The Poet’s task is to obscure the point, not reveal it…









Here you can expect to find excerpts from older writings, as well as a secondary running blog of sorts; one in which those spontaneous, enshrouding assemblies of words might be in more appropriate company…

A taste, then…

                                                   Room With a View                               ©2002 Jon Mychal

Head back, eyes slowly opening…
The plaster swirls float above timeless crown moulding like chunky clouds gently being ushered along by unseen breezes, or in a mirror effect, reach as whitecaps do, moved by silent tides: As above, so below…


                                                     MYSTICAL                                             ©2001 Jon Mychal

Dowries and teardrops, passed down as pearls;
Ribbons and sunsets for aspiring romantics…
Girls… and the women who steal them — the lavender swirls
take form as birds… then fly to their mark.


                                      Reflections from the ether                     ©1997 Jon Mychal

Under an orange light; a kick away from the suspension bridge — this is where the young and hopeful love-struck circle, looking for the perfect spot to park their passion.
My companion — my friend — looks to the west, growling uncertainty at the carousel of lights which are disturbing the consistency of darkness:


                                                          Creep                                                  ©1996 Jon Mychal

While you read my letter, I killed a spider,
who casually tried to outwit a writer.
Not for profit; nor for sport,
it’s simple goal I meant to thwart;



                                                                   Flashback                        ©2008 Jon Mychal

I’m on the subway – it’s 1981 again:

the Slav reads – it’s ‘Magic’, I did, too, after night shifts at Yonge and Eglinton.

This must be the same train; it’s trademark wiggle loosening some memories…

But now, it has more character – I’m convinced I rode in this exact car when Reagan was shot; when the astronauts in the shuttle burned – when the Berlin wall collapsed.

In fact, I graduated in this car – both high school and adolescence.


Tonight, It all happened again between Lawrence and Eglinton.


Click here for the latest poetry writings….