I'm Tyler Knott Gregson.
I am a poet.
Author.
photographer.
Artist.
Buddhist.

Typewriter Series #758 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
I want to be your fanciest shoes and I want to be the way they actually hurt so you cannot wait to take them off.  I want to be the sound of fingernails begin clipped in bathroom  walls when the clock is rounding 12 and searching for single digits again.  I want to be secretly annoyed you never clean them up.  I want lazy Sundays and busy Saturdays and the freedom Friday brings and the apprehension of a Thursday at 2:45 pm and the quite moments reading on a Wednesday when it snows and a Tuesday where we rent the best new movies and a Monday filled with lethargy.  I want the weeks and the months of you but I want the hours and the seconds more. I want the tiny ticks between a second and I want whatever lives between those. I want to be all the fairytales we tell all the kids we ever meet and the way we are actually talking about ourselves.  I want the Christmas lights and the glow in your eyes and the sound of paper crinkling and the little bits of glitter dust left after tying all the bows.  I want the dancing.  All the dancing in all the places to all the songs and the shuffling of two sets of feet that have waited a lifetime to orbit each other.  I want the road and the sky and the plane and the car and the exhaustion and the elation and the sea and the mountains high.  I want the fever you chill and the cold you soothe and the drive to the hospital when the room must be of an emergency variety.  I want the humming and I want the soft lullaby of your sleeping next to me.  I want to be the one to remind you of the strength you’ve always been made of and I want to be the one to hold you when adrenaline is all that remains when that strength runs out.  I want to be the reminder that you don’t ever need a reminder that you are made of wild things and they frolic inside you without a single thought to who may be watching or what thoughts might be filling their heads.  I want to be the eyes that widen on your face as you realize your worth.  I want to be the roots of you and the soil they love the taste of.
Part Four.
Typewriter Series #758 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for Tired Eyes:

I want to be your fanciest shoes and I want to be the way they actually hurt so you cannot wait to take them off.  I want to be the sound of fingernails begin clipped in bathroom  walls when the clock is rounding 12 and searching for single digits again.  I want to be secretly annoyed you never clean them up.  I want lazy Sundays and busy Saturdays and the freedom Friday brings and the apprehension of a Thursday at 2:45 pm and the quite moments reading on a Wednesday when it snows and a Tuesday where we rent the best new movies and a Monday filled with lethargy.  I want the weeks and the months of you but I want the hours and the seconds more. I want the tiny ticks between a second and I want whatever lives between those. I want to be all the fairytales we tell all the kids we ever meet and the way we are actually talking about ourselves.  I want the Christmas lights and the glow in your eyes and the sound of paper crinkling and the little bits of glitter dust left after tying all the bows.  I want the dancing.  All the dancing in all the places to all the songs and the shuffling of two sets of feet that have waited a lifetime to orbit each other.  I want the road and the sky and the plane and the car and the exhaustion and the elation and the sea and the mountains high.  I want the fever you chill and the cold you soothe and the drive to the hospital when the room must be of an emergency variety.  I want the humming and I want the soft lullaby of your sleeping next to me.  I want to be the one to remind you of the strength you’ve always been made of and I want to be the one to hold you when adrenaline is all that remains when that strength runs out.  I want to be the reminder that you don’t ever need a reminder that you are made of wild things and they frolic inside you without a single thought to who may be watching or what thoughts might be filling their heads.  I want to be the eyes that widen on your face as you realize your worth.  I want to be the roots of you and the soil they love the taste of.

Part Four.

Let’s tangle them up,
twist together all our limbs,
braid ourselves to sleep.
The bigger the sky, the smaller you feel. The smaller you feel, the better you live. The better you live, the more you love. The more you love, the better you see. The better you see, the bigger the sky.

The bigger the sky, the smaller you feel. The smaller you feel, the better you live. The better you live, the more you love. The more you love, the better you see. The better you see, the bigger the sky.

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson  #tylerknott

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson #tylerknott

Typewriter Series #757 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
I want rainfall and I want your hair soaked in it.  I want green grass and light pouring in through tree branches and slow steady steps towards me.  I want the sound of nothing when it’s shared with you, I want to gasp as nothing always becomes something when your hand is in my hand and the night unfolds.  I want movies that play as we don’t bother watching them and I want kisses in the back of the theater when we forget people can see. I want popcorn spills and candy hands and the stillness we swear lives around us.  I want the noise rustling grocery bags make when you try to squeeze them to all be carried in one trip and I want the fullness of pantry shelves and I want the standing with hands on hips and long stares into them to unearth the secret of what dinner will consist of.  I want the slow motion fall of hair that was cut and I want the chuckling laughter when you cut a spot too short.  I want to watch the broom sweep back and forth and forth and back and I want to hold the dustpan to catch the cast aside pieces of me you no longer thought I needed.  I want your feet in my hands and my thumbs sore from pressing out the hours you spent on them.  I want laughter that comes on so suddenly that everyone around us thinks our tears are of sorrow and our breath abandoned us like we were sinking ships and the sea was filled with lifeboats.  I want to be the mirror that watches you disapprove of yourself and I want to be the voice that comes in at the perfect moment to say how beautiful the exact spot you didn’t know I knew you were staring at is.
Part Three.
Typewriter Series #757 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for Tired Eyes:

I want rainfall and I want your hair soaked in it.  I want green grass and light pouring in through tree branches and slow steady steps towards me.  I want the sound of nothing when it’s shared with you, I want to gasp as nothing always becomes something when your hand is in my hand and the night unfolds.  I want movies that play as we don’t bother watching them and I want kisses in the back of the theater when we forget people can see. I want popcorn spills and candy hands and the stillness we swear lives around us.  I want the noise rustling grocery bags make when you try to squeeze them to all be carried in one trip and I want the fullness of pantry shelves and I want the standing with hands on hips and long stares into them to unearth the secret of what dinner will consist of.  I want the slow motion fall of hair that was cut and I want the chuckling laughter when you cut a spot too short.  I want to watch the broom sweep back and forth and forth and back and I want to hold the dustpan to catch the cast aside pieces of me you no longer thought I needed.  I want your feet in my hands and my thumbs sore from pressing out the hours you spent on them.  I want laughter that comes on so suddenly that everyone around us thinks our tears are of sorrow and our breath abandoned us like we were sinking ships and the sea was filled with lifeboats.  I want to be the mirror that watches you disapprove of yourself and I want to be the voice that comes in at the perfect moment to say how beautiful the exact spot you didn’t know I knew you were staring at is.

Part Three.

You are all the fight
and flame driven desire
that’s left inside me.
No need for hidden meaning,
and no need for something deep,
I just need to have you here,
when the sun lies down to sleep.

No need for hidden meaning,
and no need for something deep,
I just need to have you here,
when the sun lies down to sleep.

Hey guys, quick reminder that there are still unbelievable events going on soon with the extraordinarily rad PEN America.  One that really caught my mind as to something I wish I was going to sit in on, is the "Who Owns The Mind" discussion on Saturday, May 3rd at the Frederick P. Rose Auditorium in New York City, that centers around the NSA and the extremely relevant and controversial topic of government surveillance.  This is a subject that needs to be discussed, and it needs to have as many ears as possible.  If you’re not busy, go check it out, and at the very least, Please follow Please, follow the link, or head to worldvoices.pen.org or follow them on Instagram @Pen_America to get more information.

Hey guys, quick reminder that there are still unbelievable events going on soon with the extraordinarily rad PEN America.  One that really caught my mind as to something I wish I was going to sit in on, is the "Who Owns The Mind" discussion on Saturday, May 3rd at the Frederick P. Rose Auditorium in New York City, that centers around the NSA and the extremely relevant and controversial topic of government surveillance.  This is a subject that needs to be discussed, and it needs to have as many ears as possible.  If you’re not busy, go check it out, and at the very least, Please follow Please, follow the link, or head to worldvoices.pen.org or follow them on Instagram @Pen_America to get more information.

Typewriter Series #756 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
I want fireworks from mountaintops and lightning from windowsills.  I want lazy board games where rules forget to matter and I want shouting matches over important things.  I want a passion that burns through us and sets the sheets on fire.  I want to wake up covered in soot from the night before.  I want a hand to catch my head when my eyes fill up with water, and I want fingers to find my shoulders when the weight of a lifetime feels too heavy from time to time.  I want to be the tireless palms that rub the aches from your flesh and the kiss on the forehead after you fall asleep from it.  I want the steering wheel cold in my hands on the start of a morning road trip far from here and I want to be the sound of your legs stretching when we stop for gas.  I want the photos of every sign at the border of every state and I want my fingers slightly stained with the stamps from every visa in our passports.  I want the odor of strange food that snakes its way down long streets and the sound of boots on cobblestone and clay.
Part Two.

Typewriter Series #756 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for Tired Eyes:

I want fireworks from mountaintops and lightning from windowsills.  I want lazy board games where rules forget to matter and I want shouting matches over important things.  I want a passion that burns through us and sets the sheets on fire.  I want to wake up covered in soot from the night before.  I want a hand to catch my head when my eyes fill up with water, and I want fingers to find my shoulders when the weight of a lifetime feels too heavy from time to time.  I want to be the tireless palms that rub the aches from your flesh and the kiss on the forehead after you fall asleep from it.  I want the steering wheel cold in my hands on the start of a morning road trip far from here and I want to be the sound of your legs stretching when we stop for gas.  I want the photos of every sign at the border of every state and I want my fingers slightly stained with the stamps from every visa in our passports.  I want the odor of strange food that snakes its way down long streets and the sound of boots on cobblestone and clay.

Part Two.

If we just stand still,
all people will fade to blur,
around us kissing.
For one moment in my short little blip of a life, I danced with her. She reached her lily white fingers out and I took hold. For one moment, this little me was connected to the great big everything. A crooked line from the soil to the sky and in between, me, glowing.

For one moment in my short little blip of a life, I danced with her. She reached her lily white fingers out and I took hold. For one moment, this little me was connected to the great big everything. A crooked line from the soil to the sky and in between, me, glowing.

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson  #tylerknott

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson #tylerknott


Typewriter Series #755 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for Tired Eyes:

I want this. I want that. I want photos of us. I want to be proud of us out loud. I want to kiss you. I want to smile and laugh. I want to make you giggle and I want to make you sigh and I want to take your breath away and I want to dance with you at people’s weddings and I want to pick you up and carry you when your feet are tired and I want to wait until you are Almost asleep and then kiss your nose and make you laugh so hard with some secret joke that your belly hurts and you smack me for waking you all the way up so we have to get out of bed and sit and watch the city lights while eating a bowl of cereal at 1:38 am. I want to smell you fresh from a shower and paint your toenails and take you to baseball games and teach you hidden things that are going on that most people don’t know. I want us. I want the smell of pancakes when it’s me that cooks them and the sun hasn’t yet woken.  I want the smell of dinner when it’s us that burned it because we fell to the floor and made love instead.  I want the handprints on car windows, steamed up from the inside.  I want long baths followed by short showers and the scent of your shampoo staining my hands for the entire day to follow.  I want ears that hear the words I spill instead of eyes that read them.  I want notebooks black with ink from all the details I noticed from all the times I sat and marveled at the way you spin through an hour.
Typewriter Series #755 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
I want this. I want that. I want photos of us. I want to be proud of us out loud. I want to kiss you. I want to smile and laugh. I want to make you giggle and I want to make you sigh and I want to take your breath away and I want to dance with you at people’s weddings and I want to pick you up and carry you when your feet are tired and I want to wait until you are Almost asleep and then kiss your nose and make you laugh so hard with some secret joke that your belly hurts and you smack me for waking you all the way up so we have to get out of bed and sit and watch the city lights while eating a bowl of cereal at 1:38 am. I want to smell you fresh from a shower and paint your toenails and take you to baseball games and teach you hidden things that are going on that most people don’t know. I want us. I want the smell of pancakes when it’s me that cooks them and the sun hasn’t yet woken.  I want the smell of dinner when it’s us that burned it because we fell to the floor and made love instead.  I want the handprints on car windows, steamed up from the inside.  I want long baths followed by short showers and the scent of your shampoo staining my hands for the entire day to follow.  I want ears that hear the words I spill instead of eyes that read them.  I want notebooks black with ink from all the details I noticed from all the times I sat and marveled at the way you spin through an hour.
Weary the bed grows,
longing constantly for you,
but so too do I.

"Inside It All Feels The Same"by Explosions In The Sky

Music has a way of reading what’s inside you, and then splashing it out in front of you on the canvas of your day.  These are my guts this day.