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"hayward" poems
“Withdrawn from Salem Public Library” Yevtushenko in a Used-Book Sale “Salem Public Library, East Main Street, Salem, VA 24153” A happy book, thought-stained, and often-read: An anthology of Russian poetry Salem, Virginia must be a marvelous town A library stocked with poetry, and stocked With poetry readers who have turned again And again to favorite pages here and there Long-ago poets murdered by the Soviets But finding love at last in Salem, Virginia Re: 20th Century Russian Poetry: Silver and Gold Selected and with an introduction by Yevgeny Yevtushenko Albert C. Todd and Max Hayward, editors New York: Doubleday. 1993
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Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
A Russian Series: 8 - "Withdrawn from Salem Public Library"
There’s many legends told of those who tended to the nets Whose talents brought grown men to tears, made bookies hedge their bets. One man’s special gift was to make the goal lamp glow Therein begins the woeful tale of Red Light Racicot. The story starts at Granby in Quebec’s junior ranks, Where pimply youths have slapshots which seem fired from tanks, And flashy cat-quick goaltenders will often steal the show; Alas, no such heroics came from Red Light Racicot. The ease he was beat stick-side left his goalie coaches dumb. Granby supporters prayed as one that they would trade the *** They called him “Ancient Mariner” (stopping one in three or so), Surely Les Habitants would not sign Red Light Racicot. But indeed, Les Canadiens dragooned him in the draft, Fully convincing one and all that Serge Savard was daft. Children throughout the province prayed *Dear merciful God, No! Don’t let our Forum bear the taint of Red Light Racicot.* But then came a stretch where Patrick Roy’s work had been poor, And Hayward and Vinny Riendeau had each been shown the door. And Montreal fans heard the saddest words they’d ever know: …Starting in goal this evening is Red Light Racicot. He flailed at wobbly wristers and wound up on his **** And gave up much more five-hole than any village **** Even cross-check befogged Savard knew it was time to go And mercifully, he released poor Red Light Racicot In Heaven there’s a glowing rink where gods of hockey skate: Maurice Richard, Howie Lorenz, all of the truly great. In one net, Georges Vezina makes saves with stick and toe But someday they’ll all float soft goals past Red Light Racicot.
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May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
The Ballad Of Red Light Racicot
There’s many legends told of those who tended to the nets Whose talents brought grown men to tears, made bookies hedge their bets. One man’s special gift was to make the goal lamp glow Therein begins the woeful tale of Red Light Racicot. The story starts at Granby in Quebec’s junior ranks, Where pimply youths have slapshots which seem fired from tanks, And flashy cat-quick goaltenders will often steal the show; Alas, no such heroics came from Red Light Racicot. The ease he was beat stick-side left his goalie coaches dumb. Granby supporters prayed as one that they would trade the *** They called him “Ancient Mariner” (stopping one in three or so), Surely Les Habitants would not sign Red Light Racicot. But indeed, Les Canadiens dragooned him in the draft, Fully convincing one and all that Serge Savard was daft. Children throughout the province prayed *Dear merciful God, No! Don’t let our Forum bear the taint of Red Light Racicot.* But then came a stretch where Patrick Roy’s work had been poor, And Hayward and Vinny Riendeau had each been shown the door. And Montreal fans heard the saddest words they’d ever know: …Starting in goal this evening is Red Light Racicot. He flailed at wobbly wristers and wound up on his **** And gave up much more five-hole than any village **** Even cross-check befogged Savard knew it was time to go And mercifully, he released poor Red Light Racicot In Heaven there’s a glowing rink where gods of hockey skate: Maurice Richard, Howie Lorenz, all of the truly great. In one net, Georges Vezina makes saves with stick and toe But someday they’ll all float soft goals past Red Light Racicot.
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I don't let my emotions out not to anyone I've ever met and most would describe me as cold and uncaring My counselor let slip she thinks I could be a killer Personally, I think she wishes I would so she can write a book or something Ah, the world of psychiatry Sometimes my anger slips out like a tunnel of rage and I let go on anyone who stands in my way that’s why I stopped carrying a knife and why I stopped thinking about dead things and the way those animals felt in my hands while taking their dying breaths and the way their eyes looked Like something I've seen in the shadows of my bedroom at night like something I see in my smile and the sharp corner of my left canine when I cut my tongue on it last May you could say im crazy but I'd probably just laugh and then continue sharpening my razors and my mother found my pistol in the living room air vent and I almost shot her then But here I am just writing this poem and do you ever wonder what I really am everyday I wear all black and red lipstick really compliments how pale I am I change my hair color constantly in hopes no one can ever really know me and I never use my real name when meeting someone I have 6 aliases and I use them all and last year I deleted my Facebook and now I have a twitter by the name of Wednesday Hayward and two weeks ago I snuck into your house and left no DNA and I wonder what you'd say if anyone knew my real name
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Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
My Mother Found My Gun
For Ryan Geoffrey Hayward This image does not resonate with me; No, it bangs, dings, slaps my head, Wake up call! Time to write, release, be pleased, ESCAPE with pow!ered words, oozing music, You are not a fly, but a human who can fly and find those fork-in-the-path choice holes escape [Escape] and set yourself free again and again and a Gain
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Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 3:46 AM UTC
A jar, with forked holes, but never a fly, always a flyer
Don’t let anyone ever tell you do not cry For they have never felt the pain and devastation of being diagnosed with a Cancer or disease that can take their life Let Your Tears Fall We all have triggers that bring the tears, The fears to the surface We all fear what the future holds Let Your Tears Fall They give us the release we need, The solace we seek Never be afraid to Let Your Tears Fall Chris Hayward - 2014
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Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
LET YOUR TEARS FALL