Tangled up in the sheets man that was fun.
Yeah id stick around my darlin.
But the train's a waiting and so I gotta run.

Tommy  and Phil  will be at the dinner waiting with ready ear.
***** the coffee darlin.
I preffer a smoke and a beer.

The waitress sat staring at me as I sat lost
without a clue.
She said thought you had to leave town.
memories get hazy but she reminded me with a swift
kick oh **** darlin was that you?

Sometmes it's not so easy to recall.
Precious memories shared.
In a nightclubs bathroom stall.

Hey it was a perfect moment amougnst many.
Sure I recall your name.
It's Rebecca  Sandy  okay I wouldnt have guessed Kenny.

Sometimes it"s awkward  hitting  on a chick only to
have her reply but I thought we were threw.
Maybe i should lay off the *****.
Cause im really getting tired of asking
was that you?

I swear
all I ever am
to any man
or rather boy
I've ever known
is a distraction.
some action.
An attractive thing
with which they can bide their time
(What about mine?)
until something else comes along.
and trust me, that doesn't take very long.
And sometimes it makes me feel okay
sometimes it makes me feel worthwhile
until I realize
That it doesn't matter what I say
or do
it's always going to be a game
to them.
Those men
who look to me for a distraction.
a meaningless piece of action.
And then there's me
poor and weak and hopeless
(as if I didn't already know this)
expecting it to make me feel
anything more than worthless.
And sometmes I pretend that I can play,
that I, too, love this game.
but the truth is I hate it.
I hate the way it makes me feel
and I hate the person inside this shell
created by this personal hell
In which disreguard is all I get
and all Im left with is feeling like this.
Because I'm only ever looked to as a distraction
and a worthless piece of action.


So come one
come all
and push down the girl
who will so easily fall
for the boy with a good charade
that's all they ever are these days.

JOY

Sudden and for no reason,
a smile gentle as a shadow,
a glass full of happy tears.

Sometimes a brilliance
full of wonder, sometmes
a frivolous mirage, sometimes
unbearable passion or an instant
of overwhelming peace.

A beating of soft rhythms
as the heart moves forward,
insatiable pulsations delicate
as wings of a butterfly,
early sun’s quiet delight,
ectasy of a new season’s
fragrance, summer nights
filled with star-years of
wisdom, jade reflection
on clear water’s surface,
clarity that nourishes
and soothes.

Effortless and fragile,
an unexpected touch
on any moment,
a treasure often hidden
but never wholly lost.

I am getting so much closer to the end and cannot pretend anymore.
I an old and gray but still have a lot to say.
I am so many memories of loves gone by and know that there will be one more before I die.
I am saddened that none wanted to stay but they just wanted to play for awhile and tell those lies while trying to find those blue skies.
I am that perfect love that  I know will walk through that door to make me happy just once more.
I am tired legs and painful joints but know that I must keep on going because that is what I do best, to be able to just keep on going no matter what life hands me.
I am a well read popular Poet with many loyal followers that wait for new words with anticipation.
I am a writer that writes poetry about life, loves lost and found, and the pain and happiness they bring, and sometmes I write about everything that is just going on around my world and I just keep on doing my thing.
I am love for my loyal dogs who never leave my side with unconditional love as if from above.
I am the tears that you cry as you read these words.
I am....                                                           ­                                                             Jon York               2012

I have a problem; I have had it for quite some time. I
have a desire to speak to others about something but
that is not my problem. I have something to say, but
I am not sure others want to hear it; that is my
problem.
I have two questions: how will I know others will hear
me, and, how do I know they will listen.
I believe asking for permission to speak is contrary to
my constitutional right to speak freely. However,
asking to be heard is contrary to what I believe. For if
others do not believe as I, they will hear, if I am loud
enough, but will not listen.
I only listen to myself when I am alone. But it is
when I am alone that my desire to be heard is
overwhelms me. The words shout inside my mind. My
inner voice is loud and yet, it is only when I am quiet
that I hear.
When I write what I hear in my mind… ah now I have
something worth listening to. At least I think so. Why
else would I write?
I have written many words. At times they have been
merely strung together; fluid as water without a direct
course or meaning and unread by others. At times I
have attempted to make them concise, with a clear
and significant barney, and available to all. I have
more often succeeded at the prior while failing
successfully at the latter.
I wonder at my successes, my failures. The words I
hear when placed on paper sometimes, yes even to
me, sound different. I wonder then, when read by
others, how do they sound.
And when I am alone and listening; writing, reading,
changing the sound, the words… I struggle for
meaning. Not just for the words, but why I listen.
Why I write. I search for my truth and do battle with
thoughts of pain; for they cause me to become
depressed and still my hand.
But it is in the darkness of those moments that I
must write, if only to relieve the anguish. The battle
reveals my weakness and the words are, sometmes,
deceptive. I would be lying to you if I wrote I have
never lied to myself.
Before me is the path I follow
Behind me words now hollow
Perhaps best left unspoken
My spirit remains unbroken
As silent I remain
Writen words I shall retain