"sashay" poems
By: Tony L. Jefferson, Jr.
I never felt it was fair to perceive her as just a woman
Just a being that existed beside me
She was natural, with a big afro that weather couldn’t blow
The way she walked, a silky sashay through the room commanding attention
She was like smooth jazz played at an expensive dinner
I longed to meet her
But yet
I was too caught up in mental fantasies
Scared to finally face reality and ask her for a simple dance
She was perfect in every way
I pictured her moving in tune with me moving to our favorite tune
Flowing like natural waterfalls as we fall into an intimate embrace
What a woman I would say
What a lady on this day
I finally got the nerve to approach her
My dreams were being realized before mine own eyes
When fantasy would finally meet reality
Just as I went in to present my case
She turns to me
Dreamy eyes, dreamy eyes
Sweet lips accented in mahogany lip stick
My lady, I would like to partake in a sweet embrace
I would like to move in a sensuous mood
We danced for an eternity it seemed
But alas, our song ended
And as I moved in for a kiss
She disappeared into a fine, sweet mist
Perfection is only perceived in the mind
But with time we shall develop as one and your flaws become perfection to me
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
you can wear your cap twisted sideways
sag your pants down to your knees
ride a pachyderm or a mule that brays
be whatever kind of fool you please
sing love songs in the rose garden
or complain how the dollar done fell
knowing qadafi, hussein, and bin laden
have all been dispatched to hell
you can rant and rave about raw deals
you can raise your snout and sashay about
or he-haw and buck, kick up your heels
or vote for more hope or to kick da *** out
you can lean to the left or to the right
weighing the pros and cons and hype
but you can't stay out of this fight
and claim you're just not the type
to freely elect their governments and laws
evers, walesa, mandela, and susan b
lived and died for just such a cause
to see the people's voices set free
but if you just call it mumbo jumbo
and aloofly let this moment pass
we all may be led by Dumbo
or maybe that other *******
what percentage do you claim?
forty-seven, one, or ninety-nine?
tea party? occupier? some other name?
are you just spouting a party line?
all our blood runs red
'bove us all the sky is blue
and no matter what is said
there's one thing we all should do
hadn't you better cast a vote?
against the ones who vote aginst you?
i think you'd really better vote ...
it's the least but the best thing you can do.
doug curry
10/24/2012
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
The men shout at me as they drive by
****** walk like a man!”
They hoot, shout, and laugh
As sunlight blinds their white-trash getaway.
I look around and think
How ridiculous to be unable to walk
How insane for me to think that these legs
Move on their own.
How silly for me, the queen that I am,
To think that my kingdom was
Any place I was welcome.
To be queer and visible
Is to challenge
The stained muscle shirts
“wife beaters,” strung across
Tattooed skin and handlebar
Mustaches of the “real men”
Whose siren calls
Police my step.
Most men hate us
The Children of Naomi Campbell
Men, YES MEN, too unafraid
To straighten our walk
Loosen our pant legs
And be invisible.
To be properly gay
Acceptably gay, to be
Tolerable is to be invisible
To hide, to be “real man”
My manhood is ghostly
Terrifying even
My walk so dangerous that
It is unsafe to even drive by
My community is still
Dangerous, unreal
Waiting for the next truck to drive by
To beat me, tie me to a fence and leave me
Like Matthew Shepard
A ghost on a fencepole
Unwanted, dangerous,
My people are a threat
Legs too long threatening the ability of
“real men” to have simple desires
They will do whatever it takes
To keep it easy.
Walk like a man, they yelled.
I yell back the names of my family:
Tiffany Edwards,
Zoraida Reyes, Kandy Hall
Yaz’min Shancez
Bodies that didn’t walk the right way
These ghosts were once threatening too.
Simply existing means threatening
"real men" and their women
Swinging my hips is literally deadly
To be flirtatious is to be threatening
To invite violence, attention
To get what I want, to be made a man
Real man, I am not real
As if my only job is to
Show others how to walk,
As if the rest of me
Is simply fake, fantasy, irrelevant
See how easily queer people
Are watered down to something unidimensional,
Something that is only a fragment of
“real” people – we are ghosts
Moving among you
Threatening, ******
Never just going to work
But always somehow
threatening, challenging
And forcing fantasies onto the world
Why do we always challenge
What is real? What is normal?
Why can’t a man strut? Why isn’t manhood
Something other than what swings with my
Legs?
Real. Ghostly. Fake. Invisible. Dangerous.
What I hear is *powerful, noted, interesting,
….maybe even desirable.* (GASP!)
When I walk now, I walk with an army of ghosts
Led by the fallen, queens, and divas
who threatened the men of the past.
I live their lessons and proudly
swish my hips in honor of my adopted
****** ancestors.
We Sashay however we want
Because we've realized that
a "real" men is always
Just a step away.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
’Tween hither and thither we wended our way
skipping, dancing through sand dunes, in seascape croquet.
While woven in waves watching dolphins at play
I first tasted her lips in the ocean’s wild spray.
Mystic moonbeams, suffusing clouds’ shimmering sails,
unleashed us and whisked us down sensuous trails,
soon evoking the trills of untamed nightingales
as our passions pervaded green valleys and dales.
Being spectres of splendour in wanton sashay
we mastered our meaning in love’s matinee –
the breezes, in passing, slowed down to survey
blazing bodies embraced in youth’s blooming bouquet.
With the wind as our wings, till the Never we flew,
two gypsies, on junkets through dusk’s residue
gently floating like pollen to everywhere new,
so eluding pearled teardrops that paint the past blue.
Yes, we gamboled and gambled, two waifs led astray,
with our shackles afire and anchors aweigh –
rising higher and higher, the sun lured our sleigh,
teasing time was our temptress, night’n day after day.
Having stars in our eyes and all time as our view,
we’ve drifted, like dreamers where sprites rendezvous
and feasted on laughter and sipped morning dew
while rambling forever as one made of two.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC
Relaxing in the front yard
Peering up at the sky
Mesmerized by the sound of the leaves dancing in the breeze
Watching the clouds sashay by
The shapes they made entertained my cerebellum.
The warm summer sun bakes the smell of lilac into the air
My best friend relaxes beside me, mimicking my every move.
living in our minds
Not a single care
This was ours
Our moment
Our time
The grass was frigid and plush beneath our backs
The sweet breeze kissed our faces
This was one of my favorite places.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
*pretty women around the world
when they see me, they smirk
and some shake their head
and say, **"who is that girl,
who is that beautiful girl?"**
some even roll their eyes
and say my ego is huge
and i need to be brought
down to size
i laugh at them and say
"I don't wear any rouge"
whenever i sashay into a room
I flip my hair, give a big smile
and strike a pose
And all the sweet honeybees,
every last one
fall down on their knees
and offer me a red rose
some even beg and plead
"marry me please"
and some give a loud whistle
just to capture my attention
and all of them in unison
exclaim with an excited smile
"wow! you rock!"
yes, glamor girl, that's me
for every last honeybee
many kisses I blow
and I give them a special wink
and whisper, "yes, I know"
xoxo*
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
Alignment before leaving the house
blessing words with intention
honor the sun
Thank the axis
as we spiral
and find our constant amidst change
death takes place
and we go through stages and states
denial, acceptance,
and everything in between
connection with all that is
and crystal relationship with today
honor the sun
palms pressed to pray
at heart center
whoever does this looks so holy
serene, blissed out, so **** lovely
sashay with anger
then tango with tears
adjust to the idea
of releasing fear
honor the sun
for true life rises
and echoes rays of eons
from this glorious star
the source of fire and desire
warming our bodies
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
She loveth me nay--
The supermodel--
Cause my pocket is lean.
But I did apace tell
Her as she's sashay-
Ing along that "I'm no James Dean:
That Hollywood icon and superstar,
Who was by his acting rich in dollar;
But that i'm a poet, writing poetry."
So contemn me not, sultry popsy.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 2:41 PM UTC
A year has gone by
and all that is lost,
is crazy Aunt Beth
buried in thoughts.
Her fur coats in summer…
For the one to impress….
Was her dog in a cage,
who was wearing a dress.
His name was Lord Byron,
A title apt for her sense…
Which with all candor,
was not too immense.
She was clad for occasion,
and wore her gloves made of lace,
and her large floppy hat
that covered all of her face.
Her thoughts would be said,
her noises were made.
Her tea must be ready,
but be sure to sashay.
Though a loved one to all,
it was common knowledge that
when she stayed at the house,
there would be one extra gnat.
And though her insanity
drove some out the door,
Aunt Beth will be missed,
and her lunacy more.
Jun 11, 2010
Jun 11, 2010 at 9:14 PM UTC
The fish flies with fins of fire,
Following fellow friends
To the depths of the sky.
A sashay of the hips,
A flick of the fins—
Cast embers to Earth.
Melding, molding, moving—
These fish of flames flee
The wet bonds below.
Free at last, the fire fins grow.
Gold now—blue—
Brighter than the moon,
Brighter than the stars
That beckon them forth.
And so the fire fish fly with fins
And reject the world’s reality.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
We're following the full moon
Morrison crooning "LA Woman"
dancing around the burning fire pit
remembering a prehistoric time when
we helped share light with the tribe
through heavy exhales
the lung-piercing smoke signals
sashay toward the midnight stage in the sky.
As we dance around the fire
orange embers laugh crackling
illuminating the dark midnight
all are thankful for brief moments
of smoke blanket warmth on our backs
waiting to be tucked in by the glowing moon.
Too soon do we trapse back to reality
smashing glass bottles
to satisfy some primal urge
for ancient chaos screaming energy echoed
in caves and canyons years before the pyramids were even an idea.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
It’s a firework holiday,
so let’s light up the night,
wave the stars and stripes,
eat barbecue and drink bud light.
We’ll celebrate the liberties
that SCOTUS says we’ve got
it appears they’ve all been bought
and before their terms are over
they’ll resurrect Dred Scott.
Watermelon, hot wings
we’ve even added new things,
like smash & grab lootings
and frequent, random shootings.
Some Republicans want to break away
to form a less perfect union
can you form a successful nation
based on the politics of illusion?
There used to be parades
I’m told, that featured local
things, like firefighting brigades
I guess we’re just to fractured now,
to sashay in such displays.
I bet those were the days.
Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 12:21 PM UTC
When the pitter pat of your mouse heartbeat fades utterly away
As easily and distinctly as throes of thunder in the stormy distance,
I may go - in melancholy, there will be nothing else to do or say.
And once the rains froth on warm cement and the winds sashay
Across the treetops, and of you there is a startling absence,
I will know the pitter pat of your mouse heartbeat faded away.
It will sting, surely, to wake up every Monday through Sunday
Knowing you are not here, but I will remember your brilliance
And I may go - in melancholy, there is nothing else to do or say.
Still, the years will fly by and someday my mind may neglect to replay
Those memories of importance, and I will forget your presence,
Even as the pitter pat of your mouse heartbeat has faded away.
Then the world will move on and storms will return. In the midst of the fray
I will arrive, on the way to my own departure, a mind full of grievances.
I may go anyway - in melancholy, there can be nothing else to do or say.
And while there may be some last moment of frenzied grief, a ray
Will eventually split the clouds open; of you, I will recall some semblance,
And the pitter pat of your mouse heartbeat will roar, not fade away.
Then, finally, I will go - in lieu of melancholy, there will be much to do and say.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
To form a myriad of similitude
Thy were found in an ocean
following a flock of fish
without inferring the fact, that
only few shall reach the destination
who has determination
to follow the unendingly tiring
journey of self made dream
The rest shall only sashay half a distance
whenst thy realize their actual dream
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
Swanky sauntering swagger of a sashay. Verve’s chutzpah, moxie savvy's panache, dexterously agile acuity. Articulate coordinated excellence and prowess’s talented exceptional. Objectified manifest's eidetic prospectus's invertible investiture's infinite possibilities perpetrate incorporeity ideology's perfectible ontology!
Intrepid intuitive intrigue, mystical magical multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis. Malfeasance evocative tout, execrating eventuation evocative expletives, executant tour de force entelechy's apotheosis. Ne plus ultra irrefragable opulence, erudite illuminism numinous piquant poignancy. Dynamic livid lurid vagile puissance. Lucid orotund sonorous fecund resilience.
Eloquent exuberance felicitous transcendent epiphany. Nuance tactile audacious preternatural metaphysical clairvoyant imperative. Augur quantum ominous avant-garde profundity, virulent vivid indomitably indefatigable cogent fatidic, quintessential deft. Celerity innovative veracious metamorphic, adroit nimble avid austere.
Fulgurous astute atman clever crafty rapacious sagacious. Effulgent zealous fastuous temerity machismo enunciation diction, imperative repartee. Exserted protuberance educement proclivities succinctly ostentatious. Ardent arduous inductive adamant incursion ostensible hornswoggling swashbuckler!
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 2:55 AM UTC
#Brown-tanned, and muscular
he leans against the wall at
Senior Frogs, down on the tip
of the Yucatan, at the edge
of Cancun.
She is mad-- the rich-girl,
college hottie.. who takes
the time out from her dancing
somewhere near the front of
the stage, and sultries over
with her best instagram-sashay
she could put together.
"Everyone is looking at me but you"
Mhmm.. and take another chug of my Patrón.
*"What. You think you're too good for me?
You've probably got old ***** anyways.."*
And in an instant, I ***** slap
the whining little butt-boy
she calls a boyfriend
and then
**** the ever-loving dogshit out of her
against the side of the stage--
the whole time, thinking about
how much more substance
a two-pump hit from a bottle of
Jergens and a quality **** vid
would bring me
As back against that old wall
I stand.. enjoying the show.
She is staring at me now
no doubt, she'll be bugging me
the whole rest of my trip.
Her friends come traipsing my way
because that's what friends do--
They become mesmerized..
and then fixated-- wanting to ****
the guy their friends want to ****
.
There is a Pharmacia on the corner
on my lone taxi ride back to the hotel.
Sergio pulls over, and I walk in...
*The Jergens is near the back--
right next to my favorite Patrón.*
#
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 5:55 PM UTC
Men are doomed, Carla told me,
It’s your eternal haircuts, she continued,
How can you sculpt a life from a single shape,
One look,
Every mirror an impersonation
Of the initial version of one’s self,
Each day reduced to a child’s calculation,
You wake up, only older, grayer, a withered rasp,
Ever more discouraged by the unfairness of things.
Carla exhaled a dragon’s torrent
White jet streams unfurled out of both nostrils,
A waft of my father’s morning scent.
With a flick of her thumb,
She snapped the ash
Off the end of her cigar.
A sharp hiss as the ember sizzled and sank
In the shallow of a pavement puddle.
It had cold rained most of the day.
Over a pause, the sky roiling with indigestion,
We bundled up in autumn clothes,
And trudged uptown,
Our chins tucked deep into our chests,
Our squinty eyes glued to our shoes,
The wind had a slap to it.
It isn’t war you should fear, she continued,
It’s robots.
Soon we won’t need you for anything,
Carla jabbed her lacquered fingernail at phantoms as she spoke.
Women have been fornicating with machines
For over a hundred years, she said,
The transition for us has already occurred.
Weld and solder us a pleasant replica,
One that can shine a toilet
Sterilize the dishes, **** us brilliantly,
And recite Shakespeare at will-
Believe me,
Soon we will barter for your *********
Exchanging bitcoins for the innate,
With no intention of ever attending your funeral.
No the war is over and men have lost, Carla repeated.
She walked ahead me,
Her hips a sashay as she spit a loose bit of tobacco leaf
Onto a lamp post.
I could not persuade my eyes to look away.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
Quick step, step
Paw,
Sashay
Dicing steps,
Sleek,
Low to the ground,
Prancing, Sly gances
Creeping slowly, belly stirring leaves
Swaying
Stumbling
And moving on
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
POINT YOUR TOES!
Lift one foot high up In the air!
Sashay left,
Sashay right,
Make sure to keep you legs up high!
SPLIT REASONS LIKE YOUR LEGS,
FOR GODS SAKE LIFT YOUR HEAD,
POINT, HEEL,
TUCK your ribs,
LETS GO ACROSS THE FLOOR,
QUICKER THEN WHEN YOU TRIED TO RUN,
COUNT.
one, two, three,
Hands around me.
Sunken faces,
You weren't drunk,
Just a water,
Was just enough.
LIFT YOU LEG OVER YOUR HEAD,
KICK IT HIGHER!
Try to kick away the pain,
Or set you memories on fire!
Burning hotter then your limbs!
Keep your form tight!
Keep your feet just right!
If only it would have stopped,
Him.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
Briefly entranced
by a swish of hips
as they sashay past a doorman,
he takes a breath, approaches
and asks to get through.
"Sorry sir," the tall man says,
"your purchasing record suggests
"that you dislike jazz.
"I think you'd better move along."
Of course, of course,
what was he thinking?
A narrow escape, that.
And on home through the empty streets he goes,
Untroubled by the wide wild sounds,
the horns and pianos,
the reckless freeform blast and chatter
that might ruthlessly have smashed through
his carefully constructed identity.
Safe at home,
his television allows him to watch
a comedy he has seen thirteen times before
and so must really love.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
He lumbers, he doesn't sashay.
Aware enough to catch a 'think-fast' pass.
He's an analog man, and not a soothe-sayer.
He was a zen buddhist, and a nudist whose wardrobe was air.
He always wanted kids but could never think of names.
His truth is so spreadable it's incredible
His credit's so meddled with it's debtable.
He moves peanuts under walnut shells,
less talented than critical.
With passion like the hypnotized
limits were his starting lines
He was never very impressed with things,
would say 'ignorance doesn't exonerate’—He broke alot of hearts and earned alot of parking fines—‘Income doesn't make the man' unless its not coming in.
His only wish was for a time machine;
He could be ambassador to the past.
he could relive his endings
without missing anything
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 3:53 AM UTC
Words are all muddled
Translation lost over time
Does anyone really understand?
That no words, are easy to find.
Books are misunderstood
From different parts of the earth
It's like reading jibberish
Our words are now under a curse.
How can we understand anything?
After the Tower Of Babel
Languages are mixed and corrupted
So the original words went to hell.
Not perfect in speaking
As it's lost, and gone
Words do not mean the same
We are saying it all wrong.
How can we communicate?
Nothing makes sense
We are like different birds
Sitting on a fence.
With no understanding
Of each other, or anyone
Words are just nothing
Because everyone is so dumb.
Pleonasm is too long
No-one can explain
It's all out of date
So new words are insane.
Plenitude is non-existed
You are sashay
But no-one is like that
So we see the end of days.
When the final word has been spoken
Will anyone understand?
The end is near for all of us
We are all under God's hand.
(c) Tommy K
4/11/2013
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
Maybe I'll write a poem
That totally rocks
Like maybe one about
Pick-up trucks
And good-old boys
Who drink and make noise
And ogle the girls that sashay by,
Leering and giving them the eye
For nothing but tosses of their heads,
Snarky sneers and icy "Drop deads".
Or maybe I'll write of high society,
Given to extravagance more than to piety,
Dressed in their finest, parading the street,
Deferential to all, light on their feet,
Dancing through life toward their urns of ashes.
Or maybe about old men wearing galoshes,
Smoking cigarettes in the snow,
Maybe there's more future in that:
Some things you never know.
Or maybe I should write about lovers and haters
Or apple pie and mashed potaters.
So many topics out there to choose:
The seasons, bananas, fantasies, the blues...
But maybe its not the subject you select
But how you present it that has the effect?
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
Turquoise waves
Entrap
Sunlight that pirouettes
Specks dance within
Spin
Waters sashay
Sunlight still captive
Within the folds
Its all
Aquamarine marigold
Some say
Heaven is this
In beauty
In peace and bliss
In tawny rays
On a sea deep blue
But how can it be
My love
When I know
Heaven is you
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 9:41 AM UTC