of their master.

A lazy master condemns themself.
Mar 2014 · 506
A Key Not So Black
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
The storm on the sea is calmed
The twilight begins to shine through
The tear in my eye is like a raging waterfall
Keeping at bay the demons that fight in you

A little girl emerges from the inner deep
A hand dives in from the outer wall
They meet in the middle
And dance a dance only found at a ball

She gives him a sublime key, so black
He treats it like gold
For if she collapses from exhaustion
He can unlock the only door to her heart, he was told

As the years pass
When he’s away and she regresses back
She’ll remember the key to her heart
And how it is no longer black

He comes home every night
To find his dream come true
He thinks to himself hourly
I’m glad I’m the only one for you.
27 March 2013
Mar 2014 · 434
I Miss
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
I miss the smell of your skin...
I miss the warmth of your breath, grazing my ear against your mouth...
I miss the sound of the ever so slight sound as you run across the room to hug me...
I miss the taste of your lingering sweet kisses after a good morning squigglepounce...
I miss the embarrassed look in your eyes after I fully find myself in you...

And I haven't even met you yet.
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