"kayleigh" poems
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.
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 4:10 AM UTC
Take a step forward
Smiling, and graceful
A pair of bubbly cheeks
Waiting to be called
Beautiful
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
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!
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 5:52 PM UTC
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.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
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.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 4:30 PM UTC
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.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 6:33 AM UTC
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
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
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.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
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...
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
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.
Apr 25, 2024
Apr 25, 2024 at 1:57 AM UTC