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 Jul 2015 Will Justus
S R Mats
O pleasure, a deep well of nectar your creamy throat
Fluted like a golden trumpet toy.

Your luscious nuggets of yellow dust our hurried feet,
As we become sweetly knee deep.

We buzz a vibrato hum. Carefully, make we our love notes
With each wing beat of gathering joy.

Your graceful tendrils entwined our tiny hearts with gifts.
Complete in our mission with bounty we lift

And homeward sing your praise.
 Jun 2014 Will Justus
You are weary, I think

Of endless puzzles and games

And short romantic flames

You have grown disenchanted

With everything

Every stupid girl and foolish fling

You are bored

Of things built upon passing waves

Of all these conformists, these slaves

You have grown spiteful

Against people whining and nagging

And keeping secrets and bragging

And you are exasperated, maybe,

With all your toys breaking

As soon as you take them out of their boxes

It may be you are sick

Of instability and castles of crumbling sand

Of things reeling and getting out of hand

You have grown impatient

With cheaters and capricious ******

Who claim they are forever yours

You are tired, perhaps

Of feeling alone

And things aching through no fault of your own

I may not be

The sturdiest thing you've ever laid eyes on

I am little, and frail

And weak and pale

And I stumble when it's windy out

But I know, without a doubt

That for you I will be strong

That I will never do you wrong

I'll keep you from going off the brink

Because you are weary, I think
 Jun 2014 Will Justus
If we were ever to end up together

I would take you up to hawk hill

And say "look


This is the bench I always dreamed of you on.

See, this is where all the love poems come from

This is where I laid  down and pretended the back of the bench was your stomach and the wind was your hand

And the sun was you, all of you

But now you're here, and the bench can go back to just being a bench, and the wind can be wind again and the sun is the sun, whole and true and nothing but that

And while all these things are back to being themselves

You can be you and I can me

But we belong together, just 2 individuals

Isn't that beautiful?"

I would take you to my room

And say "look

This is where I always stayed up all night thinking of you.

This is where I wrote you all those letters,

And they're still there, under the mattress

You can look if you want"

If we were ever to end up together

I would hold your hand and smile

And say "it was all

A worthwhile wait

To be brought together

By the tender hand of fate"
 Jun 2014 Will Justus
I've been asked why
I don't fight for you
Flirt! they say
Assert your womanly powers! Enchant him! You'll get him one day!
But I don't want to fight
Because you are not an object I long for
And "us" is not a goal towards which I strive
You are a person
And I want only what is good for you
And crazy as it sounds,
I don't want to be with you
Unless I know it's what you want
I am demure and unprovocative
I am quiet and not talkative
I will not try to trap you in a net of seduction
Because love is patient
And resides in truth
I give you pens and paper and food
Try to make you laugh when you're in a bad mood
Give you advice and support
I will be your indestructible fort
And ask for nothing in return
No excessive generosity or false concern
Because love is kind, and keeps no records
I do not tell people all that there is and has been between us
I let them speculate and guess
Because love does not boast
It is not arrogant or rude
I do not weep over you and brood
I don’t hate the girls you flirt with
Because jealousy isn’t love, nor is it evidence of love
And I don't care when your buddies laugh at us
When we fool around, push and shove
Because love is not irritable or resentful
I do not find joy in finding you vulnerable and weakened
Because love does not rejoice at wrongdoing
I don't care when you joke around and lack tact and gentility
Instead I stay calm, and bask in tranquility
Because love is not easily angered
I will keep you safe and speak to you
Words of comfort and reassurance
Because love always protects
When you don't want to speak, I will hold you
Because love always respects
I will wait for you
Because love always trusts, always hopes
I will be your friend no matter what the cost
Because love knows what is precious, and always preserves
I bear it all with blind devotion
Navigating through every tumultuous ocean
Because love accepts all things, believes all things, endures all things
I endure the pain of what is unrequited
But being with you makes me happy
Because love doesn’t always hurt
If it always hurts it’s something else
Fear, attachment, addiction or possessiveness;
That is not love
I do not want to be your girlfriend
I don’t want us to be together
I want you to be happy
Because love is all selflessness
It’s the opposite of need and attachment
It’s allowing, rather than seeking
Letting go, rather than grasping
If it happens, it’ll happen
But if we ever end up together
Let it be as light and extrinsic as a falling feather
Let it be a sweet collision of hearts
A lucky foregathering of souls
And not the victory of a hard-fought battle
And I know that your kiss will be sweetest
If our lips stumble into each other in the darkness
Without desperate searching
I will not try to "get over you"
I will not flounder, I will not fret
I will not try to forget
Because love never ends
It transcends
And that is why
I will not fight
And I will not mention the letters I have written you- and had not sent, and now will never send.
And there will be regret
Bittersweet memories and wasted lips
It'll ache a little sometimes
I know, I know,
That I am perhaps renouncing a thousand kisses
A hundred long, thrilling dances in your arms
A hundred evenings not to be recaptured
But I'll live with it
I will not fight

*(But get me
I will not fight to obtain you
But I would fight to the death
Blood and sweat
To save you)
 Mar 2014 Will Justus
Olivia Joy
Youth, to me, was a heavy shadow
before I knew what lurked in heavy shadows.

Not to say that there was darkness in my childhood,
but that I couldn't see clearly for all the veiled truths around me.

My purest memories are of plush blankets,
and warm food,

And enjoying those things
before I ever understood what 'luxury' or 'privilege' meant.

Brought me guilt

And guilt
Ended my youth

I was often told
That I was an old soul,

Mature for my age,
Or wise beyond my years.

But what good is wisdom,
When it brings no profit to the wise?
early childhood
 Mar 2014 Will Justus
Little star, shines so bright,
guides us through these frozen nights.
Little star, glittering,
someday you will reign supreme.
Little star, kind and sweet,
lighting sparklers on the street.
Little star, lean and tall,
you hold us together, don't let us fall.
Little star, the bravest knight,
holding steady after every fight.
Little star, mighty and true,
you can't see how I think the world of you.
Little star, handsome and bold,
you strum so pretty with hands so cold.
Little star, destined to be great,
You gotta explode; don't be late.
Little star, do not fear strife,
for you will be larger than life.
 Mar 2014 Will Justus
Tim Knight
Season's greetings, or the omission of a hand to hold
when it's winter bleak, miserable and cold.

Two weeks away in the sun, or campsite summer-lit mornings
and sand in our sandals from an evening on the shore.

The dew puddles are forming,
its stagnant river sister foaming
with cream lips at the edge of the white water;
she's whispering well-thought-through white noise
because she knows of the future to come,
the upriver source told her that you've
two seasons left to sort yourself out.
The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley...
No kitchens on the run, no striking camp...
We moved quick and sudden in our own country.
The priest lay behind ditches with the *****.
A people hardly marching... on the hike...
We found new tactics happening each day:
We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike
And stampede cattle into infantry,
Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.
Until... on Vinegar Hill... the final conclave.
Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
They buried us without shroud or coffin
And in August... the barley grew up out of our grave.
 Dec 2013 Will Justus
Meka Boyle
Daddy wasn't  there to **** the spiders,
So mommy gave them the gift of life-
Gently lifting them from the crevices of my tiny room,
And carrying them off to freedom
Atop a tattered kitchen broom,
Softly whispering sweet condolences in their secret language.
And that is how I learned what poetry is..
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