"sasha" poems
Classical Trumpism: Judas makes a strong and powerful betrayal.
Neo-Classical-Trumpism: *Adolph is a good friend of mine. He makes a strong
and powerful argument regarding purity.*
Contemporary Trumpism: I love and trust my little buddy, Kim.
Modern Trumpism: *Vlad, whom I trust with my marriage, makes a
reel strong and powerful argument.*
Trumpism: Sad, Sad, Sad. Witch hunt. There was no collusion.
Neo-Trumpism: *Crooked Malia and Sasha are to blame for the
collusion with Canada, Mexico and South America*.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
Am I looking for love in Alderaan places?
Most of my SerenityXEnterprise ship jokes go over her head.
I feel like a John Cusack boombox blaring out nineties-age spaces.
Like a comedy no one's heard of, I'm Better Off Dead
without the love I'm not sure that I can find because then is it
really possible to find The One like Neo? (Haha. Get it?)
Like (p+l)(a+n)=pa+pn+la+ln, (Okay, Deep Breath) the universe is trying
so hard to foil my love PLAN. (That one was ****** but the best I can present)
I know you'll be saying "I told you so" when
I realize the narrow parameters of my search are a little naive,
but don't say I'm the Average because that's just Mean!
My love is like Ash Ketchum; I need it to be the very best.
My love is like Ariel; If I leave you I wanna know I'll be mist!
I just needed to pull a Sasha Grey and get it off (on) my chest,
I've already got my music, rhymes, and make-up. Give me the Kiss.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
Dear Sasha,
A war is coming,
I am aware of its gravity and I don’t know if I am ready,
To answer your question in your last letter,
Why do I cut so deep?
It’s because I know how words can cut deeper than any sword,
Don’t give me the bull **** that,
“sticks and stones can brake bones and words can never hurt you”
Sticks can snap your bones,
But words can snap your spirit and mind,
And these times are hard on my spirit,
“Time heals all”
but these wounds will take longer
So don’t tell me words don’t affect my life
If someone sits there in your face saying,
Your stupid and irresponsible long enough,
Torturing you constantly with their literary daggers,
You start to believe it,
You start to feel,
As much as I want to shrugged it off,
It weighs me down,
This curse called empathy,
A curse of a pacifist,
I take every word to heart,
And it ****** me off,
I know I am not what they say,
But this name tag on my uniform is all I have left of my identity,
I’m not sure if It’s true,
But I can’t help believe it anyway,
Don’t tell me to shrug it off,
Cause you can’t remove these battle wounds,
If you keep chiseling at this stone pillar it will crumble,
Letting loose my dogs of war,
I cut deep,
Cause I know the strength of words
I follow the golden rule,
So don’t make me use these literary daggers,
to leave lasting marks on your psyche,
Cause trust me I have,
And I can rip apart your world and all of its glory,
Cause I was trained to do so,
Make you doubt your identity,
cause mine was taken,
Cause it’s easy to make my pain…. yours,
But that would be too easy.
I will turn these daggers upon myself,
Because “If you have nothing nice to say don’t say anything at all”
If you are struck down,
You want to strike back,
These words and thoughts don’t just disappear,
These arrows are sharp and drawn,
I have to let them go somewhere,
Ill cut and stab myself before I hurt another,
I’ll take your pain for you,
No matter how much you don’t like me and try to tear me down,
I will not lash out,
I will not strike back,
Because that would make me no better than you,
I will cut myself before I cut you,
I cut myself so deep,
Cause I get over the pain,
The scares stay but the pain doesn’t,
As I finish this letter the anger has already left,
“you’re only as happy as you make yourself out to be”
So I will take the full force of their swords,
because I won’t dwell in the pain,
So I am going to move on from the hate,
So why do I cut myself so deep?,
because I know now I am strong enough to take it,
Yours truly,
The empathetic warrior
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
poisoned love
subliminal
images that enslave
ah!
there you are
----------
watching ***** children
dance with celebs
instead of stars!
-----
beyonce the beyonce!
----------
sasha fiercly free!
--------
are we
really only
stupid twits?
----------
poisoned country
beyond the beyouncing
booberoos
poisoned minds
(speaking
subliminally)
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 1:43 PM UTC
You're going to read this wrong,
Every single one of you.
Because you are not me,
And you cannot see what I'm saying.
No amount of stressed syllables in these lines can
ever describe what it means.
To me.
Why I wrote it.
Why I let you read it.
You will never understand
My understanding.
And that's okay.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
I was a dare devil,
I always raised the level,
I got bruises and scars,
But that didn't stop me from going bizarre
I would jump and skate,
But it wasn't my fate,
I have to find something else to do,
Before I don't have clue
© Sasha Morales
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Perilous, fiery eyes glaring from a high perch
Hurtling flames amidst the dark woods
Orange and red glowing silently
Elegant feathers of fine dust
Night is prime time for the Hunter
Ignited with colour and flame
Xeric feathers radiating heat, you'll wish you'd never came
The PHOENIX
~Sasha
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 6:35 PM UTC
Sasha wakes me with a soft and slender touch.
Five long, black, fingernails,
Move sly and slow as sleepy snails,
Carving curvy pink ski-trails,
Down the middle of my back.
I want you…
She whispers lip to lip,
… to wake up and **** me right now,
And she tickles my ear with the tip of her tongue.
It’s these dreams, she murmurs,
Last night I was locked in a small room,
One window,
Distant noise from a street,
A king size bed with a clean red sheet,
Five men, alpha males of every age,
Soft talkers with rough hands,
Each had their way with me,
In every position, every act imaginable,
Sometimes two and three at a time,
My ecstasy was paced and deliberate
And seemed to go on for hours,
Despite every satisfaction,
I begged them to continue,
Insisted they use their mouths, hands, words,
My ****** was perpetual,
An endless spring tide,
Each swell higher than the last,
There was a moment I was sure
I would suffocate from pleasure.
Was I one of them, I asked, hoping I wasn't.
No but I felt you somewhere, watching, she sighed.
You need to take me now and quick, she said,
This is a rare opportunity,
A celestial arousal
Jesus, this ****** is from God, she said,
Bend me anyway you wish.
Recall every fantasy you have ever had.
Now is your time.
Lay on the mattress, I ordered,
Stomach down flat
Spread your legs,
Arms up above your head,
As if you are about to dive into the sea.
Grasp the sheet with your fingers.
I will enter you in one motion
You will feel only the *********** and my body weight
We will rut.
My knees will push you open,
My hands will find the center of you,
You will barely have to move.
I will come if you touch me
With any bare skin, she said,
And pushed the blankets to the floor.
I am possessed she confessed,
Turn me into anything you wish.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
it was the last day of winter
unseasonably warm
I was standing behind an Imam
his arms were raised
hurling prayers for peace
into the face of intransigence
black dressed armored
SWAT teams amassed
swinging readied M16s
vigilantly guarding walls
constricting penned citizens
waiting to place an
American flag
draped coffin
onto the growing pile
of other coffins
covered in the
multicolored flags of
Iraq War belligerents
swelling at the base
of the wrought iron fence
surrounding the White House
I saw a curtain in the
White House part
the window filled
with two tiny faces
I imagined it to be
Sasha and Bo
taking a break from
rambunctious play
to peer out on
a grim assembly
wondering
in confusion
whats going on?
why are these people
placing coffins
in front of our house?
Sasha and Bo
ran upstairs
to the
Oval Office
she burst through
the door
“Daddy people are
piling coffins
in front of our house
Why?”
The President
hugged his daughter
and answered…
“we’re at war
Sasha...
“the Evil Doers
hate us for
who we are...
“they want to
hurt us...
“we must ****
them…
Sasha asked…
“one sign says
our bombs
**** children…
is that true
Daddy?”
Thats a lie
right Daddy?
If you knew
children like
me were being
killed you wouldn't
let that continue…
would you Daddy?”
John Kerry
popped his head
into the office….
“Sasha,
your Daddy
would never
**** children
in service to a lie”
Sasha’s head tilted…
The President flashed a smile…
John Kerry walked away whistling…
giving no notice to the photo of the
Vietnam War Memorial
as he passed
Music Selection:
The Shirelles
Soldier Boy
Oakland
6/11/14
jbm
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
*creating something in silence (save for keyboard clacks) is a practice in subliminal listening. Thought is like air and you can hear it whispering through the trees of your foresty dendrites.
Misery mixes with ecstasy and love mixes with confused dislike-- for 11 days straight, I've been losing myself in the phosphene glare of love for a girl named Sasha.
She insists she's not a Xanax ****** but by my standards I'm still not sure if I'm convinced altho this seems like an unfair snap-judgement that still hurts her feelings. Perhaps she needs it, and I'm just blanked as the next heretic to go on trial in the pharmacratic inquisition.
For the first time the other night I experimented (incorrectly) with DMT. Sprinkling it over a packed bowl of tea (marijuana), I drew back a breath and felt nothing more than life as a conceited dream with a strange alchemical hangover-fear of psychosis.*
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
The wren to the falcon and the falcon to the man
Dashed my pain on the rocks of no man’s land
Sighs the sea to the siren, “never leave my grasp”
Sings the siren to the land, “you are much too vast”
Says the sailor to the moon, “we will never be”
Sends the sailor to the sea: the siren singing softly
So the siren saves the sailor from the love of the land
In a struggle at the surface swelling storm
Brings him to the bottom of the sea
Singing eternally.
So the land and the sky, they will never see
Nor the wren and the falcon, will they ever be
Like the moon and the sun are sworn together
Yet will never touch the light and the warmth and the
Love
Of the earth.
The earth will spin, the wren will sing,
The falcon will soar, and the moon will sink.
Hear me write of a gale with a pen that I hate
While I wish so bad that at land you will wait
Having heard my scrawl vibrate within your heart
And seen my fires in the dark
And followed them home.
Hear me write with love from within this gale
As I stand on the brink of the gates of hell
And I know that you think that I hate so well
But I can promise you a world of insanity,
A swirl of calamity, a girl…you are more to me
Than just a passing stranger, or the hope to
Have a family.
So sing for me and sing for us and
Sing for them that are deserved
For your voice and your lyrics,
Your mind and your heart,
Are perfectly imperfect.
Aug 3, 2010
Aug 3, 2010 at 5:08 PM UTC
PLEASE NOTE: The original writer of this poem is Sasha Hayles.
Poets meet here.
Where the mind and soul connect
To telepathically spew about the
metaphors
Similes
And verses
Of words unsaid
About those spiritual genius
And poetic fiends
Who's tongue drips lyrical acid
Onto us, to burn into our chest
And relieve us
Of words unsaid.
Poets met here.
And their life line that tethered them to the coast
Of their sanity's sanctuary
Were frayed at the edges
And broken when they were caught up
In the rapture of
Gluttonous
Overly simplistic
And iconoclastic mentality
That closed mouths never moved forward...
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
Sasha Milivoyev
BLACK STONE
Mecca, Saudi Arabia
Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska
By the Black Stone
Sinful, on my knees,
with tears in my eyes,
I'm pleading,
begging for forgiveness,
when blood-red turned the skies,
the stone grew darker,
blacker than night,
and it used to be white,
as luminous as the daylight,
when from the Garden above,
it fell many a warm Mays ago,
when it fell from Jannah,
far, far down below,
it was whiter than milk
and whiter than snow,
blackened from within,
from human malice and sin.
Never let it slip away,
the dushman came from far away,
tried bringing Kaaba to its knees,
killing Muslims,
the desert still bleeds,
covered in corpses,
devoured by rodents and beasts.
The Judgement Days are dawning soon.
The Sun will stop,
merge with the Moon,
Into the particles
the hills will be shattered,
spill like the honey that is melted,
Allah will be a righteous judge to everyone,
To the fires of hell, the monsters will succumb,
The stone will shine
with whiteness of dazzling purity,
The stone will be singing eternally,
The songs of joy, love and harmony.
Saša Milivojev
Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska
www.sasamilivojev.com
Copyright © by Sasha Milivoyev, 2022
Sep 7, 2022
Sep 7, 2022 at 3:18 AM UTC
She tears up the pages,
Just as her eyes tear as well.
Everything she's done,
It means nothing.
But that's alright.
All the tears, all the anger,
It won't do anything.
So again and again,
She'll stand again.
Wipe away the tears,
And put on a Sasha-Fierce smile.
She'll grin and laugh all at the right times,
Tell us all those puns,
Making sure we are always laughing and smiling, and most inportantly,
Okay.
Even as she crumbles like a cookie,
Sweet and loveable.
But I swear to you,
There's too much to her,
No matter how many times we try to understand her,
She'll always slip away right when we think we got her.
Alone but in the most crowded room there is.
Metallica will play,
Children of Bodom swims around her mind,
Everything about her is its own music.
So distinct,
So catchy,
I don't think I'll ever be able to get it out of my head anytime soon.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
Lemon drops and Jam face
Were two rather unusual little girls
They spent their days in a tree house
In their rather small garden
With a single white rose
And an upturned flower ***
With a plant called the ‘Bride’
An unwanted Christmas present
Yet to be planted by their father.
The two old cats had recently died
Which created a few weeks of sadness
And a house without paws or biscuit
Trays and an empty end of the couch.
Christmas now over the girls took
Some toys to the tree house
Including their iPads and drawing paper,
Pens etc...
Lemon drops had long fair bunches
And was very thin with big blue eyes
She did not like new foods and spat
Them out sometimes she was always
Drawing funny people and loved fluffy
Animals. She had a papier mâché
Enormous ladybird on her bedroom wall
She wanted to be an artist when older
Like her two grandparents.
Grandma Mary had bought her a Sasha
Doll which she had dressed once
In silver pixie boots and a red school
Dress, blue hat and cardigan.
They both loved each other.
Daddy was her best toy.
Jam cheeks bounced about with
Long golden ringlets and a big happy
Smile. She wore baby suits and a striped
Floppy hat in yellow and black.
Mummy was getting
Her some shoes to wear to avoid
Wet feet in the garden.
She loved eating her food
And made people laugh
Including mummy who she
Kissed and cuddled a lot.
To be continued...
Love Mary Grandma xxxx
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
Tired static over old A.M. radios, voices like ghosts, slurring Slavic,
the faded label on a bottle of Stolichnaya
Burnt embers on the tip of shaking cigarettes, flicked into open space,
falling like snow flakes
Tired eyes half shut, dimly replaying a far away song behind flickering
eyelashes
No smiles, no laughs, no interruptions of voice or spirit to dislodge this sublime
apathy
Quotes from Mehmedinović on crumpled pieces of paper, jammed into pockets or
wallets
Blue bands around the arms so his comrades know who to shoot
at
The laughter of children, who have seen so much sorrow, to laugh is
to cry
These children become men, to pick up their guns, and join friends
as corpses at the base of Lapišnica
"This is the way it's always been, Sasha." hollow voices repeat, thin as
reeds, breathing the phrase many times a day
Overturned like a cup of bad coffee, lives spilled on the floor and left
to dry
Boot prints in the mud, one after another, someday they'll collect grass
and we'll all forget
Shining brass casings among the lilies, someday they'll be covered by weeds
and we'll all forget
The walls will be rebuilt, plaster spread, lives sewn together like ripped
clothing
Someday we’ll all forget, this blessing of
silence
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 10:23 PM UTC
Sasha's greatest hits
big ****
shaved clean
young thing
short hair
fake blonde
pouty stare
bullet wand
strip tease
there to please
unblemished-
smooth skin
stick ******* thin
tormented by how
I just can't win
measure up
2 girls 1 cup
fantasy feline
maybe next time
you'll want me more
than your perfect pornstar *****
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
The way she struts through the cityscape
amazes me in the brilliant ways, her
fashion style and sophistication is beyond
its time, seamless stances and elegant
smiles, she is a dazzling diamond inspiring
the various people around the world.
She is a beautiful mother of two wonderful
kids, Malia and Sasha. She is a magnificent
wife and a blossoming rose rising in the
iridescent light. She is married to the
distinguished gentleman, Barack Obama,
who is truly an inspiration to the masses. She
is a very smart and intelligent woman who knows
her worth and what to stand for. The way she
utilizes her words is gloriously breathtaking.
She has a bright personality and a stunning face,
a rhythm of great taste, remarkable depth and
a Courageous role model. She is full of vivacity
and compassion, strength and sincerity, the worlds
First Lady to enter the White House. She is the
astonishing author of the outstanding book entitled,
Becoming. She is the extraordinary Michelle Obama,
who was born in Chicago and rose to the top.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 9:59 AM UTC
My favorite is
Sasha Pivovarova
She's always so nice
She'll be off-duty
On my 19th birhtday, so
I think we'll hang out.
She's my favorite
Off-duty model for she's
Never off duty.
Jul 16, 2011
Jul 16, 2011 at 1:38 PM UTC
Nothing left in me is logical.
I have now become dark and all things methodical.
Sadistic in the depths of my very own mind.
Slipping away and trying to find.
Caught between whats never not.
Penetrating tears that I forgot.
Only at first feeling the pain.
Letting it slowly drive me insane.
Needing now only to run....
From all I've said and all I've done
I no now there will be no relief.
As you all stand around me in disbelief.
You give your reasons as I shed mine.....
Seaping in the cold and being unkind!
Disturbing thoughts that will never fade away.
Making me breath though yet another day.
My sacrifice known all to well...........
With my soul on fire,burning here in this hell.
Sasha Sartin
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 2:31 PM UTC
We ate red beets with garlic roasted in olive oil and anise.
We ate onions sauteed in olive oil, mustard, and honey.
We ate green leaves with grapes, tomatoes, onions, and feta cheese.
We drank wine.
We drank water.
We talked social justice.
We talked poverty.
We talked blackness.
We talked education.
We talked about the years, that of which was left behind.
Trials I used to roam out west before I came back to the nest.
He said, "But, that is behind you?
I am still under the illusion doors don't close.
So plainly without a doubt they do.
"The debt will go away, do what makes you happy."
Why resist?
This is the necessary transition.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
Sometimes when im home sick
My hub does the trick
There is so much to choose from
Either one would make me ***
It can be big and black
Or just have some big racks
It could be a *********
Or they could be drunk off of ***
It may be Sasha Grey
Ill **** to her any day
I don't have interest in gay ****
I don't care for other mens corn
Some may call me an addict
I just like active people don't contradict
I too have my right
To make things white
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC