Keeping Busy

If you want to see what I’ve been up to, I post a variety of things on my instagram page. I’m just putting the finishing touches on a little pseudo art project, for example. It’s a surprise for a friend in need, and I’ll admit that I’m fairly proud of the results.

If you see fit to give me a follow, or the skater I sponsor, we would really appreciate it.

Warm regards,

J.C. “Mongo” Lloyd

Simple Flora

Ancient art

Flowers for the words

Flowered words laid to rest

Poetry is suffering

Loose soil in my hands


Black absorbing red

Fingernails split

Worn til nothing’s left

I wonder where it leads, never looking up from the depths

I test them, discovering

Becoming roots

Consuming death

Head full of seeds, scattered to earth

Simple flora

Flowering words


Arms crossed, perched upon an ice box

Rod tucked under arm

Cold days of early winter

Fingers feeling numb

Somewhere deep in thought

Broken only for a moment as the line goes taut

The clock sets

Lost under horizon

Marking the end

Homeward goes the fisherman


Idle time

Light dancing in the dark

The candle burns

Wax drips in fits and starts


Tendrils of gray smoke

Rays of flame

Drawing me in close

Moth with ashen wings


Immolation soon complete

thInk Stains

Ink akin to raindrops, falling on the page

Mental stains, put up on display

Cravings for attention, so quick to deny

What’s the harm in feeling wanted?

Naught to shame, naught to hide

Confide in woven fibers your deepest shades of thought

Hues of blue and black

No need for red

Can do no wrong

Write of lust and loss

Your happiness and rage

Don’t try to stem the flow

Simply put your pen to page

Breathe in the Here

One breath to dull my senses

Another dulls the fear

Three breaths can take me places so far from the sphere

A breath, I’m firmly planted on the planar ‘scape of weird, wondered little things

Feel no pace, ways are clear

Hear the joyed distractions

Whispered in your ear

Lose all trace of time

Take a breath in the Here.

Not the point.

Don’t “like” my writing if you’re just baiting for followers. If you actually read any of it, then go ahead. Either way, I’m not here to read blog posts or writing by others. Never really have, aside from a few exceptions. I don’t like to taint my creative process with outside influence. Some emulate others and call that inspiration, but I disagree. Not to say I’m unique, but nobody taught me to write poetry. It’s just something I started doing in the sixth grade for no real reason. I just like rhyme and rhythm.

The Rough

I never sit down with a plan

I simply shake my head

Whatsoever issues forth, sent to page from pen

Pensive thoughts aren’t worth a lot

I like mine unrefined

The beauty of a diamond before it’s cut to size

Moments fly by me en masse

No time to overthink them, for others will slip past

I spend my time in the rough, surrounded by raw beauty

The jeweler wastes their time, ever faceting and smoothing


Tearing The Heart From The Valves

I had forgotten what it’s like to hold someone’s hand

Time to start forgetting again

Like sand through my fingers

All slips away

I’m left to linger in negative space

Just for a taste, I commit to the fall

No less when braced, the pain never stops

Only dulls

That hurts just as well


Tearing the heart from the valves