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 Aug 2013 Skyy Blu
Naomi Sa'Rai
Locker 36
Brought about much bliss
How you twisted my **** and made me free
You were locker 38
Just two spaces down from me
I'd stare at you from a far
In the lunch room
Just hoping one day you would see
The hair you had spiked to the t
With hands gentle
And a smile so soft
You said your name was Stacy
But that I could take to calling you Jack
You loved when I called you Jack
You also enjoyed football,wrestling and tickle fights
I adored things like that
I bet I could pin you down in three seconds flat
I was to weak to flip you over
Your head you'd rest on my breast
You said they fit better on my body anyways
Locker 38
Where we discussed our first date
You swallowed spit to say
"I know it might be weird...ya know being seen out with me"
I pulled you close and embraced you
Feel my love my dear?
Heaven knows I had my fears...but none of them had to do with being seen with you.
I whispered hummingbird in your ear
'Cause the nights I couldn't sleep you would hum the sweetest tune
I unraveled the moment the testosterone bloomed
Hearing depth in your voice for the first time
You asked how could I love someone like you, the day I called you mine.
Locker 38
You leaned against with eyes unsure
I knew the question was pure
So my answer would always be genuine
I explained that I had fallen
I was never to get up
Jack I said
Stacy is just your long forgotten twin...I except who you were and what you've become simply my dear because you are my love...
My only one...
Locker 38
Where my life begun.
 Aug 2013 Skyy Blu
Naomi Sa'Rai
He would walk into clubs
And watch
The under-aged girls chugging down
Adult shots
Waiting for men to fill them up
Clinking their glasses
And ***** filled cups
He would ****** them
They would misuse him
He'd pay for all the liquor
They required
After all their lush fits
They would taste the harm that he desired
Waiting for men to feel them up
He'd take them to a field
So he could play
Soon enough
Cold their bodies would lay
Waiting for him to pick them up
Chunks of hair
He would tuck
Into his pockets
No or stop they never yelled
To deep within his spell
Waiting for help
But had no luck
His body shook
As he'd erupt
Waiting for sirens to shut them up
Oh the voices in his head
He would walk into clubs
And leave out with girls he knew
Were sure to be dead
They always say write what you know but no reader would ever care to travel the roads I know so well.
The unwanted gather in vast groups to isolate.
My thirty days notice is now .

Insanity you claim maybe in this venture I know my ends pleasure to resist I know none better to reside just let me burn out with all the rest.

In code I speak if only you cared to decipher maybe I would give a **** to explain my dear.

It's been a good run.
 Aug 2013 Skyy Blu
kenye
This mind intentionally left blank
Behind opened eyes
staring down destiny

A new page
A new mindset
promotes change
When it's looked at different

Things fall into place
It's all about intention

Fantasies manifest
form of stranger than fiction
This is from the first page of a fresh notebook.
 Aug 2013 Skyy Blu
kenye
Rampage'd
 Aug 2013 Skyy Blu
kenye
Are you aware, or are you tuned out?
     Behind your technology
     Do you feel invincible?

The singularity isn't near enough to save you

Intuition leaks,
     fight or flight gets rampaged

Sensory overload,
     the main power grid shuts down

Man vs. animal instinct
     in a creation throw-down

*We sent out the distress call via status update...
 Aug 2013 Skyy Blu
Nat Lipstadt
a scratching modest,
not demanding or shrill,
the need is not great
but persistent,
the urge asks politely
for satisfaction.

if you would be so kind sir,
perhaps my dear,
you could find it within you to,
accommodate a humble request.

write us a poem about nothing,
this bequest,
about this or that,
need not be rant nor praise,
observe, distinguish, or separate,
let It be about nothing much at all.

let a modest whimsy bring rhyming smiling
to many a lip, perhaps a tear or two
would not be out of place,
to keep the inner ear of the soul
straight on the line that demarcates
sanity and sobriety, from the madness of daily life.

couplets and stanzas, irregular, no matter,
iambic pentameter, overkill, too much bother,
perfect simple limericks for a kind hearted fella
would be most satisfactory
-----
Cute but pointless.
No, insufficient, a poem deserves its own import.
So here is the truth,
Here is a sanctified poem
About something!
~~~~
I got friends in this place who deserve better.
They deserve a poem that says:
We are all broken, demonized.
The edge is always near,
But never having laid eyes on you,
You have trusted me with thy struggle,
And I, with hints of mine.

So here is
The Poem,
a
Medal of Honor
I award to us.
A poem about the only four letter word that really matters,
A thousand times more powerful than mere love,
I award to us for bravery conspicuous,
For telling the truth, the hard way,
In words that reveal the persons we are when unmasked,
I award us the
Medal of
Kind.


And someday when our hands shake, hard hugs exchanged
And our smiles won't stop
Than I will say unashamedly,
******, I love you...
My men,
My women
My friends,
My comrades
You know who you are.
In the dark, after midnight.
Where else, when else...
The time when smiles don't come easy,
But when they come,
They come hard, and long,
And they stick around.
 Aug 2013 Skyy Blu
Oscar Wilde
Set in this stormy Northern sea,
Queen of these restless fields of tide,
England! what shall men say of thee,
Before whose feet the worlds divide?

The earth, a brittle globe of glass,
Lies in the hollow of thy hand,
And through its heart of crystal pass,
Like shadows through a twilight land,

The spears of crimson-suited war,
The long white-crested waves of fight,
And all the deadly fires which are
The torches of the lords of Night.

The yellow leopards, strained and lean,
The treacherous Russian knows so well,
With gaping blackened jaws are seen
Leap through the hail of screaming shell.

The strong sea-lion of England’s wars
Hath left his sapphire cave of sea,
To battle with the storm that mars
The stars of England’s chivalry.

The brazen-throated clarion blows
Across the Pathan’s reedy fen,
And the high steeps of Indian snows
Shake to the tread of armed men.

And many an Afghan chief, who lies
Beneath his cool pomegranate-trees,
Clutches his sword in fierce surmise
When on the mountain-side he sees

The fleet-foot Marri scout, who comes
To tell how he hath heard afar
The measured roll of English drums
Beat at the gates of Kandahar.

For southern wind and east wind meet
Where, girt and crowned by sword and fire,
England with bare and ****** feet
Climbs the steep road of wide empire.

O lonely Himalayan height,
Grey pillar of the Indian sky,
Where saw’st thou last in clanging flight
Our winged dogs of Victory?

The almond-groves of Samarcand,
Bokhara, where red lilies blow,
And Oxus, by whose yellow sand
The grave white-turbaned merchants go:

And on from thence to Ispahan,
The gilded garden of the sun,
Whence the long dusty caravan
Brings cedar wood and vermilion;

And that dread city of Cabool
Set at the mountain’s scarped feet,
Whose marble tanks are ever full
With water for the noonday heat:

Where through the narrow straight Bazaar
A little maid Circassian
Is led, a present from the Czar
Unto some old and bearded khan,—

Here have our wild war-eagles flown,
And flapped wide wings in fiery fight;
But the sad dove, that sits alone
In England—she hath no delight.

In vain the laughing girl will lean
To greet her love with love-lit eyes:
Down in some treacherous black ravine,
Clutching his flag, the dead boy lies.

And many a moon and sun will see
The lingering wistful children wait
To climb upon their father’s knee;
And in each house made desolate

Pale women who have lost their lord
Will kiss the relics of the slain—
Some tarnished epaulette—some sword—
Poor toys to soothe such anguished pain.

For not in quiet English fields
Are these, our brothers, lain to rest,
Where we might deck their broken shields
With all the flowers the dead love best.

For some are by the Delhi walls,
And many in the Afghan land,
And many where the Ganges falls
Through seven mouths of shifting sand.

And some in Russian waters lie,
And others in the seas which are
The portals to the East, or by
The wind-swept heights of Trafalgar.

O wandering graves!  O restless sleep!
O silence of the sunless day!
O still ravine!  O stormy deep!
Give up your prey!  Give up your prey!

And thou whose wounds are never healed,
Whose weary race is never won,
O Cromwell’s England! must thou yield
For every inch of ground a son?

Go! crown with thorns thy gold-crowned head,
Change thy glad song to song of pain;
Wind and wild wave have got thy dead,
And will not yield them back again.

Wave and wild wind and foreign shore
Possess the flower of English land—
Lips that thy lips shall kiss no more,
Hands that shall never clasp thy hand.

What profit now that we have bound
The whole round world with nets of gold,
If hidden in our heart is found
The care that groweth never old?

What profit that our galleys ride,
Pine-forest-like, on every main?
Ruin and wreck are at our side,
Grim warders of the House of Pain.

Where are the brave, the strong, the fleet?
Where is our English chivalry?
Wild grasses are their burial-sheet,
And sobbing waves their threnody.

O loved ones lying far away,
What word of love can dead lips send!
O wasted dust!  O senseless clay!
Is this the end! is this the end!

Peace, peace! we wrong the noble dead
To vex their solemn slumber so;
Though childless, and with thorn-crowned head,
Up the steep road must England go,

Yet when this fiery web is spun,
Her watchmen shall descry from far
The young Republic like a sun
Rise from these crimson seas of war.
 Aug 2013 Skyy Blu
Trixxz
Miles Away
 Aug 2013 Skyy Blu
Trixxz
So far away from her
But right there in her mind
Miles away... always miles away...

Bitter divisions come between them
Trying to pry them apart
Sending every obstacle
To rip them from each others embraces
Nothing changes between them
even as they are miles away... always miles away

He lays in bed remembering the feel of her hair on his skin
The man Thinks about the distance between them
She's miles away... she's always miles away

They're always miles away
The bitter divisions still impede upon their relationship
trying, desperately, to cause a rift
But they are miles away.

The miles between make the reunion sweeter

She cries and he screams
Only wanting each other...
But they are miles away.... always miles away

In the end... the endless miles **** them both

But they died and soared through the sky in each others arms
What do u tell me
when the night shadows
Where does your sense go
To the end of the worlds?

I'm going round in
circles - feeling dizzy
Like an electron
round a nucleus

U say I'm sticking
like some plasticine
But as I spin hard
u r left speechless
A depiction of musical art on one's soul...*




Pianist playing

Reverie

Sweet reflection

Of my desire

Hear the air

Of soft horizon

Whispering love

For only me
mcd:2010
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