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Jeremy Ducane Apr 25
Say it   -  "Kayleigh"

~ An upward flight of sound ~

"Kayleigh"

Somehow, chiming free,
And aligning
With dawn fields, seen from this train,
Rumbling towards duller syllables.

'What syllables?
Oh Yes, I get it now
-We're off to London?'

Yes, and - go on - say that too:  

Lon-don.

We are descending stone steps to a dungeon
We are definitely London 'bound'! -

(I know - too obvious a play on words of course
But hey - let's keep it light -
We're just bouncing around, right?)

So - let's bounce back, bound up!
Steps two at a time in a rush to light,
Out of breath, but still thinking of you at the top,
And realise with a little shock:
You can't say ‘Kayleigh’ sadly
Or leave lips pursed or shut!

'Kayleigh' opens!
'Kayleigh' smiles!
Kayleigh is Out There..
That's it - of course! - I see it now!
That name's already on the stage.    
'Kayleigh' looks the fog of doubt away.
So - you see? You see?!
You can see for miles.  

But now, for me, I stare at the ground.
London is the word.
Grey light.
And people, and long platforms.
A shadowed crowd,
Converging on a barrier.
A symbolism almost too obvious  - too trite.  

But, I whisper,
You don't know what power I have inside.
- I can hot wire your dreams -
And now - to confide this just to you -
Years have given me the means.

~ To see and speak the Other's Grand Adventure -
(that superpower only comes with age) -
Of honesty and risk and more -
The truth as far as we can know it, each to each:
The bright flash of contact with the other,
Face to face or on the page, that starts the upward flow.
And so more of me and, as I know
It shall be, more of you.
So, let's dream you, climb you, storm-wind-elate you
To the heights

Of soul ambition
Of your name  

Kayleigh

Let's Go

________


But our little walk together
Now is done.
This is as far as we go.
For we are colleagues, yes?
Nothing more
Nor less
(I would not want it to be less).

It's time.
Enough to be a fellow traveller for the day.  
A chat or two, perhaps, along the way
To confess - I do think we rhyme.  

This is my path,  I turn off here -
The way along the hillside, then the wood
Over the style.
So now, shake hands, maybe a little hug.
I can awkwardly say -
“Thank you for the inspiration of your name.”
“Please accept this gift.”
And turn away.
It was good to know you, Kayleigh.

For a while.  



Postscript


The words won't do what I want them to
They never do.

~ Actually, not true.
Sometimes - out of somewhere, nowhere,  
The little lines align to tell a truth.

Maybe.

At least for now.
At least for you.
Elise Grenier  Jan 2014
Kayleigh
Elise Grenier Jan 2014
Her name is Kayleigh.

Her name is Kayleigh, and
last night I let a rush of hot water strip her kisses from the side of my neck.
I smiled to them as they fell down the drain because I knew that there would be more.  
Being by her side used to help me sleep, but these nights I'm staying awake
because in the smallest upward curve of her lips I can see, I can taste
that reality is kinder than our dreams.
I want to sing in her ear, then bite it.
I spin a hundred poems for her,
and then I provoke in her the anger that comes with being woken up by a playful jab to the side of the rib--
and it never ceases to amaze me how she still invites my arms around her. It makes me laugh.
I asked my skin that glowed with the shadow of her touch,
Is it supposed to feel this good to love?
The lingering scent of her in my bed told me yes,
And I trust it as I have trusted her,
because she is not afraid.
I will go where she goes.
I will kiss her out of every bad dream;
I will still want her when I have everything;
And I will savor the gift that it is to call her Kayleigh

Kayleigh, because she is my Kayleigh.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
i have to admit...

Bulgarian prostitutes

are the most responsible
women i've ever known...

condoms? full bodied
latex?

      contraception pills?

cam s videos?

                 my my....
what a ******* rainbow!


so conversation is
the supposedly "new ****"?
ahead of my "time"...

if ever coincidentally,
the ideal escapism /
entrapment...

          twangy twangy...
American accent
like the sound of a Boston banjo...
the ******* to boot,
with it...

              that awkward uncle?
and some teenage girl making a video
blog?
about how difficult it was
to enter a video-convention?
what is, and what isn't, funny?

      i tuned into the drama brigade...
like you might tune into
the current MTV with teenage moms...

she's bloated, and
making extra making
pregnant teen jerking off videos?!
**** me...
               that's about a month
that has just disappeared from
my calendar!

           Murphy, meet dropkick
McMurphy...
     McMurphy,
meet kayleigh McDurmut...
yeah...
that one... balancing
the one legged hop and spew...

personally?
i like watching videos of 14 old girls...
gets me in the mood,
of anticipating fatherhood...
which, given my drinking...
will never materialize...

in terms of ****?
i already overstated the excesses of
condoms...
   and what, could always become,
the Latino **** crisis of
a Cuban post-scriptum...
            personally?
i don't appreciate unnecessary
surprises?
  pro-life or alternatively...
   i don't like surprises...
not those kind of surprises...
        esp. involved in trans-nationalism
******* strap-on tendencies
of adhered to normalizations...
no...
     sorry...
L O V E... doesn't spell out
    vole...
        or whatever variant...
i wouldn't even have cared to object
to sustaining a unit of family,
by invigorating the concept of
Anastasia!
            bribing an orphan to
fake a biological clockwork of...
supposing you weren't mine...
  but my mind, which you have began to
ingest...
      what is this, folly,
this geneticist argument about,
both the act of procreation,
and the necessity of the said act,
with the attached confinement of
pursuing the tag of proclaiming
a continuum of genes?!
      i can't, and i won't figure it out...
**** it...
         sad old "uncle" syndrome...
     but a sigh of relief...
i'm actually looking for pornographic
alternatives...
         it doesn't actually begin or end
within the confines of extremity...
.gif, pictures, fine art...
     14 year old girls making
autobiographical videos...
   and? less *******,
and more... giggling...
               could i have had the tenacity
of becoming, a father!
   my god!

i guess a man will always find
adopting a child, more appealing...
to the consensus of
the anti-thesis of a prodigy...
once he has allowed himself
a chance...
to pet, an animal.
Aaron McDaniel  Oct 2012
Kayleigh
Aaron McDaniel Oct 2012
Take a step forward
Smiling, and graceful
A pair of bubbly cheeks
Waiting to be called
Beautiful
I challenged myself to write a poem for anyone and everyone of my friends that retweeted a tweet on my twitter. This is one of them.
David Watt  Sep 2010
Kayleigh
David Watt Sep 2010
Her honesty is a thing thats rare,
a thing that causes most to stare.
Strangers hear of her akward jokes,
that may be acceptable around only blokes.

The smile that can lighten the dimmest of days,
only surpassed by the music she plays.
She gives and gives till she cries from stress,
which sends me into rediculous distress.

I cannot stand to see you sad!
for without you with me i look mad!
So heres to my friend,
who follows only her own trend!
Kay your great!
and a fantastic mate!
Carlos Salinas  Jan 2016
Kayleigh
Carlos Salinas Jan 2016
Your hair is like rays of sun
Dazzling into my eyes.
Looking in your eyes is as though
Staring inside diamonds.

Your long thin fingers
Were sculpted after goddesses.
Beautiful you are,
Oh so Beautiful you are.

A kiss from your lips
Are the keys to the kingdom.
Your smile....
One way ticket to paradise.

I daydream of your voice
Whispering in my ear
Before we fall asleep
After making love...again
Rishi Dastidar Dec 2010
I arrive at the barbers
for my weekly, my usual,
and you are there,

sitting in my seat
crying. I lift you up,
cape and all,

take you round the
corner, where you tell
me you are sorry

but we have to go to
Brighton now, even
though it is 6pm on

a Friday and we won’t
be done until 2pm
tomorrow. Is it a ruse?

I think so, because
suddenly we are in a
part of London that

looks like Montmartre
(or it could be Richmond
masquerading as Venice)

and we meet a man
called Tricks who says
he’s the new chief now

because he knows the
location of all the bones.
And then there are

scanners at airports,
walk-in health centres,
families in North Carolina

with names like Kayleigh
and Shauna. And when
we are done meeting

them we are back, you
in the chair, glowing blue
under barbicide lights.
I am a tress-passer on the land belonging to the noble.
I am a sheep in wolves clothing.
I am nothing more than a ******* child of ignorance and closed windows.
I am backwards.
I am loud.
I am wrong.
I am **Kayleigh.
I imagine Darcy on the cliffs, beyond which the sea,
his blonde hair, so now so very, in his eyes so that he has to tip
to see
everyone and everything more than two feet tall
which is a lot.


Mostly I imagine my joy at seeing my son
older.  i don't know why that is thrilling.  
to think of the man in him emerging more and more
until it reaches a tipping point

but now that makes me sad
and I am thinking i will long for these days when he bites
and smacks Kayleigh in the face with trucks and is unreasonable in his greed
to burn so bright

When we get future sad, we are imagining
that the object inspiring wonder
and our own type of greedy enjoying,
will leave a gaping hole

and there will be nothing to love so
un-holding-backingly
which is why it might be nice to
practice a little
now
to lean out the bus window a tad more
and love the stupid frog
on the woman's umbrella
or the rain that refuses to fall
on the stupid frog
or the cloud that refuses to move until the rain
stops being so uninspiring and vague

or the roses, oblivious and sunshivering together, in the garden
that was once a great secret from me
and is no more.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
what happens when you're the sole
male in a supermarket,
filled by females,
cashiers, and the customers...
you walk in, you walk out,
which is not as bad as being intimidated
by nine prostitutes while
you wait your turn..
you walk in, and then you walk out...
with aud lang syne
booming from your ears...
(i kannie **** cry at tje track..
mountains man... just mountains...
i kannie not cry...
or forget that i danced the Kayleigh
without donning the kilt)
o heart o thistle...
o my dear earned hands,
to hand over the land
worth of till and toil...
my own and sole wish...
   that Scotland take my heart
and gives unto it... bloom...
once upon the cobbled stones
of the Royal Mile...
then upon the dawn of day,
upon Arthur's Seat...
for what i am worth,
to have but this sight,
of seeing far an wide...
Edinburgh...
the only city whereby i refused
the ingenuity of the compass...
Firth of Forth...
                however welcome
or unwelcome...
    through to the backstreets of
Dundee...
and behind the history of Glen Cove...
i cry...
because Scotland is the only
"convenience" of home know to me...
a home, that is more...
it's an ideal...
an.... idea...
   England can never be it...
England could never be "it"...
England was merely
the handing over of Hong Kong under
Blaire...
it was the Labor government...
the late 90s...
              but Scotland was
so much more... and will forever
be more than just much more...
had the heart eyes,
it would see this thistle baron
as for what i see it as...
as i leave it, as i've left all prior
palaces of my habitation...
always the fonder memory,
than a fond-of experience
among the living...
  may the dead serve the same exacting
justice upon me,
as i, among the living,
revive them... back t life,
and the knife of mortality's
burdens...
and us do our part,
to part,
with a hope of once more,
congregating, in either a heaven,
or a hell.
Sam  Jun 2019
9th Grade
Sam Jun 2019
As I look over my first year of high school,
all I can remember
is this
BURNING
sadness.
It throbs in my chest, robbing my lungs of air and causing my mind to slide in a downward spiral.

I remember the yelling.
I remember the panic.
I remember the sorrow coursing through my veins, inching between my bones until it filled every last inch of me.

I remember the cuts, most of all.

But I also remember my friends.

I remember Navleen.
I remember Eunice.
I remember Damien and Kylee
I remember Kayleigh and Humera.

I remember the jokes, the silly conversations, the laughter.

I remember the stupidity that is the teenager's mind.

It's one of our last shots at being kids.

We want to take it.

But...

You
Won't
Let
Us...
I may be depressed but i am also full of spite

— The End —