"sawyer" poems
When I grow up, I want to be a dentist
Astronaut or mage apprentice.
I want to be a dancer, an artist, a king.
I'm hoping to stand on a stage and sing.
When I grow up, I want to be a lawyer,
Or have lead role in the play Tom Sawyer.
I'll be a comedian, and make people laugh!
Or the CEO with a thousand staff.
I'll be a waitress, a teacher, a vet.
Snow White's eighth dwarf that no one has met!
I might be a chef, or a scientist.
How about architect or alchemist?
When I grow up, I'll be a song writer
Or maybe your friendly, next-door firefighter.
I'll be a technician or pharmacy worker,
A fashion designer or New York stock broker.
I'm gonna be everything, just you wait and see!
But I think in the end I'm just gonna be me.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
A black crow's darting eyes
spans the wheat field
and an orange pumpkin patch.
She sees
tall grasses of brown
seedlings,
bristling in the wind,
soon to be bushels of grain
and a pumpkin pie that she never savored.
She sits, atop her tree perch,
at times warm and storybook,
hidden by tree branches,
and at times out of harm's way
and infamy.
Her friends, the sun, and clouds in concert,
dancing along.
Her other friends bring alms and smiles.
Life is so good at times.
Down the road sits a mill
next to a waterfall
and a cabin,
with reindeer horns
hanging above the doorway.
She is in her element, happy,
carrying for her nestlings.
Back and forth her parental eyes dart
the hilly fields, a smoked filled chimney, and her babies,
all crawling with sustenance and awe.
Storybook.
A mother feeding a worm to her baby.
Storybook.
Off to her side is not a blind eye
watching her,
scary stick figures of
straw tucked under red shirts and hats,
with a tied tinfoil strips dotting
her eyes and tease.
Scarecrows, cease.
At times life is good nature, hand in hand,
knock on wood.
If only life could be circumspect.
Than darkness filling the light
and a stutter of life.
For a sad page is turned,
pause
... tears.
Then, feathers fall.
Hers.
The sound of a thud.
Silence and tears of her friend's swelling.
A baby's cry, missing her mother.
More orphaned tears.
Who would be this despicable?
On that rogue day.
A kick of a donkey,
an ***
one bad rock on her path,
breaks the air,
as three little elementary kids were walking along
to school.
One, me, with a rock in his hand,
taking aim at her perch
and the death of the black crow's pages.
I confess.
... Bless me, Father, for I have sinned
it has been fifty years since
my last confession ...
a Tom Sawyer-like childhood gone worse.
I repent.
Some fifty years later I think of those first cairns,
including stealing the reindeer horns and milling
my brother and sister's storybook.
Waterfalls
stream tears, and a sorry boat
rowed downstream
sadly
thereafter.
Logan Robertson
7/25/2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
The all seeing iris imperial city
The swiftest of stylus this side of the ‘sippi
The trippiest spittin’ Promethean hippy
Conspiracy theorist of eeriest verse
The despotic hypnotic black flag bearin’ Hearst
Still immersing myself in a poverty trap
As I grapple with lack of fact check cashing crap
Cryogenically frozen emotion vibes flowin’
From out my funk bunker boombox
Overthrowin’
Your global dominion opinion with ease
Shootin’ breezes with Tirailleurs Senegalese
I’m the kid wicked picket sign paintin’ Tom Sawyer
The ill eagle Taino privilege enjoyer
Still swoopin’ in mean on each **** I make clean
Pick the bones dry of serpentine oil green dreams
Then I bury what’s left of your money machines
With the pharaohs of old’s latest pyramid schemes
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
You act callously crude
Like Cronenberg's brood
You keep the body horror
In the naughty drawer
I feel my body's poorer
So you convince me I'm rich
Then treat me like an itch
And scratch
To detach
You invited me to your chateau
Then left me on this plateau
For my beating heart exploded from my chest
Once I foolishly entered your nasty nest
There I lay
As immobile prey
My body was infected
By your touch
And my mind dissected
Way too much
You passionately present me with body horror
I really resent you for being a shoddy sawyer
Cutting me down but not completely
Your lackluster love travels obliquely
Dislocating my horrified heart
My rib cage begins to part
As my mangled love
Escapes with my blood
My fingers are breaking
Trying to carry the relationship
Happiness I'm faking
When you crack your elation whip
When I'm powerless to the *****
I become showerless in a hurry
And my skin starts to rot
While I lie on your cold cot
You're my unforgiving cop
And the horrors never stop
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
I Am Waiting
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
The clinical nature of your tests leaves me
A cynical crater of a mess
My interest begins to wane
When your quiz sparks pain
Like little droplets of rain
Falling on the window pane
Of your picture
That once was scripture
But now seems impure
And superficial
Destroying my hope
Like a missile
You probe like a lawyer
And act like Tom Sawyer
And expect my interest
But I have none to feign
When your image is stained
By the grueling test I went through
That revealed your inner truth
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
"People always leave." - Peyton Sawyer, One Tree Hill
And sometimes they take you with them too.
The worst kind of people you can lose are the ones losing whom seems like losing yourself too.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
Those shortcakes tallest skyrocket
His pocket, a poem mountain
top setting words whip cream
Him and her fountain sunset love
Above all "Strawberry pie" dream
The oven overloved to trust
Or underbaked the pie crust
One bite the skywriting
Told her I love you
My strawberry eye patch
Powdery her lips "Smuckers" rich
Her strawberry sky velvet sigh
Strawberry field forever lake
Her cheeks like a piece of cake
The Prom with Tom what a Sawyer
The true love strawberry buyer
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 6:55 AM UTC
Journal Entry #7
I have a beautiful one year old, harlequin, Great Dane and she's huge.
I'm use to people staring but I was not prepared for today.
So they we were, walking in the snow.
I had my headphones on.
Music blasting.
Minding my own **** business and these two very attractive guys pull over and yell, "hey" loudly at me.
I stop and turn and they say to me,
"what's your baby's name?"
(Mind you, I am awkward as **** when it comes to interacting with men in anyway, and this entire interaction caught me completely off guard.)
So I smiled awkwardly and replied, "Sawyer."
They both smiled widely at me and the driver leaned forward and yelled "Hiiiiii Sawyer."
All I could do was laugh because to me this was just hilarious.
Still smiling at me, both the driver and the guy in the passenger seat finally wave and say bye and all I could come up with at the time was the words,
"ok."
Which brings me to the conclusion that if you're dog is getting more attention than you I should just assume the title forever alone.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
I'm raw my flow consumes dextrose
Tell peta I do the most
Loud sounds I'm out in the public
Friends with Lions we close like cousins
I'm cooking ..in a gourmet kitchen
Chicken is my opposition
Sweet and sour
Predator I'm not a scavenger no coward
Blood falls I need a shower
Drip drop dew mornings
Don't sleep on me like comas
Consuming beats down to the bone
I sip the marrow for a bonus
I am clean like an infants first wash no rap sheet
Walking thru the market
Like shouldn't food be free
Didn't God give us the same control he gave Adam and eve
I am sorry my mind at times goes on a spree
A spree of thoughts
My brain is heavy plus it kicks bass drum
My thoughts run miles
I need pennies for my thoughts
Must be properly endowed
Watch what you eat fool check your food
Fool check your spoon
Food poison
Nasty now you vomiting fluids flowing a fountain
To that server you should have watched how you spoke
Face timing yourself
Seeing your mouth move
Saliva crashing into the coast of your tooth
Yuck images social products
Dislike that dislike you
Keep it true
Tom sawyer and Huck
Instafriends
On instagram
Madoff money instascam
The Poets Lounge go to www.youhavetolisten.com
Every Tuesday 6pm-8pm
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
Twain with his wit, to some, was an ear pain
Mark, a pen name, his words to heed, no disdain
Samuel Clemens, the humorist man was a gifted teller of story
Penned, Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, innocent boyhood glory.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
i glimpse the dawn
through alabaster-flaked rickety-pickets,
like the cavity-riddled ******* maw
of tom sawyer’s crooked-grinning demon
trying to reap its earthly exodus
and rail at the wind
for its squalling disposition.
i have a head full of grass,
and a trail of ants in staggered patrol
clambering in one ear
in hopes of alighting through the other;
their bodies breaching synaptic copulations
of thoughts and ideas assimilated in lucidity,
but turning, like the thrusting-seed of climactic joy,
only to find their first glimmer of stirring light
is merely a preamble to a yawning, abortive dark.
the sun is blinding,
and yet i stare onward - inward,
finding comfort in the dazzling blur,
like a drug redefining the transcendent pain,
and rending heart and brain to simple masses
without flex or flux to pierce the void
and conjure illusions wrought
of patch-worked memories and dreams
that i can no longer tell apart.
here i have come perchance to bleed
in pools to stain the shape of my words,
and your eyes to dance upon their drift,
like the mortician's arms embracing the husk
of cuckoldly bones and beguiling flesh.
here i have come to cackle at worms
that chew holes in the leaves strewn like a sheet,
to shadow the moment i stepped off of the page,
and splintered these whittled stilts
to tempt the proffered flames.
it is a moment lost in orbits spent,
revolutions spiraled, twisted and turned,
like bitter shells spat from that forgetful sea,
where i cast line after line of salty breath,
to avail the deep with my own sullied hook.
so here i lie with a head full of grass,
thoughts taking flight on thorax and gaster,
staring onward - inward, of the blinding sun,
to purge the umbrage of a threadbare soul,
and wander the void
perchance...
to bleed.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
Tax is a concept
By which you measure governance and each cent from each pocket
Tax is a concept
By which you measure a homeless man’s pain and the hard rain
Tax is a concept
That only adds up but sometimes doesn’t
Tax is a concept
A technique to intercept the poor man’s invasion
Tax is a concept
That funds a government servant’s evasion
Tax is a concept
That requires frequent revision for the privileged 1% division
Tax is a concept
For the rich to market their wealth as a sales pitch
Tax is a concept
That is open ended that helps lawyers find a niche and sometimes a gaping ditch
Tax is a concept
That helped the Untouchables put away that whiny *****
Tax is a concept
That takes the interest out of the spooks
I don’t believe in being rich
If I have to pay more I think that’s a glitch
I don’t believe leaving it all to the middle class
If I criticize it the government shows a lot more sass
Tax is a concept
If it wasn’t it wouldn’t be in books and in the salaries of prison cooks
Tax was a concept
That kept out of it the clergy mooks
Tax was a concept
That kept a nobleman’s coffers’ ostentatious good looks
Tax was a concept
That kept death at bay
Tax was a concept
That contributed to the dead everyday
Tax was still a concept
If it wasn’t then in Germany there wouldn’t have been any bread for each day
Tax is still a concept
It still pays the rich and takes from the rich *****
Who has the lawyer who is smarter than Tom Sawyer
I don’t believe in law and order
I just believe in world order and peace
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 5:39 PM UTC
It seems my best days just slipped away
without a cloud on new years day
Its not the end, but I know I'll miss my friends
until we meet again
Ten years have passed, since we first picked up the reigns
Each night, a different stage
another crowd, but the same charades
Each of us just had to know
That someday it would end, and everything would change
Life ain't so simple anymore
From old dawn to new day, I hope I don't just fade away
Thank God for my family and friends
I guess its time that I try to be a simple man,
like I always sang about
They say its times like these that you learn to love again
and now I'm closer to the edge
We told of the girl who talks to the ones up above
we'd say that they'd call her out by name
Well Tom Sawyer's gone now, with the space that he invades
Even he had to say
That someday it would end, and everything would change
Life ain't so simple anymore
From old dawn to new day, I hope I don't just fade away
Thank God for my family and friends
From old dawn to new day, I hope I don't just fade away
Thank God for my family and friends
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
Around the coals we gather to warm are tired souls
Brothers singing of all life's woes
And dear old sawyer and his lady go on their way
Towards the west and memory lane.
I bid adieu to these travelers and the heated night
One day we will find peace in our drunken blight
To the poet and their thoughtful muse
To the guitarist and their twanging tune
To the smoker with a hazy mind
And the couple rekindled in Octobers fire.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
The World of Make Believe
he was not a real doctor
but he played one on TV
in the world of make believe
you can be anything you see
you can be a poet
or a cowboy or a king
and with electronic tricks
you can pretend that you can sing
you can be stronger than an ox
and fly up in the sky
stand up on a old soap box
yell and scream and cry
you can be the judge of man
the protector of the world
a guy can be a pretty girl
with his hair so nicely curled
you can be the Queen of France
a mailman or a lawyer
you can pretend you know how to dance
or be Huck Finn or old Tom Sawyer
the mind is the only limit
because it is fantasy not real
in the world of make believe
anyone can make a deal
Gomer LePoet ...
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
*please read http://hellopoetry.com/poem/629931/in-the-beginning/
before you indulge in this :-) *
DAD'S DREAMS
The Sandman and I have an agreement:
I will use his grains sparingly,
In return,
He dispenses my prescription in
Nearly lethal doses.
Deep,
Extravagant,
Peaceful
Sleep
Where only contented dreams live
In abbreviated hours
Too succinct
To allow anything unpleasant.
Wrinkled
Sheet-faced
Creases
Trail skippingly through
****** worlds
Utopian neighbors
Calorically absent banquets
Sharing property lines with
Idyllic, passionate women
Who peer over their
See-through fences
Teasing unbridled desire
Of covering me in a favorite topping.
(Dutifully, I double check
Nocturnal filters
To be sure I have prevented
Broadcasting of past names
To my present wife
Half-dozing on the pillow
Taken from my side of the bed.)
A mist sets then rises, a new act begins,
Transporting near the river
On the banks of my hometown.
I am Tom Sawyer,
Lounging proudly with
My Huckleberry friends,
Fishing line on my toe,
Bobber and stink bait
Mimicking ***** waves
On the Muddy Miss.
The string draws taut bending my stubby digit.
It’s a big one hanging on
Pulling so hard
I'm driven from slumber.
There at my feet I can see I have
Reeled in the finest catch of my life.
A blue eyed,
Small mouth offspring
With panting gills
Mumbling something about falling....
Then I remember,
The only thing
Better than my dreams
Is waking to a son
Who believes I am bigger
Than all of his.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
.
Miranda Writes
Miranda has the right to write in silence.
Anything you say, she will use against you
because you're moving your jaw.
Come knock on the door of my friend
Tom Sawyer. Especially if you cannot
afford a real lawyer.
I was trapped inside a rusty clock,
now I'm running out of time.
I'm gonna buy a tall, tall drink
and rub the rim with lime.
A pinch of salt, a pinch of skin,
just one more step and you'll be in.
These bottomless disturbances
quell my quivering quill,
I'm running out of time,
I've no time to ****
Where voracious flowers whirl
with the movement of the moon,
and the lyrics won't be written
if I cannot find the tune.
In a dreamer's deeper darkness
remembering the womb's trembling throng,
keeps me merely existing just
to write your favorite song.
A piano intoxication is like
being chased by bees.
The more you drink, you'll drink more.
Let's go swimming in the keys.
Illumination's clear,
music is distressed.
It's time for me to go,
so, please don't be depressed.
.
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 5:52 AM UTC
I have a higher shelf a pinacle that
seems empty , barren,
one made of mahogany over the ones
holding copies of Shelley, now unbound,
stocked with mementos and keepsakes
made of pine but servicable
upholding my precious things
carefully sturdy ,
to the left , a tad dusty, leaning on the
copy of Michelangelo's David bookend,
is "In Search of Lost Time" gathering,
well, dust , now,
next to, with my fingerprints
outlining the title ,
on a timeworn cover, leans,
"Tom Sawyer" ; I can see a cane pole
figuratively jutting out from
the shelf. Above on the second shelf from the top
sits a rock, just a plain river worn smooth
everyday rock, that to anyone else would be
nothing, but, to me it is more precious than gold of the same size.
I collect special things.
And the top mahogany shelf
is empty
reserved for only vivid
memories
of
Grandma
of that girl long ago
of when my children arrived on this earth
of a smile
from all the women I have known
also, although, invisible
only worthy for that shiny shelf are the hearts and souls
of the best people ever.
And when you visit, think again, about an
ordinary smooth rock,
and an empty mahogany
shelf.
A rock or an empty shelf
can be more
than it seems.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
(Dedicated to Jamie)
You’ll never know what you did for me,
You were much more than a friend;
You were the anchor that saved my life,
As the waves were crashing in.
As I was still recovering, from the loneliest life I’d know,
You formed a tight-knit family where I could love myself and grow;
I used to hate myself and couldn’t stand to be awake,
Until I found myself surrounded by the love that you’d create;
We were lost for different reasons just looking for some hope,
And then you brought us all together and gave us all a home.
- Brendon Shay Sawyer
(2023)
(I love you Jamie. We miss you. We will make you proud ❤️)
Mar 12, 2023
Mar 12, 2023 at 9:17 AM UTC
Upon my face I wear a smile,
A bastard's smile so smooth.
I grin in my seat
While I lie through my teeth,
The teeth that have never heard the truth.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
Shout at the moon, my darling, and less at your heart,
For it not deserve the blame for any damage he’s caused;
Shout at the trees, as they stand tall and so strong,
And be jealous of them for that’s all that you want;
Shout at the pond, as rain sends ripples throughout,
Oh, I miss your smile—how long is this drought?
Shout at me, if you need,
And scream, if it helps;
Shout at whatever, my dear,
So long as it’s not at yourself.
- Brendon S. Sawyer
(2021)
Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 8:10 AM UTC
in the waning days of my sojourn
when the Sun will set quicker than I remember
when I'll wish I'd taken advantage of a pain free body
and walked a bit longer in those fields of gold
searched my dreams for meaning
taken a few extra moments to absorb
the laughter of my children when they were mere toddlers
the mindset falls into one of waiting
as we drift off into the natural state of irrelevancy
like the favorite stuffed bear that is still loved
but has served its purpose
watching the world spin by upon a shelf
next to a copy of Tom Sawyer
I'd give all my remaining days
to re-live one of those fading memories
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC