"shaw" poems
A thought sometimes forms
I live too much
yet I do too little.
Woken at strange hours,
never asleep.
Rapt in raps
or wrapped in riddles
Chained to links
or hammered to handle
stubbed to bone
Mens et
Manus
There is time yet, I swear
To flourish
To dream
To make
To be
To do
To create
Will I?
We'll see
There's time yet to tell
Be yourself, they say
The best you you can be
But once more— Will I have time
To edit
I live less
I do less
Portfolio: empty
or at least, locked away.
Excitement too.
Blank slate
Blank palette
Is there any paint?
Can I truly make
excitement saturate?
Will I be able to place
value as I see fit?
Can the world be hewn slimmer, slicker
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
Tis daft I think, to amuse such a notion
But not necessarily so daft to be wrong
Emerson called it misunderstood,
Shaw found it unreasonable
But ay, theres the rub
That bed once made, must be lain in and
all dreams which might be had are alone not enough
Bloom effects don't work outside the movies.
Ideas are trash, these are recession times
Deflations made them a farthing a dozen
Started 10.03.11
Unfinished
D.B. Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
A secret society founded as a dark, heavy rainstorm
loomed menacingly one night in November of 1888
over Boston University; Sarah Ida Shaw,
Eleanor Dorcas Pond, Isabel Morgan Breed
& Florence Isabelle Stewart sneaking in their
nightgowns into the dusty attic where Florence
swore she had seen three black cats sitting
in the rocking chairs talking; to humor their friend,
the others followed her up into the dark attic:
meaning only to frighten Florence, Eleanor
pulled a kitchen knife; the uncomprehending
Isabel & Sarah forcing the terrified [so they thought]
Florence to her knees; while there, eating the *****
of the knife-wielding Eleanor, who raising her stiff
nightgown told the others to do likewise until they all
were satisfied, shouting - meow meow meow meow -
old lady Murphy hollering up the attic steps: 'who's up there?'
the three girl giggling their little heads off running
past her down the stairs; Florence nearly tripping,
coming down a few moments later, also grinning
but silently to herself.
'what are u girls doing up there?' -
'playing w/ the cats,' said Flo, slipping past her;
'Cats! Cats!' shouted the old witch, rushing up the
stairs raising her broom [from that evening Delta Delta Delta (ΔΔΔ)
has met to lick talking black cats in secret college sorority rituals]
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC
salt stings wounds
salt stings eyes, entering, leaving...
healing, healing. The sea will take you away.
I tire of hearing abot these migrants
well they tire of the rick-shaw of an untested boat
of their homes becoming rubble & dust clouds,
of seeing blood in the dirt.
As long as there is war,
as long as there is famine
as long as there exists somewhere
called 'refuge'
then there will be refugees.
Oh child, rocked to sleep by the tide...
you should never have to answer for adult violence,
innocent & sleepy, sinless.
You have been written in blood in the old books
you have been decided for.
Your dice have been rolled by strange hands;
born amid angry eyes,
and so shall die,
washed ashore upon sand,
carried quietly away
to your final crib
to your refuge.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo’e best:
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And monie a hill between;
But day and night my fancy’s flight
Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu’ birds,
I hear her charm the air:
There ’s not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There ’s not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o’ my Jean.
3.1k
My love don’t live here anymore.
My love don’t live here no more,
The body it has gone,
but the soul it lingers on.
My love don’t live here no more!
I hear your whisper in my ear,
I hear your whisper in me ear,
Though the body; it has gone,
The words they linger on.
I hear your whisper in my ear!
Let me go, let me go, don’t you cry!
You’ll meet me on the other side,
You promised me a song,
let it be a gentle one,
Hold me in your arms for one last time.
No more trouble; no more strife row your boat to the shaw;
my love,
Take my hart and leave these tears,
i'll meet you in a lifetime,
and kiss you in that place called paradise.
Let me go, let me go, don’t you cry!
You’ll meet me on the other side,
You promised me a song,
let it be a gentle one,
Hold me in your arms for one last time.
Hold me in your arms for one last time.
Meet me in that place some other time!
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
~
fallen…
heroes all,
saviors-in-training,
on mission repeat;
the service-giving,
life-giving,
members of
a fighting team.
existing solely that
you and i
can spend our time
consumed
with the art
of loving well;
their actions
no less impassioned
than our own,
no less worthy,
no less loving and
no less selfless.
whatever we think
of war,
we must think
of the individuals
who move toward the fray
rather than away;
those to whom
we owe our very
everyday existence
be it extraordinary
or mundane;
to their daily efforts.,
to their repeated training,
to their daily sacrifice,
we offer
a prayer-filled salute!
and to these
who paid dearly,
to wives,
sons & daughters,
mothers and fathers,
nation with a
grateful heart,
a debt we cannot repay,
we humbly offer
our heart-filled
and loving tribute.
may you ever
rest in peace.
~
*post script.
serving you and me from Camp Lejeune, North Carolina,
these fallen Marine heroes are:
Capt. Stanford Henry Shaw III of Basking Ridge, New Jersey;
Master Sgt. Thomas Saunders of Camp Lejeune;
Staff Sgt. Liam Flynn of Queens, New York;
Staff Sgt. Trevor P. Blaylock of Lake Orion, Michigan;
Staff Sgt. Kerry Michael Kemp of Port Washington, Wisconsin;
Staff Sgt. Andrew Seif of Holland, Michigan; and
Staff Sgt. Marcus Bawol from Warren, Michigan
http://www.marinecorpstimes.com/story/military/2015/03/13/names-of-7-marines-killed-in-helicopter-crash-released/70277156/
(the four fallen Guard members remain unnamed at this time)
next month my son is deployed
to points classified to us his parents.
i can only think about his sacrifice
in terms of time, money, exposure to danger …
and his safe return!*
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
Christmas, Christmas, Christmas
Urggg yrgggg yrgggg urggg,
the songs are like a clogged bell
streaming depressive used sounds
Hymns of abused commercialisation
As an excuse of mixed celebrations
Christmas, Christmas, Christmas
Urggg yrgggg yrgggg urggg,
you remain dead for long time ago
when my heart changed into stone
and my dance a faded fortification
in opened doors of the unreached
Christmas, Christmas,Christmas
Urggg yrgggg yrgggg urggg,
a season where enemies embrace
with a tint of lost meshed generosity
That flavoured distasteful laughter
Coated with silvery decorations
Christmas, Christmas, Christmas
Urggg, yrgggg yrgggg urggg,
a shaw of the dying tower blocks
Overlooking hunger and troubled war
that height of starry driven nights
Casting shadows to the chilled earth
Christmas, Christmas, Christmas
Urgg, yrgggg yrgggg urggg,
The trees are felled to make cards
with anthems of a failed system
the tide of the recycled messages
of happy tidings, fill the bellies ehhh
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
Slipping away
Even deeper
Into the void
Getting Smaller
The downward spiral
At the heart of it all
The art of self-destruction
The beauty of being numb
The perfect drug
Beside you in time
Just like you imagined
I'm looking forward to joining you, finally
Terrible lie
Something I can never have
The big come down
The great collapse
The day the world went away
The line begins to blur
Help me I am in hell
At the heart of it all
Right where it belongs
The greater good
The great destroyer
A warm place
Erased
Over
Out
Poem created using titles of Nine Inch Nails songs.
Title names by Trent Reznor.
Arranged by Mike Shaw.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 12:04 AM UTC
Give me pretty
give me sunflower dancing
and petals turning
give me
coachella girls
give me pretty
give me layers of long see through skirts
and dresses
and Shaw's
give me pretty
give me dancers without teachers give me dancer with the wind as their muse
give me pretty
give me bouncing
give me everything's spinning
and turning
and lifting
and flying
give me flying
give me eyes closed
head back
arms stretched
fingers reaching
give me pretty
give me white linen pretty
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
Billie Holiday and Arti Shaw
performed together
for 2 years touring in a RR
both their record companies
couldn't get their act right
now only two tracks are known
Charles Bukowski
had a kitchen piled up with
Dairies and notebooks
but was kicked out of his appartment
again
Rembrandt van Rhijn
made a large scale piece
On the first meeting of the Batavians
16th Century City Hall Amsterdam didn't want it
Only a 1,5meter piece remains of it
in Stockholm
Sure, they were ******
so were we
But at least they tried
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 11:49 PM UTC
(Mina)
I looked up at the sky
dear god you listening?
I wonder how you let us sin
as if you just don't see a thing
( Brandon)
( God)
I heareth thee mine child
For tis man hath his free will
Yet man hath forgotten me
Dilutes me by drink and by pills
(Mina)
why did you give man the right to
do all these inhumane acts
forget you as simple as this
and get obsessed with his own tasks.
( Brandon)
(God)
I loveth man
He hath his own will to chooseth,
Simply one choice
Me or the devil their soul giveth!!!
Thou must remember mine daughter
For man the devil doth temp,
Man chooseth to sell his own soul
As to Satan man to him is for rent!!!
( Mina)
you are the creator of man
and you gave him the free will
while you could take it all away
ask him to pray for you still
instead you gave him a second choice
by which he could've gone amiss
devil never seemed to be trustful
could mislead you simple as a kiss...
(Brandon)
(God)
Tis right mine offspring
I'm the creator of all
The devil didst betray me
As his cherubs didst fall
And though this world mayeth be dark
And hellish after all
I am the light
Between hellion Shaw!!!
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
You came from The Cape of Good Hope
the land of proteas, frangipani and antelope
I was there but not in the seventeenth century
rather, I waited for you to arrive from history
Your dark violet blue flowers looked my way
as though they had something special to say
they said that you will deny me three times
whe you arrive in these wonderful climes
But there I was amongst beautiful flowers
amazing in the place where Shaw said:
that, 'They have no scent and the birds have
no song,' even great men err - he was wrong
I t was a time of transition, bright light
not only dark magical blooms but pure white
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
From Qeshlaq-e Chukhli Quyi Bahadruhamat to Abraham's Woods
(Tom Brown's Schooldays)
William Bleakes' Wind on the Water at Guishan Island
or Telladevarapalli struck by 13424 Margalida
heard in the Somam Rural District by The Monk
So now Minister Samuel Shaw watches Nakshatratharattu
and eats Beef shank taking Action Against Medical Accidents
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
116
I had some things that I called mine—
And God, that he called his,
Till, recently a rival Claim
Disturbed these amities.
The property, my garden,
Which having sown with care,
He claims the pretty acre,
And sends a Bailiff there.
The station of the parties
Forbids publicity,
But Justice is sublimer
Than arms, or pedigree.
I’ll institute an “Action”—
I’ll vindicate the law—
Jove! Choose your counsel—
I retain “Shaw”!
1.3k
Let me tell you about Drew Barrymore:
First of all, she got an early start on self-awareness,
To wit: her breakout role as Gertie in
Steven Spielberg's E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial,
And quickly became one of Hollywood's
Most recognized child actresses,
Going on to establish her self to this freaking day.
From wit: Yeah, sure, she got an early start,
She literally grew up inside her movies.
And if we had ever had a
Shirley Temple of our own generation,
Drew is it.
Simply put:
Drew is sweetness personified.
N'est-ce pas?
But Habitat Hollywood needed more,
Must dwell on the Barrymore name,
Pounding that angle,
Sledging the dynastic anvil,
Forging consensus:
It’s in her genes.
It’s that sangue royale,
It’s in her blood.
All those Fairbanks & Randolphs,
Harrisons & Blyths,
Palazzoli & Giofredi . . . ***
That’s where you get your looks,
You little guinea ****
That olive oil & garlic,
Enhancing that gilded
Barrymore Blood!
It must have been an
Early pink thrill for you, Drew,
Seeing all those
Doors spread wide open--
Widespread like a ****** legs--
Career barrier walls,
Inhibitions crumbling.
What a pleasant realization!
“I am a member of a
Multi-Generation
Theatrical Dynasty.”
And going even further back than
John, Ethel & Lionel, Babaloo.
We’re talking the British Stage here,
We’re talking Legitimate Theater,
As in: Tread those boards, GB Shaw!
Which brings me to my point:
Drew’s had a long time to get over
That Diva
(Louie Prima) Donna thing.
She knows who she is.
She’s comfortable out here,
Way out here in the
So-called real world.
Out a monk’s her environment at-large.
Query: heredity or environment?
Always.
To wit: It was always
Her habitat doing the molding--
From Wit: *******
It’s in her ****** DNA.
In her freaking genes:
Which is precisely
Where I’d like to be right now,
My cherished,
My sweet Drew:
In your freaking jeans.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
Bugs, and bogs, and battlecrys,
thieves, and trolls, and dragons fly.
Sword and sorcery,
shield and steam.
Clink and clack,
shine and gleam.
Mythril, chain, and leather works.
Sigils, pain and thrusting dirks.
Student, Teacher
words and wind.
Music, Fae,
and naming things.
Mistborn, alloys, Kredik Shaw,
Kandra and Inquisitors.
Rohan Mordor,
Minas Tirith,
Rings and Orcs,
Hobbit village.
From child, to teen, to present me;
escape, and dreams, and fantasy.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 7:11 PM UTC
Since 1876 the building had stood
In the middle of town
In a bad neighbourhood
But, empty for decades
And an eyesore to some
She was no longer "The Lady"
And her time had come
The old man sat there staring
As the charges were set
To bring down "The Lady"
he would not forget
His first visit inside her
In nineteen and ten
He'd been inside her much more
he figured since then
Talking to no one,
For no one was there
He talked of her being
He talked to the air
"She started out as a theater"
"Built by Colonel Tom Shaw"
"To showcase an actress"
"Known as Katie McGraw"
"He built her a showcase"
"To play many roles"
"But, Katie...instead"
"had other life goals"
"It stayed as a theater"
"Until Colonel Tom Died"
"Others took over"
"and failed as they tried"
"To bring in top talent"
"To play on the stage"
"But by then, yes then...vaudeville"
"Was now all the rage"
New owners and concepts
Vaudeville died
To keep it afloat as a theatre
Many had tried
A store full of trinkets
Of baubles and rings
A department store future
And the money it brings
The next incarnation
Was in retail not show
And for twenty odd years
They gave it a go
"The Lady" adapted
and was a great place to buy
But, her past as a theater
Well, it never would die
New owners took over,
A cabaret place
Was the next incarnation
She had a new face
"The Lady" was re-done
With tables for meals
Great entertainers
and she held wide appeal
"I remember Bob Darin..."
"Dean Martin and Jerry"
"Came here in to town"
"And they all made quite merry"
"Great singers and shows"
"Kept "The Lady" on point
"But, tastes changed again"
"a new King they'd annoint"
"Elvis, came through here"
"Played "The Lady", two shows"
"But, rock and roll stars"
"Don't come up where it snows"
"The Lady" closed up
became a hostel for a time
To hide all her beauty
Was truly a crime
She's been a store and a warehouse
And a place that made hats
But for thirty odd years
She's been home to some cats
Derelict, vacant...no one comes round
It's about time for "The Lady"
To be knocked to the ground
Some piegeons and vagrants
The bats, cats and owls
all leave in the morning
When the cityscape howls
The owner, not caring
Signed off on her long ago
It's been fifty odd years
Since she housed her last show
Her boards held up Jolson
George Burns, ***** Brice
And I said, she housed Elvis
He played here twice
But, now "The Lady"
Sits and waits for the call
Of the man in the crane
With the old wrecking ball
The old man, wiped his eyes
And he turned from the scene
"I would remember
"Of how she had been"
"A palace of talent"
"A place one should be"
"Now, she's only a relic"
"But she's "The Lady" to me.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
(Mina)
I looked up at the sky
dear god you listening?
I wonder how you let us sin
as if you just don't see a thing
( Brandon)
( God)
I heareth thee mine child
For tis man hath his free will
Yet man hath forgotten me
Dilutes me by drink and by pills
(Mina)
why did you give man the right to
do all these inhumane acts
forget you as simple as this
and get obsessed with his own tasks.
( Brandon)
(God)
I loveth man
He hath his own will to chooseth,
Simply one choice
Me or the devil their soul giveth!!!
Thou must remember mine daughter
For man the devil doth temp,
Man chooseth to sell his own soul
As to Satan man to him is for rent!!!
( Mina)
you are the creator of man
and you gave him the free will
while you could take it all away
ask him to pray for you still
instead you gave him a second choice
by which he could've gone amiss
devil never seemed to be trustful
could mislead you simple as a kiss...
(Brandon)
(God)
Tis right mine offspring
I'm the creator of all
The devil didst betray me
As his cherubs didst fall
And though this world mayeth be dark
And hellish after all
I am the light
Between hellion Shaw!!!
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC
This is my American Spirit
Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it
This is my generation in a long, sour drag:
Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type
Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance
Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction
Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit
This, this is my American Spirit.
I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess
And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating
I’ll wear the habit of means and humility
An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be
The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory
Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my
Means to ravel a courser bond in someone,
As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it
Yes, this is my, my American Spirit.
We’ll have a game of butting desires
‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect
Only, I know, to lose out in the end.
Is there a place for dignity to prevail
Or charm in an attempt likely to fail?
Can there be eyes open, minds or thought
To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst
Unconscious abuses: yea or not?
But I will know irony as means to an end
Turned cheek from machination
That I can do, I can pretend
When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it
This, this is my American Spirit.
Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances
Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature
Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke
My own wants impeded, kept at a distance.
For, oh, Fortune! How you have written
Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm
A charity in practice as this cigarette is long
While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong
But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought
I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude
That pretense and pride the conscience denude.
In some be it strong in others enthralled
Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves
Quietly burning the vestigial gods
That brought us a new light or perspective on things
And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it,
This, this is our American Spirit.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
I was in fallin in love
when she was the river.
Dancing with the sun,
in her every small ripples -
I shaw her joy.
I shaw her joy,
by how she reflects the ray
with her liquid crystal face and figure.
Singing with the birds,
her every splash was a chorus.
I dreamed her in that way.
I dreamed,
when she mirror the violets
of the flowers.
Painted with colours,
she was the live canvus
of this universe.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC
Most of us just never will know when him up there decides hello
but some do plan for when its near ,no sky to see just many tears
no kids to cry get out the way or christmas cards or big birthday
to want to know or be it told must be bad for all who old
Yet strength ive read in someones sorrow they live today and not for morro
for plan they do as body tires a brave young lady a real fighter
I wish her peace and family strength the bravest thing ive heard in a long time Donna is 17 and has a rare form of cancer and has planned her own funeral Bless you donna and all your family
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 9:19 PM UTC
The plane leaves
fall black and wet
on the lawn;
the cloud sheaves
in heaven’s fields set
droop and are drawn
in falling seeds of rain;
the seed of heaven
on my face
falling — I hear again
like echoes even
that softly pace
heaven’s muffled floor,
the winds that tread
out all the grain
of tears, the store
harvested
in the sheaves of pain
caught up aloft:
the sheaves of dead
men that are slain
now winnowed soft
on the floor of heaven;
manna invisible
of all the pain
here to us given;
finely divisible
falling as rain.
Dora Marsden and Harriet Shaw Weaver. 9/26/2016.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
Morning came, Monday again but not as cold as yesterday
She shuffled like a caterpillar emerging for the spring
Tucked up in her onsie, a safe place to hide, all toasty warm inside
She spent half the night stary eyed, gazing into the sky
The first cup of coffee like a jump start to the soul as she silently screamed "AHA"
The game was afoot!
A poem to read from her friend and co conspiritor, but just hold on a mo, "Oooh Ladyboys" it isn't what she thought!
So Sherlock Shaw was on the case to try and find the truth, not like the BBC and Cumberbatch their "Bitter ******** sleuth
She smelt a rat or was mistaken was it someone else?
Too early in the investigation to shout " let battle commence" it was more like "Deputy Dawg" in Sherlock Shaws defence
So Google this and Google that in a bid to find the truth.
Skip past Sonia and Fernando and Lyn if you must, focus on the detail.
Who is Micheal Wolf?
A name is but a name like
"Bang I'm James Bond"
The devil is in the detail
Like many other things!
So this time lets have laughter as you read, as tears were my last wish
As Alan Partridge said:-
"Smell my cheese you mother"
I'm exactly who I said
Not Spartacus or Michael Wolfe
Just a bloke on the tinterweb
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
I love the feel of LA in the night.
setlow behind the wheel I get the
feel of a bird in flight.
night out baby night owl on the prowl For meaning.
crawling down Sunset cruising up vine
UNION ST. No real
destination no special place to find lights halo blurred in the distance,halo blurred in the rear oview blind.Getting smaller in the climb .Mullhulland Drive.
I 10 West to the pier Cresting waves shimmer and disappear.LINCOLN Drive.
ROLLING THROUGH the gardens of Nickerson Projects.social prpjection turned witches cauldron .Night shadows like nightshade.antennas quiver.
The Shaw .Liemert Park
After dark.
Black velvet
Jazz redux.
Sagging jeans for tuxes.
Homeless dude on the bus bench cross Century Blvd.
Soutward bound.
Greyhound bus growls and slithers by.
Leavin town.
Bye
Bye.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC