Keeping track II:  These are for you

Two Years of Summed-up (and Dramatized) Male Friendships and Memories in Chronological Order  
(For The Boys)  
 
First came the stinging sweetheart prodigy  
unattainable, nigh unswayable, with eyes  
that lick the world down to humanity's bony fingertips  
and fiction that lights a page from underneath -  
Sharing similar taste in men and a lesbian  
understanding, he'll always have my heart.  
 
From first hit to the last time I saw my soul  
there was a guilty lust at first write  
turned a deeper connect than I had expected -  
he rises always, like horizon's bloodshot eye  
when he ambles back from his bombs-aways  
and knows it well, though he'd never say.  
 
Then this one, with fingers from Calliope  
came sad, but strong and purposeful  
rising from his circumstance, mature  
and honest, recklessly romantic with  
water elements that sizzled in my firelight.  
He laid me hope - until I sent it back.  
 
Then the devil bared his fangs at me  
and softly as a petal landing, Artemis rolled  
over his tongue with a disconcerting ease.  
His general belligerence belies a most  
dangerous pull, and I remain convinced:  
Eloquence should not have been granted  
to serpents.  
 
And then the lyricist with chill, irresistible beat  
thrusting ego through every line break/cut/take  
danced me through smiles and wrote me  
like a blues queen belts her red light into a room -  
and we drank to laughter in song, while I  
inspected the stars for those elusive inspirations.  
 
'Bout half-time, in popped a friendly face  
support through every secret confession  
honesty built over grins, jabs, late night conversation  
and too many cups of tea, the Aries driving him  
ever onward in tireless training to hurdle over  
the vigilant zoning fences; the only one who knows.  
 
---------------  
 
Ballads (4 liners from the Ballads thread):      
     
     
-For Ray-      
     
Light, riddled words and structure heave bricks      
that fly and swoop like dragonflies,      
bumping (with or without references) soundly      
and blindside of one's head - the message in stars      
     
-For Jack-      
     
Snaps of essence in facets of the mundane,      
everyday, and introspect, giving life      
to moments most miss in lack of presence:      
The moments that make - everything.      
     
-For LA-      
     
Twisting and raising braincells on high alert      
for all concepts in metaphors' trails;      
images blazing, colours bright, wrapping tightly,      
bidding roots cling to sparkling, earthy stones.      
     
-For PTM-      
     
He writes with passion, intensity,      
beats in eloquence and charm;      
the mythical, musical notes carried,      
engraved in the back of my mind.      
     
-For Graham B.-      
     
Abstract, makes me look twice;      
moving, running sideline,      
painting, with a small brush,      
pictures fullest in the spaces.      
     
-----------      
     
Member competition entries:      
     
1.      
"Graffiti in the shadows and a parallel universe"      
(For Lightbaron)      
     
Our naked-spirit writer      
with affinity for honesty      
sings of transience      
on skyscraper bases      
on rust belt train cars      
in sundial shadows      
under railway bridges      
right/left brains      
painting harmony      
in a poet's hand      
     
He found us here      
in the storm gutter      
having swept aside      
the pieced parts, high caps      
and past participle mindset      
already attuned to the principles      
and facets of karmic rebellion -      
he's a hellion's own and still      
a favored son of light      
     
with words that take shape      
like slow possession      
of ritualistic tribal beats      
compressed emotion      
dancing up from gut to throat      
calling hips to follow      
sparkling webs      
of concept      
     
now, to find the spell      
gathered from the parallels      
that grew his manly beard      
     
     
2.      
"splinters"      
       
i've witnessed parades of intelligent men      
sonnetizing, melting into gutterbound pools      
at simple flickers of the lens on her face, her curves      
and her eyes that one could hold      
high to heaven in the palms of his hands      
so gods would bless the earth      
       
her mouth, a perfect bow, is tied seriously shut      
while a bleeding tongue, too often bitten      
behind elegant fingers      
drips the old poisoned leavings of wrongs      
pain, Sunday      
silence      
       
       
there was hope there, in her eyes then      
even when telling[torture] in their cherrywood and white      
i wonder, now, if she's finding out what memories      
hypocrisy can't cover      
and i wonder if my own eyes are giving me away      
     
     
3.      
For Merda      
     
this                
one's                  
silence                  
                
is a temple                
buried under eons -                
                
yet, when words come...                
                
                                      they form lovingly                
                                      and reverently                  
                                      as prayers                
                                      whispered                  
                                      to a boding conscience      
     
     
4.      
For LA      
(yeah, another one :)      
     
you're a full collection                
of paint filled pipe-bombs                  
gone off in confined spaces                
                
-muted-                  
                
but for the blazes of pure's burn                  
'n colour                  
come up in the residue                  
of your explosions --                
              
and you speak river            
sustaining for blade, fur and scale                
dipping currents dragging deep                  
under words that crash and hiss                  
at all them taller solids                
stubbornly insisting on stasis                
                
the weight of what may be and what may not's only                
about as heavy as a bluebottle                
but sings the same bloody song                
and that's where your emotives' translations 'ting'                  
like crystal in the chaos                
                
'cause darlin'                
grit                  
gives just as good                
as the river  
   
   
5.  
For Gigi  
   
Sleepy brown eyes  
lips edible plush  
   
Daring you resist  
her high heel sway  
   
Writes gentle  
knocks straight  
   
No apology  
no need  
   
--    
   
Safe sometimes  
behind breezy smiles  
   
Forgetful pleasure    
bedroom hair/body/eyes  
   
Hypnotic  
sleepy brown eyes